By Raeda Wishah:<\/p>\n
What drew my attention was her pale, yellowish face, her exhausted eyes and the looks of fear that filled her face. She was silent, clinging to her neighbour throughout the meeting like a small child afraid of strangers. I heard her voice only when I learned her name, and whenever I glanced at her I found her adrift, as if she were in another world.<\/p>\n
As soon as the meeting ended and the women left, I stopped her and asked her what she thought of it. She answered: \"It touches the wound, but I want to talk to you alone.\" So I set an appointment with her, and when we met she told me her story. She said: \"I was the only girl among 5 young men, the pampered one among them and the one who outdid them at school, and I was the object of my father's great hopes.\"<\/p>\n
She went on with her story: \"Until a young man saw me at a wedding and began waiting for me at my school gate every day, until one day I found him calling me by my name and declaring his love. I did not look back, but I knew him. At the end of the day I found his mother and some of our relatives visiting us, and I learned they had come to ask for my hand, but my father refused because he belonged to a different party than ours. I cried that day, and I had grown attached to him, and so had he. I often found him in front of my school, and relatives of ours intervened to persuade my father, and with my insistence and my mother's pleading he agreed, and the wedding took place, and I was the happiest bride. The girls in the neighbourhood would wait for us to leave the house to catch a glimpse of us, for we were like lovers and our story was known in the neighbourhood. Our joy was complete with the birth of our beautiful daughter, whom we had dreamed of before she was born, choosing her name and even the school she would attend and the colour of her room.\"<\/p>\n
\"These beautiful, innocent dreams did not last. They ended with the killing of my beloved and my husband during the division. They divided and severed my soul from me on the birthday of our daughter, which he had wanted to celebrate. He had prepared all the arrangements and even invited the friends, but fate separated us and I was left alone with my daughter and the dreams we had planned together.\"<\/p>\n
She recounted the difficult details, saying: \"I was pregnant without knowing it, but God is merciful to His servants and willed to leave me my beloved's name and his image, until I gave birth to my son. Then I returned to my family carrying my daughter, my son and my sorrows, and I was no longer the pampered girl. I became the widowed mother, the martyr's wife, and all this before I had even turned nineteen.\"
\nThe pressure began for me to marry one of the family's members, and the disaster was that my father agreed. In the past he was among the fiercest objectors, and today circumstances had changed and he became among the most enthusiastic supporters. My opinion was not taken into account, since they believed it would be hard for my children to live without a father. How could I accept marrying someone who had been like a brother to me all that time?<\/p>\n
But who could stand up to them? I married for the second time, and this time it was not my choice: they chose and I complied. I found myself for the second time in my home, in my bed and in my room, but I did not find my beloved. I found a stranger beside me, and that is how I felt and how I lived with him, without feeling any of the feelings I had felt with my husband and the father of my children.<\/p>\n
The disputes between them multiplied and she began to stay at her family's house more than at her husband's, while everyone blamed her and pressed her, for the living outlast the dead. She began to be subjected to abuse at the hands of her new husband, though she had never been humiliated or beaten before, neither at her family's house nor at her husband's, whose clothes she still keeps in her wardrobe, still carrying his scent two years after his death.<\/p>\n
She always returned to him, her new husband, after her family's insistence, but she was not wrong that he was a bad choice. Charges of collaboration were brought against him and he was imprisoned months after their marriage. After having been a martyr's wife with her dignity, she became a collaborator's wife, afraid to look at the faces around her, at their blaming looks and their talk, as if she were guilty, though she had not chosen him and had not even consented to the marriage. They forced her in compliance with their worn-out customs, as if she had no choice now, as though we had returned to the age of ignorance in which a woman is inherited after her husband's death, with no right to refuse or accept.<\/p>\n
It was in this state of mind that I found her, and we began the journey of treatment and sessions, which continued for two consecutive months at a rate of two sessions a week, between phone calls, the Centre and repeated visits, until she was able to overcome her weakness and her grief, to regain her confidence in herself and her father's support for her, so that she could face those around her with full strength and emerge from the loneliness and isolation she had sentenced herself to.<\/p>\n
She broke the bonds inside her and around her to succeed once again, enrolling at university as she had always wished. Her laughter, which she had forgotten, returned to her, and she began again to care for herself and her two children and to fulfil the dreams she had dreamed with her husband and beloved, the martyr. The first of them was enrolling her daughter in the school they had wished for her.<\/p>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
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