Jamila fluffed up her pillow for the third time, wriggling around to find just the right position. Everything was seemingly perfect. The boys were at school. The laundry was done. Dinner preparations were complete. Her body was still cool from her shower and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee permeated the room. She reopened her diary, pen poised in hand, and stared at the page. Nothing. Blank. She practiced her breathing exercises again, trying in vain to calm the white noise buzzing in her head. “Don’t ever question me about my business”, he had screamed. His business? True. But her future. The future of her children. How could she not ask him! This was the second notice from the bank.

Jamila closed her diary. She rolled out her prayer mat.


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