The day had started just like the others, with Rehema waking up to the soft sounds of the baby's cries. She had become accustomed to this early routine, though today, something felt different. There was an unease in the air, a tension she couldn't explain. She glanced at the clock—8:30 AM. Ali should've been home by now, but he was still gone.
She shuffled into the living room, rubbing her eyes. The silence of the house was broken only by the baby's cooing and the distant hum of the refrigerator. Her phone buzzed in her pocket. It was Rashida.
"How are you today?"
Rehema stared at the screen for a moment, unsure of how to answer. She had been telling Rashida that everything was fine for weeks, but it wasn't. It hadn't been for a long time. Finally, she typed:
"I'm tired. I feel like I'm breaking, Aunt."
Her phone buzzed back quickly. "You're stronger than you think. Don't lose yourself in the storm."
The words hit her like a wave, crashing against the walls she had built up around herself. She sank onto the couch, clutching the phone in her hand. Rashida's words echoed in her mind. Don't lose yourself.
---
Later that evening, Ali finally returned. He entered the house, tossing his jacket on the chair with no care. Rehema didn't even flinch. She stayed seated, her back straight, her gaze steady as she looked up at him.
Ali stopped in his tracks when he saw her. His eyes narrowed. "You're not going to ask where I've been?"
Rehema's voice was calm, almost too calm. "No. I don't care where you've been anymore."
Ali's lips twisted into a sneer. "What's gotten into you, huh? This isn't like you. What happened to the woman who used to beg me to come home?"
"I grew up," Rehema replied, her voice a mixture of exhaustion and finality. "I realized I've been waiting for you to change, but you don't. And I can't keep doing this anymore."
Ali took a step closer, his eyes filled with something like anger, but there was something else there too—confusion, perhaps. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying I can't keep drowning in your neglect, Ali," she said, standing up and meeting his gaze. "I've been so focused on making our marriage work that I've forgotten how to live for me. I've been losing myself in this—in you."
Ali flinched as if struck. "You're making it sound like it's all my fault."
Rehema's eyes hardened. "It is your fault. You don't see it, but it is. And I can't keep pretending it's not. I can't keep pretending I'm fine when every night you're not here, and I'm alone with our child."
Ali stared at her, his expression softening for the briefest moment before he quickly masked it with anger. "So, what now? You're just going to walk away from me? From us?"
Rehema shook her head, tears welling up in her eyes, but she didn't let them fall. "I'm not walking away from you, Ali. I'm walking towards me. I have to learn how to live for me again. How to be strong for our son. And I need to stop waiting for you to fix what's broken."
She turned away, but before she could walk off, Ali grabbed her arm, his grip tight. "You think you're going to do this without me?" His voice was raw, almost desperate.
Rehema looked at him, her heart aching, but she held his gaze. "I don't know what's going to happen, but I know I can't keep waiting for you to change. I have to find my own way."
---
The silence that followed felt like a physical weight. Ali let go of her arm slowly, and Rehema felt the sting of his touch linger on her skin, though it didn't burn as it once would have. He turned away without another word, and Rehema let out the breath she had been holding.
She stood in the doorway, her heart racing. She had said it. She had said what needed to be said, even though it hurt, even though it left her vulnerable.
And in that moment, she realized something: she had just taken the first step in reclaiming her life.
---
Later that night, after the baby had fallen asleep, Rehema found herself pacing the room. Her thoughts were tangled, her emotions a mess. She knew she couldn't keep doing this. She had to find a way to break free, to find herself again.
Her phone buzzed again—another message from Rashida.
"You're doing the right thing, Rehema. Sometimes, the hardest thing is learning to let go. But in letting go, you will find peace. And in that peace, you will find yourself."
Rehema read the message over and over, the words sinking deeper into her heart. She had been so afraid to let go, so afraid of what it meant for her marriage, for her family. But the truth was, she hadn't been holding onto the right thing.
She had been holding onto a fantasy of what she wished Ali could be, of what she wished her life could be. But she couldn't live in that fantasy anymore.
She needed to live in reality.
And that meant letting go of the idea that her happiness was dependent on Ali. It meant learning to love herself, even when things weren't perfect, even when everything around her felt like it was falling apart.
---
"Sometimes, the hardest step in healing is letting go of the person you thought you needed. You are enough on your own. Don't wait for others to make you whole. You must learn to make yourself whole first."