Assalammu'alaikum family, friends, readers and followers of this blog.
Chapter 8: The Divorce
She asked around.
She found out.
And then, she filed for divorce.
Because he was behind bars, the proceedings had to be conducted via teleconference. She expected it to be quick—clean, almost mechanical. Why would he resist? Why would he still want her? There was nothing left between them but damage.
When she was asked if there was anything she wished to claim from the marriage, she answered immediately.
“No.”
Not because she didn’t deserve anything—but because she knew him. He had nothing to give, yet he would find a way to use the process as a weapon. He would twist words, make promises, create excuses—anything to pull her back under his control. She wanted no more ties. No more conversations. No more chances for him to reach her.
She wanted out. Completely.
Her next appointment fell on her twentieth birthday.
Seeing him again on the screen, dressed in his uniform, she felt… nothing. Just a hollow ache where feelings used to live. Memories flooded back—how the abuse had crept in quietly, how words became fists, how love became sabotage. And now, there he was. Strangely, the uniform suited him. It felt like a final, bitter symmetry.
The judge asked if he had anything to say before the divorce was pronounced.
She was surprised when he said yes.
“Baby, you’re out?” His voice carried through the room. “How? Baby, I still love you, you know. I’ll find you when I get out, okay?”
The audacity of it stole her breath.
How could he still speak to her like that? How could he say love as if it hadn’t been the very thing he destroyed? And how had she ever been blind enough to believe him before?
“Baby?” she said, her heart pounding violently. “Who? I’m not your baby anymore. And yes—I’m out. I’m free. Unlike you.”
The words tasted sharp, liberating, and terrifying all at once.
A divorce—on her birthday.
It felt like the best gift she could have given herself.
She went home lighter than she had felt in years. He had been sentenced to five years and five strokes of the cane. With good conduct, he would be out in late 2007 or early 2008. Until then, she would be free. Truly free.
She returned to school.
Her internship had been deferred; she would have to redo it alongside her final-year project. She missed the opportunity with LTA, but compared to prison walls, this was still a blessing. Her cohort welcomed her back warmly. One other friend had also deferred, and together they pushed through the final stretch.
She started running—long, breathless runs that burned away the anxiety. She kept herself active, moving, refusing to stay still long enough for the past to catch up.
Probation meetings continued every fortnight. Her officer reassured her repeatedly that the record would remain largely invisible—unlikely to surface unless closely scrutinized.
“I don’t think I need to say this,” Mar said gently, resting a hand on Ifa’s arm, “but please be mindful of who you’re with. Wrong people, wrong place—this case could resurface. Your past could come back to charge you again, alright?”
Ifa nodded, promising herself she would never be careless again.
Around the same time, Jacob emailed her. He mentioned a possible project he would be leading in Singapore. The thought of seeing him again filled her with a warmth she hadn’t expected. She realized, quietly, that she might be falling for him.
He was everything her ex-husband wasn’t.
Kind. Steady. Safe.
Or so she believed.
Her parents, however, were wary. It was too soon, they said. Too soon after chaos, too soon after trauma. They urged her to focus on her studies, her career, her healing—to not rush into another love that might trap her all over again.
She brushed their concerns aside.
Jacob wasn’t like him.
She was wiser now.
She could tell the difference.
Or at least… she thought she could.
//--- Please leave a comment if you want to read the next chapter. :)
No comments:
Post a Comment