Finding Salaam After Talaq

Prologue

In the quiet corners of my heart, I long for peace, yet it remains elusive, slipping away like sand through my fingers. The word "salaam," meaning peace in Arabic, haunts me, for it seems like an impossible dream in my tumultuous life. Divorce, though frowned upon, whispers to me like a distant refuge, my only chance to escape this suffocating nightmare that I reluctantly call home.

I find myself yearning for a true home, a place where serenity resides. But can a person be a home? For me, it feels like an unreachable mirage. Once, I believed in love and family, but now, I am but a shadow of the outspoken and hopeful Fatima Ayn Muhammad.

Depression has cast its dark veil upon me, a burden I must bear silently. In the conservative society I belong to, sharing tales of marital problems is taboo. So, I endure in silence and pour my heart out to Allah in prayers, seeking solace and strength.

The room bustles with activity, yet I remain withdrawn, unable to engage in the conversations around me. The ladies exchange stories of their families and daily lives, but my mind drifts to my toddler, Salaamah, who plays nearby with a few other children. Her laughter and innocence bring a flicker of happiness to my heart amid the chaos.

A phone call interrupts the chatter, and I quickly excuse myself to answer it. As I step away to find a quieter place, Safiyyah, a caring friend, looks at me with concern and mouths, "Is everything alright?"

I nod, trying to offer a reassuring smile, and take the call. On the other end is my husband, Ahmed Kabir, whose voice pierces through the line like a torrent of anger and control. My heart sinks as I brace myself for yet another confrontational conversation.

"Assalamu alaikum."I greet him, hoping my words would cool his raging emotions.

He barely acknowledges my greeting and launches into an outburst. His voice on the other end was like an eruption of anger, sending shivers down my spine. I knew what was coming next - the same accusations and demands, like a broken record replaying the same bitter tune.

"Umm Salaamah! Did I not tell you to not invite those women to my house anymore?"

I took a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves. "It's a religious gathering. They're here to teach us about our faith, something you never bothered to do. I have the right to learn too, don't I?" I clench my phone tightly, feeling my pulse quicken.

He scoffed, dismissing my words like they were meaningless. "You should be at home, taking care of our daughter and me. Why do you need to learn from those women?"

The line crackles with his rage, and I try my best to stay calm. The ladies around me have noticed my distress, and I can feel their curious gazes on me. I raise a hand to signal that I am okay, but my heart is heavy with the weight of the conversation.

His possessiveness and control stifled me, suffocating any sense of individuality. I felt like a caged bird, desperate to break free.

"I want to educate myself, to be a better person for our daughter," I retorted, trying to maintain my composure. "I need to grow, to have my own identity."

But he wouldn't listen. He never listened. The conversation spiraled into a familiar dance of blame and resentment. My heart sank, knowing that no matter what I said, nothing would change.

In the background, I heard the laughter of the ladies, blissfully unaware of the turmoil I was facing. They exchanged stories of happiness and harmony, while my life seemed to crumble with each passing moment.

He continues to berate me, belittling my desire for knowledge and independence. Each word feels like a blow to my spirit, but I stand firm, refusing to be broken by his words.

"I have to go now, Ahmed. This conversation isn't going anywhere," I said, my voice trembling with frustration and sadness.

He huffed angrily on the other end. "You can't just walk away from me like that."

I took a deep breath, trying to find the strength to end the call. "I need some time to myself. We can talk later, when we're both calmer."

As I hung up, I felt a mix of relief and anguish. My heart ached for the love we once had, the dreams we once shared. But I couldn't ignore the pain and suffocation that had become my reality. Tears threaten to spill from my eyes, but I blink them back. I have endured too much to let his words break me.

My gaze falls on Salaamah, who is playing with her friends, and I draw strength from the innocence in her eyes.
With each passing day, I pray to Allah for strength, placing my trust in His love and mercy.

I turned back to the group, forcing a smile to mask my inner turmoil. They looked at me with concern, sensing that something was wrong. I shrugged off their questions, not wanting to burden them with my struggles.

Deep down, I knew I couldn't continue like this. I needed to find my strength, to break free from the chains that bound me. It was time to take a leap of faith, to embark on a journey to find my peace, and perhaps, find Salaam after Talaq.