My heart hammered against my ribs, each beat a frantic drum against the silence of the kitchen. "Rami, we need to talk." My voice was barely a whisper, strained and tight. I held the small, foil-backed packet in my trembling hand, the crinkled edges a testament to its journey through the trash. "I found these."
I laid the contraceptive pills on the countertop, the stark white and blue a harsh contrast against the warm wood. "In the kitchen trash. I need you to be honest with me. Do you know anything about these?"
He turned, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face before settling into irritation. "Why are you assuming it's me, Dema? I was asleep when you found them. You know that."
"Because," I said, my voice rising slightly, "you've said before that you don't want children.
