We usually greeted each other at the small grocery store or during visits to neighboring families. I had never told her anything about my marriage.
One afternoon, while Khalid was at work, I found an excuse to visit her.
She opened the door, took one look at my face, and stepped aside.
“Come in, Amal.”
I sat on her sofa and stared at my hands.
She did not ask me what had happened. She did not tell me to be patient or remind me that every marriage had difficulties.
She simply placed a glass of water on the table and waited.
After several minutes, I said, “I’m afraid of my husband.”
Huda sat opposite me.
“Has he hurt you?”
I nodded.
“Are you afraid he will hurt you again?”
I nodded a second time.
She took a slow breath.
“Then we need to think about your safety. Not his reputation. Yours.”
