My husband hates me

Chapter 2

Seher's p.o.v:

Life has always been unfair to me, from the moment I was born, my father didn't express his joy, he was disappointed. His first child was a girl, the disappointment stayed and my parents drifted apart. After that, I grew up in a sheltered environment, I was happy at that time. Because I hadn't tasted the freedom and lived my life on my terms, I was happy.  Until my sixteenth birthday when my cousin Zara was stoned to death. My father didn't even flinch when people threw stones at his niece, his blood sister's daughter. My aunt begged but my father stood his ground, she was crying, wailing, my world shook that day and I realised my life wasn't normal.

My poor sister died because she fell in love- they took her life only because she wished to pursue her dreams. Even animals protected their cubs and their family, but my father was the first one to pick a stone and he threw it at her, uncaring as I shielded her. The stone hit my head, and I lost consciousness. I knew this was a lesson for me, he wanted to tell me that if I followed my sister's footsteps, I would meet the same fate.

I walked around the village, to reach the lake, I wanted to see the dawn and breathe in fresh air to clear my mind. I stood there watching the sunrise and praying for a better future, wishing for an easier way out.

The morning sun cast a gentle golden hue over the village the familiar sights and sounds of the village greeted me—the chirping of birds, the rustling of leaves, and the soft hum of life awakening. As I strolled along the winding paths, I couldn't help but take in the state of my village.

My heart swelled with mixed emotions. The village, with its quaint charm, held memories of both comfort and constraint.

I passed by the group of small boys excitedly making their way to school, their satchels slung over their shoulders. Their innocence and enthusiasm tugged at my heart, a stark contrast to the harsh reality that often awaited them in adulthood.

As I observed them, I couldn't help but wonder if these young boys would grow up to perpetuate the same customs that had kept me confined for so long. My heart ached for the burden they might unknowingly inherit.

My gaze shifted to the women of the village, diligently going about their morning routines. I noticed one woman in particular, her eyes downcast as she carried a heavy load of firewood on her back. It was a sight I had witnessed countless times, a symbol of the burdens women in the village bore.

I couldn't help but feel a sense of solidarity with these women, knowing that I, too, carried my own set of expectations and responsibilities as a daughter in this conservative society.

As I returned home, the warm embrace of my mother provided solace. In my mother's arms, I felt safe, shielded from the outside world and its suffocating traditions. I clung to that feeling, knowing that it would sustain me in the challenging days ahead.

My mother, a village woman of few words, looked at me with a motherly warmth as she applied the fragrant oil to my hair. "Seher, my dear," she began, her voice soft and soothing, "I hope you remember, our village is where your roots are, where your heart belongs."

Her words resonated with me, a reminder of the complex web of love and duty that bound me to this place. "I know, Ammi," I replied, my voice filled with both gratitude and longing. "I cherish our mornings together. They are my anchor."

With a knowing smile, my mother continued to comb my hair, her hands moving gently through the strands. "Your father may have plans for you, but you have the strength to face whatever comes your way. Just like your grandmother and I did."

Her words, simple yet profound, carried the weight of generations of women who had faced the challenges of our society. I held onto her words like a lifeline, knowing that her wisdom would guide me through the turbulent times ahead.