Poignancy, Pain, and Prosperity

She was scrolling through her phone, making time pass as she waited for the clock to strike, signaling that she had to leave for her doctor's appointment.

“Why didn't you leave for your OBGYN appointment yet?” he asked coldly.

“Oh, I thought I would wait for ten more minutes. The hospital tends to be swarming with people at this time. I would rather wait here and still make it on time, rather than wander aimlessly, waiting for the crowd to clear.”

“I thought I was clear the first time. I don't care if the place is congested. I told you to go on time. If we are to have this child, you better start listening to me, or I will take it away from you as soon as its head pops out.”

She couldn't believe he could say such things to her, especially about the child she was carrying and anticipating a happy life with. She wanted to ignore him. She just wanted to leave their apartment and walk around the block to kill time so that he would stop bothering her. But her tenacious character slipped out of her before she could suppress it like she usually tries to.

“You constantly remind me that I vex you, but at least try to be patient with me as I am with you. It is Ramadan; we're fasting. Would you please find something useful to do instead of hovering over me 24/7? Listen, I know it's a difficult time for you, but that doesn't mean you can talk to me like that.’’

He slowly advanced towards her, one step at a time. Right before he reached her, he grabbed something so swiftly that she couldn't even recognize it. Just as he lunged at her, she closed her eyes shut. She heard a loud thud. He had just hit her with a chair. The same handcrafted, wooden high chair that had been in her family for three generations. The one she was more than eager to continue the family tradition and keep for her child.

She slowly got off the couch, and as soon as she was on her feet, she sprinted toward the door. Taking deep breaths, she started the car's ignition and drove off. A couple of miles away, it struck her. She didn't know where she was going. She knew that if she were to go to her parent's house, they would simply tell her to go back to her husband. Her hospital appointment ended an hour ago, but she was scared. She thought her baby had been harmed. She had been beaten pretty hard, to the point where her whole body throbbed. She pulled up to the nearest gas station, used the bathroom, and that was when it all sunk in. Blue and purple patches, some with veins popping out of them, covered her entire body. She had been hit before, slapped, struck, punched, and smacked. But this, this was different. This was a beating. She couldn't stay in this relationship anymore. The adhan recitation started just as she reached her car. Tears flooded her face as this beautiful sound gave her hope for a new life, just her and her child. She took a sip of water and smiled at the idea that sparked.

She took out her phone and started typing in the notes app. A letter. A poem. A gift for her daughter that she would later rewrite with calligraphy pens and roll-up in ribbons. A haiku-typically about nature, but the soul cuddled up in her womb was simply the greatest gift from nature's cornucopia. Despite the constant reminder of her bitter husband, her baby was indeed a blessing from Allah.

Blest month helped me see

You are my first sincere love

Grace blooming in me

“ Kiara, that's your name, love. “ She whispered as she rubbed her stomach. As the cycle of her heart-rending to shreds and healing to become whole repeated, she smiled with the longing for a fresh start. Her life would only begin when Kiara was born.