I was almost 18 years old.
He was an old Christian man.
I had been married for less than a year.
I had just come from the countryside.
I went to him.
I usually wear an abaya and a veil when I go to work.

I went in, changed, and went out.
“Come, dear. Prepare breakfast for us,” he told me.
I went out to get breakfast.
Later on he said,
“Why are you covering your hair? Take off the veil, dear.”
“I’m from the countryside. I can’t take off the veil,” I replied.

A while later, he locked the door.
“You’ll find a top and shorts in the bathroom. Put them on.”
“No, sir. I can’t change my clothes.”

I finished the bedroom and the kitchen.
He went to sleep and called for me.
“Bring me a glass of water, dear.”
“Get me a pill from the closet.”
I opened the closet to find a lot of gold jewellery and money.
“Why don’t you change your clothes. put on the shorts and wear some perfume, dear?”

He was old and wrinkled.
One of his friends was at the door.
He got the key out of his breast pocket.
I opened the door.
His friend sat with him for a while.
I finished and changed my clothes.
You know, I was in prison for 25 years.
But I was scared to death.
I left.
I told my husband what happened.
“Don’t go again,” he said.

I worked for a sweet lady in Manial after that.
“This is your home too,” she’d tell me.
She never insulted me.
She treated me very nicely.
I couldn’t keep working when I got pregnant with Asmaa.
“I won’t be able to work,” I told her.
She gave me a big sum of money on my last day,
Even though I only worked for a week.

I regret leaving her.
Finding a decent job is impossible now.
Everything is terrible.
My husband doesn’t always work.
But there’s nothing he can do about it.
It’s out of his hands.