Finding Salaam After Talaq

Chapter 12: A Change of Heart

It was as if a switch had been flipped within Ahmed. Suddenly, he was consumed by a burning desire for children, and nothing else seemed to matter. This newfound longing came at a time when I was grappling with the devastating reality of my third miscarriage. The pain and heartache of losing yet another child were almost unbearable, and I had withdrawn even further into myself.

Ahmed's change of heart was baffling. He had previously been indifferent to the idea of having children, and we had both come to terms with the fact that it might never happen for us. But now, he was insistent, almost desperate. He spoke of little else, his conversations often centered around our future family.

I couldn't understand this sudden transformation, and it added to the turmoil within me. His eagerness to become a father was accompanied by mounting pressure. He believed that having a child would fix our broken marriage, that it would be the key to happiness. And while I longed for a child as well, I couldn't help but feel overwhelmed by his expectations.

On the day I discovered I was pregnant again, I was filled with a mix of emotions. Hope warred with fear, and I couldn't shake the sense of impending doom that had haunted me since my previous miscarriages. I kept the news to myself, unsure of how Ahmed would react.

When I finally gathered the courage to tell him, his face lit up with a joy I hadn't seen in a long time. He held me tightly, whispering promises of being a better husband and father. It was a brief moment of tenderness in the midst of the storm that our marriage had become.

But as the days passed, Ahmed's excitement gave way to impatience. He wanted the child so desperately, and his growing frustration was palpable. He would hover over me, insisting that I rest and take care of myself, but the pressure was suffocating. I felt like a failure, as though my body was betraying us both.

One evening, as I sat in our small, dimly lit kitchen, Ahmed came home from work with a dark cloud of anger hanging over him. He didn't bother with pleasantries; instead, he launched into a tirade about my supposed negligence.

"You need to take better care of yourself," he snapped, his eyes blazing with fury. "You're carrying our child, for God's sake."

Tears welled up in my eyes as I tried to defend myself, but my words only seemed to fuel his anger. He slammed his fist against the table, causing the dishes to rattle. The room felt smaller, the air heavy with tension.

"It's your fault," he spat out, his voice dripping with venom. "You're the reason we lost the others, and you'll ruin this one too."

I felt as though the floor had been ripped out from under me. The man I had once loved was now a stranger, capable of cruelty beyond anything I had imagined. My hands trembled as I clutched my stomach protectively, as though I could shield our unborn child from his wrath.

I woke up that morning with a heavy feeling in my chest, a deep sense of dread that I couldn't shake. It was as though the universe itself was mourning the loss that was about to come. The pain in my abdomen had started the night before, a dull ache that had gradually grown more intense. I knew what was happening, but I didn't want to believe it.

Ahmed was still asleep beside me, his arm draped over my waist. I carefully extricated myself from his grasp and made my way to the bathroom. As I sat there, the pain intensified, and tears welled up in my eyes. I knew there was nothing I could do to stop it.

When it was over, I cleaned myself up and returned to the bedroom. Ahmed was awake now, and he could see the distress in my eyes. I didn't have to say anything; he knew.

His expression hardened, and his anger was palpable. "Not again, Fatima," he spat out. "How many times do I have to go through this with you?"

I couldn't find my voice to respond. I felt broken, both physically and emotionally. I had longed for a child as much as Ahmed did, but my body seemed determined to betray me.