As a bird who never left the nest, I was prepared to fly and experience the diversity of Allah's blessings outside Saudi Arabia. A moment when beautiful stories from my husband's travels will become alive by my sight. Our first destination would be Medina, the bags were ready, tickets in hand, and I made a special dinner the night before going.

Everything looked like an exciting dream until the flight day when Hamza got unbalanced, fell into our entry hall, and broke his femur, switching the plane to an ambulance. The doctors said the surgery was risky for his age, transforming two hours into four, and everything went well until he started to complicate himself.

In the first week, right after our plans changed, he was anxious to go home, believing that nothing happened, even if the doctors warned him was getting old. But obviously, he would never accept the situation of resting and waiting. His impatience was evident.

I've understood his behavior as a business traveler and tried to keep things calm with some stories I used to write when he wasn't at home. He refused and insisted to watch TV to taste the outside, but luckily was enough to distract him until we received a sign to go home.

In a wheelchair, he tried many times to open the front door and perceived that I was the only one who could do that. The doctors actually offered a new technology to help the rehabilitation process, but he didn't wanna more strange stuff in his body since was a strong and virtuous man.

Back at home, the complaints grew worse, his stubbornness spread like wildfire, and I lost how many times I saw him almost falling. From the bathroom to the kitchen, from the toilet to the bed, his independence was passed to me, as an insult to his authority.

After some weeks, even with the help of some physiotherapists, Hamza's body wasn't responding as expected, and they proposed once again the technology. He got angry with everything and everyone, hitting doors, throwing things, disrespecting people, and even disregarding me.

Tired of the situation, I tried to calm him again. Saying that this possibly happened to show another perspective, to slow down, and rethink life. But he felt offended, saying that I would never understand being locked since he was made to live, and not be a burden.

At that moment, something was taken from me, as someone who never deserved to live, passing years waiting for the chance to see the world. Then, as my stories, I tried to express my situation without making him angrier. Showing my feelings through a bird who always had wings but never could fly.

Like me, the bird in the story meets someone in life, a partner who would provide security and stability, to build a nest and have a life with. They got engaged and promised compassion, but life planned something else, adding loneliness and resilience.

The partner was always flying, leaving the bird to care for their children, ensuring they grew up strong and happy, all the while being confined at home. As a consequence, their sons had to follow their paths and fly away, making the poor bird wait for her partner alone once again.

Finally at home, the partner appeared in a totally different mood from his love who stored energy for a long time. With stories about the world, now he wanted to stay home, but the expectations were already made and the lonely bird already wished to live a different life.

By the end of the story, with tears spread all over my hijab, I remembered the loneliness I'd kept through every room that used to be my company. I felt vulnerable and my resilience drained from dealing with Hamza's recent behaviors.

After listening to me, he looked at the mirror of our living room and started crying in the wheelchair. Pissed about his situation and afraid to see me leave, he started to understand the pain of being locked with the possibility of never being the same man again.

With no solutions considering his difficult physical condition, I asked gently once again, with love, to use the technology doctors were proposing. As an invitation to win the battle even with some scars, something that his pride wasn't big enough to deny to recover his independence again.

Then, some weeks ago, even if needed my help in some activities, we bought the technology and he started to accept his age and physical state step by step. Thankfully, the strange rehabilitation system was almost invisible inside the pants, a blessing to his reflections in the mirrors of our house.

Now, I wake up every day and attach the multiple modules of the exoskeleton to his body, which inflate with air, as a fascinating blend of science and magic that allows him to walk again, albeit slowly. As a result, nothing can hinder our future journeys to keep writing our own stories.