Finding Salaam After Talaq

Chapter 10: Disguise

I became a master of disguise, expertly concealing the cracks in my marriage from my family and friends. The shame and fear that came with admitting the truth were overwhelming, and I couldn't bear to tarnish the image of the man I had once thought was my soulmate.

My visits to my family's home were carefully choreographed performances. I would arrive with a bright smile, pretending that all was well in my world. I didn't want them to worry or feel responsible for my unhappiness.

During these visits, I would engage in conversations with my cousins and aunts, maintaining an air of normalcy. But my heart ached as I watched their loving interactions with their husbands, a stark contrast to my own reality.

If they noticed the sadness that sometimes flickered in my eyes, I would quickly brush it off as stress from work or trivial matters. I couldn't bring myself to admit the truth — that my marriage had become a source of constant pain.

Among my circle of friends, I played the role of the supportive wife. I couldn't bear the thought of them pitying me or judging my choices. I had always been the strong, independent one, and admitting weakness was not an option.

When our conversations touched on topics like relationships and marriage, I would share anecdotes of happier times, glossing over the cracks in my marriage. I laughed along with them, even when the laughter felt hollow.

Inside, I carried the weight of secrets and lies, burying the truth deep within me. I was embarrassed that I had allowed myself to fall into this situation, and I feared the judgment and pity of others.

I knew that seeking help or speaking out about the abuse was a taboo in our culture, a sign of failure and weakness. I couldn't bear the thought of becoming a subject of gossip or losing the support of my family due to the shame of a failed marriage.

So, I continued to wear the mask, the facade of the happy, contented wife. I smiled through the pain, laughed through the tears, and hoped that one day, things would change. But as the abuse escalated, the hope that had once sustained me began to wither, and I realized that I couldn't hide the truth forever.

The first time Ahmed's anger turned physical was a memory etched into my soul, a nightmarish moment that shattered any lingering illusions of the man I had married.

It happened over something so trivial, so inconsequential, that it left me bewildered. We had been arguing about a small household matter, something as simple as the arrangement of dishes in the kitchen. The tension had been building for days, his temper flaring over the slightest issues. But this time, it was different.

As we stood in the dimly lit kitchen, the argument escalated quickly. His voice grew louder, more menacing, and I could feel the waves of rage emanating from him. I tried to reason with him, to calm the storm that was brewing, but it was futile.

In a fit of uncontrolled anger, he grabbed a nearby plate, a plate I had touched moments earlier, and with a force I never knew he possessed, he hurled it against the wall. The shattering sound was deafening, and I stood frozen, staring at the broken pieces scattered across the floor.

Before I could comprehend what had just happened, his hand found its way to my arm, gripping it so tightly that I winced in pain. The look in his eyes was not the look of the man I had fallen in love with. It was a look of pure fury, a look that chilled me to my core.

He shook me violently, his words a venomous stream of insults and accusations. He blamed me for everything, for his frustrations, for the broken plate, for his own anger. The physical pain I felt was nothing compared to the emotional anguish of seeing the man I loved transform into a monster.