She Chose Love But Lost Everything

One morning, my mom said to me, “Ahmed’s son is coming over this evening. You should be home so he can see you.” I understood what she meant, but I still asked, “Is he coming here because of me?” She replied, “Not necessarily because of you, but when he’s here, he might enjoy talking to you.” It didn’t quite make sense, but I grasped her implication. This was a man I didn’t know personally; I had only heard my parents mention him. They never referred to him by name—he was simply “Ahmed’s son.” To them, he was defined by his father.

That evening, he arrived. I heard footsteps and voices, and when I peeked through the window, I caught a glimpse of his face. “He seems nice,” I thought to myself. He spent nearly an hour in the room with my parents, and I felt my time was being wasted. I had places to go. After waiting for a while without being called, I walked into the hall and headed to the fridge for some water. Just as I was about to turn around, my dad said, “That’s Samira; haven’t you seen her?” Ahmed’s son replied, “Is that your daughter? She’s grown up so fast.” This made me wonder, “How old is he that he’s commenting on my growth?”

He gestured for me to come over. Right in front of my parents, he said, “Turn around so I can see something.” I had liked him at first, but the moment he asked me to turn around, my admiration plummeted. He wanted to assess me visually to decide if I was worthy of his affection. I dislike people who judge based on appearances. I turned around for him, and all he said was, “Wow, I can’t believe she’s grown this fast.”

He took my number and gave me his, saying, “I’ll call you. Do you know where I live? You can visit anytime.” I glanced at my father, who was smiling, and then at my mother, who looked pleased. Inside, I felt nothing but anger. I didn’t call him. My mother later asked, “Have you spoken to him since that day?” I replied, “Yes, I called to greet him,” which was a lie. She advised, “Be calm when you’re with him. He’s Ahmed’s son. They have good blood and wealth. If you play your cards right, you might get lucky with him.”

I asked my mom, “What does he do, and why isn’t he married given his wealth and age?” She said, “Who said he’s not married? He has a wife and four kids. He looks young because he takes good care of himself.” I responded, “He’s married? What am I supposed to do with him?” She said, “He’s a man. He can afford to marry more than one. Being a second wife isn’t bad if he has the means.” I insisted, “No, I don’t want a married man. I want my own partner.” She thought I was being unreasonable, while I felt she wasn’t understanding my point.

When I met Ben, I shared my situation. “They want me to be a second wife,” I said. He replied, “Isn’t it ironic? Someone’s first choice is becoming another man’s second choice. Why would your parents do that to you?” We had a long conversation about our future, but nothing had changed. My parents didn’t want us to marry, and his parents wanted him to stop seeing me. We were essentially hiding from each other; I couldn’t visit him, and he couldn’t visit me.

Eventually, I found myself getting closer to a guy who shared my faith. My parents had no influence over this, so I decided to take my time, observe him, and see if he could be a suitable husband. Initially, I wasn’t fond of him, but he seemed like my only escape from Ben and my parents’ constant pressure. Over time, I realized I was developing feelings for him. I told Ben about it, omitting details to spare his feelings. I said, “My parents have introduced someone new.” He asked, “How many wives does he have?” I replied, “No, this one is single, just like you.” He inquired, “Do you like him?” I said, “Given my parents’ pressure, I feel I have no choice but to let him into my life.”

He sighed heavily and asked, “So what happens to us?” I replied, “You tell me because I’m not ready to cheat on either of you.” I could see his anger simmering beneath the surface, despite his attempts to hide it. He said, “You clearly like this new guy, and it shows in how you talk about him. I have nothing more to say. Go ahead with him; I’ll find someone else.” He began to walk away, and despite my attempts to call him back, he ignored me. Even my texts went unanswered. For an entire week, I heard nothing from him, and desperation set in. I sent him a text: “If you don’t respond to this, be prepared to see me at your house this evening.”

He replied, “What do you want from me? Go ahead with him. I’m not angry. We can’t continue, so just move on.” I asked, “If you’re not angry, then why aren’t you talking to me?” He said, “It’s pointless. Just leave me alone.” For nearly a month, we didn’t communicate. He would view my status but say nothing. One day, I blocked him, but the block didn’t last long. On one hand, I felt relieved that whatever we had was slowly fading, but on the other, I wasn’t in pain over its demise.

In June of this year, I called him. I said, “I want to see you.” He asked, “For what?” I replied, “This isn’t the ending we deserve. We’ve been through so much. If it has to end, let’s do it on a good note. I don’t like how bitter this has become.” We talked for a long time and agreed to meet one last time. He suggested I come to his house instead of meeting in town. I asked, “What about your parents? Won’t they mind?” He assured me, “Just come. We’ll be fine.”

I snuck into his house around 10 PM when his parents were in their rooms. We didn’t sleep all night, making the most of our last moments together. I returned home feeling fulfilled, knowing he was no longer angry with me.

I missed my period and informed him. He said, “Don’t worry; it will come.” A week later, I checked and discovered I was pregnant. I told him, and he asked, “You haven’t slept with him, have you?” I replied, “I told you I was just observing him. I haven’t been intimate with him.” He suggested, “Let’s meet after work.”

When we met, he asked, “So what do we do now?” I said, “That’s why I’m here. If I knew what to do, I wouldn’t need to talk to you.” He suggested, “Let’s get rid of it.” I responded, “Just like that? Can’t we consider other options? If I tell my parents I’m pregnant with you, they might soften their stance. They’ll be angry, but they won’t disown me. Why don’t you try the same with your parents?” He replied, “If we force them to accept something they don’t want, we’ll regret it later. I know my parents; they’ll never accept you or the child completely. Let’s not push it.”

I knew my parents would react similarly, but I was willing to try. I told my mom, “A friend of mine is pregnant by her Christian boyfriend. Her parents warned her to stay away, but she didn’t listen.” She asked, “What are her parents doing now?” I said, “They’ve kicked her out, and now she’s living with a friend.” My mom replied, “She’s still their daughter. The best they could have done was support her through the pregnancy.”

My heart raced. I hadn’t even tried that tactic with my father before making a decision. I asked Ben, “Where should we go?”

He gave me the money. Two days later, it was done. It shattered my heart. I cried for days, feeling bitter about myself and the entire situation. I told myself, “This is the real end. I can’t keep suffering for something that won’t grow.” I expected Ben to call and check on me, but he didn’t reach out until several days later. I told him, “I’m okay. It’s done. I’m fine now.” He replied, “I’m glad to hear you’re fine.” After that, he had nothing more to say. I could hear him breathing on the phone. I said, “Anyway, have a great day.”

He hasn’t called since then. I assume he has moved on. Sharing this story will be the last time I mention him. I’ve moved on too.

—Samira