"Abuse is the weakest expression of strength. It is weakness to destroy what you ought to protect, build and make better." -Kingsley Opuwari Manuel

🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻
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After a week, I am being discharged today. Fawaaz has been sweet to me throughout the past week that I am beginning to think that a different man has switched places with my husband. My mother and sister have gone to our house to wait for us.

"Babe, wait let me see the doctor and pay the hospital bills," my husband informs me.

"Okay."

He places a quick kiss on my lips before leaving the room. I place my palm on my flat belly and shudder. The emptiness is unsettling. I still haven't come to terms that I had a miscarriage all because Fawaaz beat me. Maybe, just maybe it was partly my fault. I shouldn't have yelled at my husband. I shouldn't have tried to force him into agreeing to have a baby.

But it takes two to make a baby, right? A voice in my head questions.
I ignore the voice and begin to rub my belly gently in a circular motion. For some reason, I feel consoled.

Few minutes later, my husband comes in.

"Honey, we are set to go. Let's go home," he smiles at me and I smile back.

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"Sister, I made beans porridge for you. Do you want to eat now or later?" my sister asks me.

"Let her be! She just came back from the hospital. Allow her to rest first," my mother scolds Jamilah.

"Mother, I am fine," I try to tell her.

"Not another word from you. Now, Jamilah, take her up the stairs to her room. We will stay till evening before leaving."

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"So, sister, how are you feeling?" Jamilah inquires as she helps me remove my hijab.

"What do you mean how am I feeling? Where you not there when I told Mother that am fine.

"You know what I mean," she places the hijab on a chair.

I ignore her and sit on the bed.

"Sister, am not stupid to believe that you were beaten by thugs or robbers or whatever story your husband cooked up for us."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I demand while trying to control my rising anger.

"Sister, I know Uncle Fawaaz gets angry easily and it takes time for him to calm down. People tend to do terrible things when they are in a state of anger," she explains.

"What are you driving at?" I flare up, "Are you saying that my husband beat me and made me have a miscarriage?"

"Isn't that what he did?"

"Jamilah, you shoukd learn to mind your business and not poke your nose into my marriage life."

"See, sister, if he is hurting you, let us know. The earlier the better."

"When did you become a marriage abi relationship counsellor. Is that what mother sent you to school to read? Counselling?"

Jamilah laughs and I join her too.

"Yes, I already have my degree."

"Jamilah, do not worry about me. Your big sister can take care of herself," I assure her.

Can you? That same voice asks mockingly. I ignore the voice again.

"Okay, if you say so. But I want you to know that I will always be there for you no matter what," she hugs me and pats my back.

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"My daughter, we are leaving. Be of your best behaviour," my mother cautions me.

In a way, she is indirectly saying it's my fault Fawaaz lost control and it's my fault that I had a miscarriage.

"Yes, mother, I will," I place a soft kiss on her cheek.

"Don't let this repeat itself. Be a good wife. I did not raise a daughter that provokes her husband."

"I have heard you, mother," I wave them goodbye as my mother steps into the car Fawaaz bought for her.

"Bye, Sister," Jamilah waves back at me.

"Bye."

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It's been two months since I had a miscarriage and Fawaaz has been so sweet to me. Surprisingly he has helped me in the kitchen a number of times. He has even made breakfast for me even though the toast bread was badly burnt.

There's this popular saying: the calm before the storm.
Yes that's what has been happening for two months. Everywhere have been so peaceful that I failed to realise something bad could possible go wrong. What could possibly go wrong when Fawaaz had promised not to harm me again. We were a happy couple in love living a perfect life, or so I thought.

That unfateful afternoon came knocking on the door. Fawaaz had returned from work earlier that day. He had a case that morning but with the way he answered my greeting, it seemed things didn't go as planned for him.

"Whats wrong, love?" I softly ask him as I take his briefcase from his hand.

"Today didn't go well in our favour at the court," he replies.

"Oh, am sorry for that. Don't worry, there's always another opportunity," I tell him, kissing him on his lips.

"Just get me my food!" he orders.

"Okay."

I immediately hurry upstairs to our bedroom to keep his briefcase. I hurry downstairs to the kitchen. Fawaaz doesn't like to be kept waiting. I made white rice and stew with fried snails. It was one of his favourite meals.

I take the food to the table. Along with a jug of cold water and a glass cup.

"Honey, please come to the dinning room. Your food is ready," I call out to him.

"What did you cook?"

"One of your favourite."

"Wow, baby, what will I do without you?" he smiles at me.

"I know right!" I smile back, "Eat your food."

He begins to eat and I watch him. Few minutes into the meal, his face starts to contort with anger.

"My love, what is the matter,' I question with alarm.

"Did you wash this rice before cooking it?" he demands

"Of course I did!"

"Then how come there are stones in the food. Not one, not twice but thrice that I felt stones in my mouth. Do you want to injure me?"

"No, forgive me. I am sorry. It was never my intention. Please, I am sorry," I beg.

"I can't believe this," he says and picks the glass of water to drink, "What is this?"

"What is what?"

"Don't play smart with me!" he thunders.

I jump in fright and begin to shake.

"I don't understand."

"Alright, let me make you understand. Come here!" he orders as he places his palm around the back of my neck and forcely brings me closely to him, "Look at the glass very well. Look at the stain! You know damn well how I like my glass cups. Sparkling clean!"

"I am sorry, it was a mistake," I plead in tears as his finger nails are beginning to dip into my neck rather dangerously causing my skin around his nails to break.

"First, you didn't wash the rice very well and I almost swallowed stones, now you give me water to drink with a dirty cup."

He picks the plates of food in one quick motion and throws it on the tiled floor. The glass cup soon follows and tears drip down my face as I focus my gaze on the many pieces of glass on the floor.

"Why don't you always do as I say?" he demands in anger as he presses his fingers on my neck.

I wince in pain, "Fawaaz, you're hurting me."

"See now! You're bleeding? Look what you made me do! You made me hurt you. It's your fault that I hurt you."

I have stopped listening to him as I am crying silently. When I don't say anything to him, he holds my shoulders and forces me to face him.

"Look at me!" he yells as he shakes my shoulder harshly, "Look at me! Why don't you ever listen to me? Why do you do things to make me hurt you. You know I love you, right. I am only punishing you for your good. I am doing what is best for you. You won't learn unless you're punished."

I begin to hiccup.

"Stop it! Stop crying! Now what are you supposed to say?"

"I am sorry for making you angry," I whimper.

"Good, that's my love," he coos as he hugs me, "I love you so much."

"Me too."

"Now clean up this mess and prepare a new pot of rice for me. If Ifind any stones in the rice, those stones will be your dinner. Now be a good wife and off you go," he whispers into my ear, his voice sending chills down my spine.

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Wow, didn't Fawaaz promise Ikram that he will never hurt her again? Hmmm