I wanted to speak, but my mouth refused to cooperate, unable to utter the thoughts swirling inside me. I wanted to wake up from the heavy sleep causing this terrible nightmare. The touch of Mama Hanan on my shoulder assured me that I was awake and these events were happening in reality, not in a dream.

"Na'ima, what happened? Are you okay?" she asked.

The sobs that burst from me prevented me from saying anything. I handed her the paper in my hand, trembling. She opened it with shaky hands before glancing at Yusuf, who still stood with his back to us.

"Yusuf, a divorce? For what reason? What did this girl do to you? With all the patience and obedience Na'ima has shown, if you’re not in your right mind, you better get yourself together because you'll regret this," she said.

He remained silent, not uttering a word, then turned, clutching his forehead as the veins in his head pulsed. His eyes were red and filled with tears that streamed down his cheeks. He left without saying a word or looking at us.

Clutching my chest, I felt the tears pouring down my face like rain. I wasn't crying because of the divorce; I knew that even without separation, death would eventually part us. I wept because I didn’t know what to say to my parents when they asked what happened. As far as I knew, I hadn't committed any offense deserving of this harsh punishment. I couldn't fathom what could have led Yusuf to cut our ties so abruptly. Mama Hanan's voice pulled me back to reality.

"Be patient, Na'ima. Pray that Allah turns this into a blessing for your life and replaces it with something better," she said.

Struggling to breathe and with a choked voice, I mustered the strength to say, "It's not the divorce that's making me cry, Anti. I know that separation is inevitable, whether through divorce or death. But what did I do to Yusuf to deserve this? I never imagined such a day in our marriage. Is it possible that even love, when faced with an end, cannot prevent the severing of ties, no matter how long they have lasted? I'm now a widow who has to raise my child in my parents' home."

Swallowing my sobs and wiping my tears, I took Mama Hanan's hand. I handed her the hospital results and said, "Here, please give this to him. I won't spend another five minutes in this house." I attempted to stand, but she wouldn't let go of my hand.

"Na'ima, you can’t leave now. It's almost Maghrib prayer. Please wait until morning. If you go now, you'll only upset your family more," she pleaded.

"My mind is already upset," I replied, pulling away and starting to pack my things. She held onto my suitcase, insisting, "Please, Na'ima, be patient until tomorrow. Before then, find out the reason for his decision. Maybe he'll tell you what you did wrong."

"I'm not staying. What am I staying for? You saw with your own eyes the divorce paper he handed me. I'm going home," I said, trying to leave.