She was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen.
I used to dream about her at night and pray she’d be mine.
I made an oath to God that I’d distribute meat to the poor if He ever made her my wife.
God granted me my wish, and we soon got engaged.
I loved her so much that I was blind to her flaws.

Her family, indirectly, warned me about her stubbornness.
They called her stubbornness “pride”.
And there I was, thinking she’d change after we got married.
But things, unfortunately, went from bad to worse.
Problems began to arise. There was no end to them.
“Things will get better soon”, I used to tell her.

We were blessed with a child. He was the apple of our eyes.
I loved him and loved his mother even more, but she took advantage of that.
She used my love for her and our son to twist my arm and get me to do whatever she wanted.
Every month, she’d pick up and leave, taking our son with her. She’d stay at her parents’ and prevent me from seeing my son.
When I’d try to make up with her, she’d relent on the condition that I’d obey her every word.
Otherwise, she’d go straight back to her parents’, and I’d be deprived of my son again.

I forced myself to stay quiet and do as she said. I prayed to God to fix things.
The stress and her stubbornness, which I had to deal with daily, drained me mentally and emotionally.
I was afraid of divorcing her. I didn’t want to feel guilty towards her and our son.

I decided to travel abroad. Maybe things would calm down then.
I got my papers ready and left.
After nine months abroad, my wife called me to say that she had taken all the furniture.
Our apartment was now completely bare.
She took everything, leaving only my clothes in a pile on the floor.
She took my son’s kindergarten fees for herself, making my son miss a year of school.
She asked for a divorce. If I refused to comply, she’d take me to court and apply for a khul’.
I became depressed and felt even more drained.
I settled all of my business abroad and went back home. I tried to see her, but she refused.
I tried to see my son, but she wouldn’t let me.
“You can see him the day you agree to divorce me”, she said.
I thanked God that she was the one asking for a divorce, not me.

I’ve been divorced for 3 years now, and I rarely get to see my son.
I’m only allowed to see him during vacations and holidays.
He no longer sleeps in my arms like he used to.
He no longer greets me at the door after work, searching my pockets for candy.