My husband hates me

Chapter-9

We arrived at my father's home swiftly. As the car halted, my husband hurriedly left, and I began adjusting my attire. Saad didn't spare a glance backwards; he simply strode into the house. His desires were selfish, reducing me to an object. It was a degradation worse than that of a prostitute; they, at least, received compensation for their services. As his wife, I was only met with disrespect from the onset.

The chauffeur courteously opened the door for me. I thanked him and stepped into my father's grand estate. Upon seeing me, my father greeted, "How are you?" I nodded in response but avoided meeting his eyes. His gaze held a power that could shatter me, and I couldn't afford to break down. While I was my father's daughter, a resilient woman, as Saad's wife, I was a mere shell, devoid of any identity beyond being neglected by him.

I sensed my father's remorse. He detested the practice of having multiple wives, a consequence of his own father's poor decisions that had caused him to suffer in his childhood. And now, here I was, enduring the repercussions of similar choices. The cycle of suffering persisted through generations.

Saad lounged comfortably on the sofa, legs carelessly propped up, attempting to assert dominance. "Seher, go inside," my father directed. I obeyed, but Saad's voice halted me.

"Seher, come sit here," he ordered, indicating the space beside him. Conflicted between my father's and Saad's instructions, I was rescued by my mother, "Seher, come upstairs." I didn't turn back, uninterested in being part of their petty power plays.

I hastened upstairs, feeling a penetrating stare at my back. Glancing one last time, I caught him glaring at me. I knew trouble awaited, but my course was set. I retreated to my mother's room. "Seher, my darling, how are you?" she asked cheerfully.

I couldn't muster a smile or a response. She understood my silence from my eyes alone.

"It's alright, dear, have faith in Allah," she comforted me. Her words drew a bitter laugh from me. My mother held firm beliefs, but life had turned me into a sceptic.

"I've lost faith in everyone," I replied, a tear sliding down my cheek. She wiped it away and embraced me.

"These men think they'll reach heaven, but what about us women?" I sobbed, resenting my powerlessness. "They have their lust and anger, and yet, they're the ones who wrong us. How unjust it is!"

"Seher, calm down, my darling."

My mother's soothing voice enveloped the room, gradually easing my distress. "Mother, I wish to rest my head in your lap. Can I sleep here?"

"Saad won't approve," she warned softly.

As Saad entered the room, his eyes locked onto me, resting on my mother's lap. His expression darkened, an unspoken disapproval evident in his piercing gaze. "Seher, come with me," he commanded with a steely tone.

My father intervened, "Saad, let her stay here for a month. She needs this."

An immediate refusal formed on Saad's lips, his brows furrowed in dissent. However, before he could protest, I softly said, "Yes, I'll stay, Saad."

His anger simmered beneath a thin facade of a smile, sending a chill down my spine. In that moment, I sensed an unsettling truth—Saad was not just domineering; he was a sadist, finding pleasure in asserting control and causing discomfort.

The air grew tense as my decision hung in the balance, caught between my father's request and Saad's vehement opposition. My heart raced as I felt Saad's overpowering presence suffocate my spirit.

My father, seeing Saad's reaction, attempted to diffuse the tension. "Saad, let her have this time. She needs it. Trust me."

Saad's smile widened but didn't reach his eyes. "As you wish," he replied, his voice masking an underlying threat.