chapter 6:
As my mother exited the room, expecting me to follow her, I stood there in a state of astonishment and panic. My mind raced with thoughts of what could possibly be good for them, but undoubtedly have negative repercussions for me. In my turmoil, I found myself turning to a higher power, seeking solace and guidance. "Ya Allah, what kind of test have you brought upon me now? I trust you, God," I whispered, attempting to find strength within myself.
Drawing a deep breath, I composed myself and made the decision to follow my mother. Descending the stairs, each step resonated with the pounding of my heart. My emotions were mixed - curiosity mingled with worry and fear. I couldn't shake the uneasiness that accompanied the anticipation of what awaited me. Deep down, I knew it wouldn't be something I would like.
Fear gripped me as I realized I had no choice but to comply with whatever was thrown my way. Any resistance would surely anger him, the one who held power over me and the one I feared most - my father. My thoughts briefly shifted to him, Hakim Achour, a once successful architect who had fallen into unemployment and bitterness. He blamed me for his misfortune, unleashing his anger upon me whenever it surfaced. I became his scapegoat, enduring punishment, insults, and confinement within the walls of my own room.
My father's presence loomed over this so-called "wonderful news," causing me to doubt its true nature. Reluctantly, I arrived in the living room, taking notice of everyone seated and waiting for my arrival. Confusion clouded my mind as I questioned what could possibly be going on.
Mom and Dad occupied the white, two-person love seat, their arms crossed and their gazes serious. Meanwhile, Sarah was absorbed in her phone, Amira and Zaineb whispering to one another in hushed tones, their conversation undisclosed to me. In that moment, I offered a prayer for strength, cleared my throat, and made my way towards them.
As all eyes turned to me, my father stood up, reaching out to take my hand and guiding me to an open space on the couch. He barely managed to occupy the armrest, leaving me somewhat disconnected. With determination in his voice, Dad addressed me, setting me ablaze with worry. "My dear daughter, I need you to pack your bags. You're going to France to live with your uncle."
A sense of impending doom washed over me, quickly eroding the hope and courage I had managed to build. France? Why? I had heard tales of my uncle Hamid, a bitter and greedy man who held no regard for our religion. He had even engaged in a sordid fight for money, leaving my father to suffer while enjoying the luxuries of a distant land.
"Why?" I stammered, my voice trembling, barely audible. My father's response left no room for arguments, his tone unwavering and final. "Well, your uncle and I have resolved our issues, and his one condition is for you to go and live with them. Now, go pack your bags. Your flight leaves tomorrow at 10 AM. End of discussion."
In that moment, I realized that I had no choice. The weight of my predicament bore down upon me like a heavy burden, suffocating any hopes of defiance. Helpless, I nodded and retreated from the room, my eyes filled with tears that threatened to spill over. I needed to be strong, to convince myself that this could be for the best. Little did I know that I was unknowingly digging my own grave.
Reaching the sanctuary of my room, I closed the door behind me, sinking to the floor in despair. How could my own family hold such disdain for me? Tears streamed down my face as I contemplated the reasons behind their animosity. A deep sense of foreboding settled within my heart, overshadowing any glimmer of optimism.
With trembling hands, I began the arduous task of packing my belongings. Amidst the chaos of packing, one thought reverberated in my mind - maybe this was an opportunity to escape this living nightmare. Little did I know that the path I was embarking on was far from the salvation I desperately sought.