That was the moment I decided not to confront them yet. I wanted the perfect moment — one they’d never forget.
That moment came during our engagement dinner — a grand celebration with fifty guests, his entire family, and both of our parents.
Everything sparkled — golden lights, crisp linens, and soft music. Rami’s mother stood up to toast in Arabic, offering what sounded like compliments but were really insults. “We’re happy he found someone simple. She won’t challenge him much.”
The table laughed.
Rami leaned toward me, whispering, “They’re just being nice.”
I smiled sweetly. “Oh, I’m sure they are.”
When it was my turn to speak, I stood up, my hands slightly shaking — not from nerves, but from satisfaction.
“First,” I began in English, “I want to thank everyone for welcoming me into the family.”
Then, I switched languages.
“But since you’ve all been speaking Arabic for six months… maybe I should finally join in.”
The room froze.
Rami’s fork clattered to the table. His mother’s smile vanished.
I continued, my voice steady, delivering every word in flawless Arabic — repeating their jokes, their whispers, their insults. The only sound in the room was my voice.
“And you know,” I said softly, “it hurt at first. But now I’m grateful. Because I finally know who truly respects me — and who never did.”
For a long moment, no one moved. Then my father, completely unaware of what had been said, asked, “Is everything okay?”
I looked at Rami. “No, Dad. It’s not.”
