Nayara was still at her workplace, a local bank that had been acquired by foreign investors. It was Sharia-compliant and operated in one of Indonesia’s provincial capitals. She had served as the main branch manager for the past three years.
Nayara was a thirty-year-old woman who had married a palm-oil company employee just two years earlier. Her husband held the position of supervisor. They also had a child who had just turned one.
“Ms. Ara, we have a prospective client with nearly 3.5 billion in funds. It’s a Mudharabah agreement with a twenty percent rate and a twelve-month maturity. Is it approved?” one of Nayara’s marketing employees reported.
“It’s fine. Start the process tomorrow. It’s already five, so I’m heading home first. I need to pick Andra up from daycare,” Nayara replied.
Andra was Nayara’s one-year-old son. Nayara had placed him in a daycare center because his usual caregiver was sick and couldn’t look after him.
“All right, Ms. I’ll follow up tomorrow. Take care,” the employee said.
Nayara immediately left her office and headed to the bank’s parking garage to pick up the company car provided to her as the branch head. It had actually come with a driver, but Nayara chose not to use one. She was more comfortable driving herself.
“Rudi, are you working late?” Nayara asked as she drove, calling her husband through her earphones.
“Okay, then I won’t cook. I already ate with a client this afternoon, so I’m still full. Assalamualaikum. See you tonight,” Nayara said, ending the call.
Nayara had been a career woman long before she got married, but after marriage, she never neglected her duties as a housewife. Even though she had a housekeeper who also worked as a babysitter, Nayara still handled her responsibilities, such as cooking and taking care of her son.
“That’s my car!” Nayara muttered when she saw a car at the very front of the line at a red light.
Working since she was single had allowed Nayara to save enough money to buy her own car and the house where she now lived with her small family. Once Nayara received a company car, her personal car was often used by Rudi, her husband, to go to work.
“He said he was working late. So why is he this far from Rudi’s office?” Nayara muttered again.
“Are you still working late, or are you already on your way home?” Nayara contacted her husband again. “Oh... you’re still at the office. The car’s okay, right? Has it been serviced? Good. It was already overdue for service, so that’s why I asked. Oh, all right, then, if the car’s been serviced,” Nayara continued before ending the call shortly afterward.
“There’s no way I wouldn’t recognize my own license plate number. That’s obviously my car. How could Rudi say he’s at the factory? What are you hiding from me?” Nayara looked furious.
“Ms. Halimah, could I leave Andra with you until after Maghrib? I was actually on my way to pick him up, but something urgent suddenly came up,” Nayara called the owner of the daycare center.
“Thank you, Ms. Halimah. I’m sorry to trouble you. As soon as I’m done, I’ll come pick Andra up,” Nayara continued.
Nayara decided to follow wherever her car was going. Even though other vehicles blocked her view, she could still keep an eye on her personal car.
“Thank goodness I brought the Expander. Rudi doesn’t know this car. If I’d brought the Fortuner, he definitely would’ve known I was following him,” Nayara continued muttering to herself.
“A hotel?” Nayara gaped.
Nayara kept following her car until it entered a three-star hotel not far from her house. She was utterly shocked when she saw her husband get out of the car holding hands with a woman who looked older than Rudi. Shamelessly, the two of them kissed as they walked into the hotel lobby.
“God forgive me,” Nayara sobbed inside her company car.
Nayara got out of her car—not to follow her husband, but to head for one of the rooms beside the front desk. Before entering, she first asked the security guard stationed outside, “Is Mr. Agus here?”
“He is, ma’am. But it’s outside office hours,” the security guard replied.
“Just tell him Nayara from a private Islamic bank is here,” Nayara ordered.
“Yes, ma’am,” the guard obeyed, then left Nayara standing outside the room.
“Confronting you and your mistress isn’t my style, Rudi. Your taste has seriously gone downhill. I’m obviously younger and fresher, but maybe that middle-aged woman you’re with knows how to heat up your passion better than I do,” Nayara whispered to herself.
Nayara chose to play it safe. She didn’t want to humiliate herself. Her pride was too great to confront her husband while he was with his affair partner. Maintaining her image as an educated, high-quality woman was Nayara’s priority—especially since she would soon be promoted to a head-office position in the nation’s capital.