𝖹𝖺𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗋𝗒
I won't lie, Fatima and I were on the brink of divorce not too long ago, it seems. It felt like everything was closing in on us at once—life, raising kids, the weight of unspoken trauma we never really dealt with.
We were arguing more than talking, passing by each other in the same house like strangers. Communication? It was broken.
I was frustrated, feeling like I wasn't being heard. She was overwhelmed, feeling like I didn't understand her struggles.
We had all these responsibilities—our kids, our jobs, our grandkids, our families and friends and somehow we forgot us in the middle of it all.
The pressure of trying to keep the family strong while silently carrying past pain...it just became too much. But I couldn't walk away, not without trying. I love her too much for that.
We had to sit in the discomfort, have the hard conversations, confront the hurt we buried.
I had thoughts—dark ones. Wondering if maybe we were better off apart. Maybe we were holding on just because of the years, the history, the house full of memories and children who still needed us.
But I also knew that love doesn't just vanish. It doesn't just pack up and leave without a fight. And I wasn't ready to give up on her. Not yet.
But... there was one night that stuck with me. A night I'll probably never forget.
We were in the kitchen. It had been a long day—hell, a long month. The kids were gone, the house was quiet, and instead of taking that rare silence as peace, it just made everything louder.
I was washing dishes, she was wiping the counters, not saying a word. You'd think something so simple couldn't turn into a war, but when there's all that tension built up under the surface, it doesn't take much.
I asked her if she was okay, a simple question. However, the way she looked at me, as if I were some nigga out on the street, was the spark.
She said, "You only ask me that when I'm quiet. Not because you actually care."
I froze. I took a breath. Because if anything, everyone knows Zachary cares about Fatima.
"That's not fair yo. You don't talk to me anymore, Fatima. I'm trying here." I said,
And she shot back with, "Trying? You think this is trying? You shut down every time I bring up how I feel. You walk away. You get defensive. What are we even doing, Zac? Like seriously what is we doing?"
For some reason, the line "What are we even doing, Zac" struck me. It seemed as if she had no more fight left in her and was ready to give up.
We had a separation once, but this time, it was different. Hurt people hurt people. We were so focused on the outside that we let it consume us.
"You think this is easy for me? You think I don't feel the pressure too? I bust my ass trying to keep this family together while carrying stuff you don't even know about because you don't ask."
"You act like you're the only person who almost lost someone. That's my child too, Fatima."
"You've been so caught up with Zaria and shit, you haven't even asked your own husband how he's doing? That shit hurts, imagine feeling invisible to your own wife, bro."
"It's crazy you could talk and vent to Lori and Andi, but I get the silent treatment?"
"I keep telling you to slow down, you're going to lose yourself. You don't listen to me, you just keep doing what you want to do."
