NINETEEN

June 2000

As it was nearing four o’clock in the morning, Hâroon slept alone in the double bed of his bedroom, attired in a gray tank-top and shorts to serve as pajamas. On the mahogany nightstand that matched the bed was a baby monitor to alert him of any sounds or movements in the twins’ bedroom as well as an alarm clock to rouse him early.

The peaceful silence in the bedroom was broken by the shrill scream of the alarm clock, set off to rouse him to pray Tahajjud. A generally light sleeper, Hâroon woke up almost immediately. Turning toward the sound, he stretched out a long, muscular arm and hit the alarm’s off button. A relieving silence blanketed the room instantly.

With a slight stretch of his long, broad frame, he slowly sat up. His eyes accustomed to the dark after hours of sleep, he easily pinpointed the location of the lamp on his dresser and clicked it on. Light flooded the room and his eyes winced at the unexpected brightness for a few moments before they adjusted to it.

After reciting the du’â required of one to say when waking up, he swung his legs over the side of the bed, his bare feet touching the hardwood floor. He slipped his feet into his gray house slippers and wiped the sleep from his leaf-green eyes as he stepped out into the hall.

The hall was dark and still. The children were probably still asleep and Lila definitely was. In the last two months since they’d returned home after Ibrâhîm’s test and diagnosis, she had been going out with friends as soon as he returned home and returning late more frequently than before, usually after he and the twins had gone to bed. His protests and warnings were ignored.

He had no idea what she could be doing while out that late, but it probably wasn’t something good. Her habits were reminding him of her old party-girl behavior from high school. He wasn’t sure he even wanted to know what it was that she was doing, but he had a responsibility to check up behind her and keep her in line if she was disobeying Allâh and His messenger.

He wasn’t sure when she’d returned home this time. She had been picked up by her friend Monica Tyler’s car shortly after he’d returned home from work, leaving him alone with the children. She hadn’t returned while he was awake. He had even called her a few times to ask when she’d be returning and if she required a ride, to which she’d replied in the negative, so he had finally given up. The children had been put to bed at eight, and he’d gone to sleep around ten-thirty. When he woke up around twelve, she still hadn’t been home. He’d checked her bedroom, though she didn’t want him in there, and had confirmed it. Around two o’clock he’d checked again and found her in bed and asleep. He’d left her then. The conversation about appropriate behavior would have to wait for a later time.

He flicked on a switch, flooding the hall with light. He only gave Lila’s bedroom door a casual passing glance as he walked by and continued on to the hallway bathroom that he shared with the twins. As he was walking by the children’s bedroom door, which was cracked open slightly, he paused and glanced in to check on them. The room was dark and silent, and when he opened the door just enough to allow some light in, he could make them out curled up in their beds, bundled beneath the covers.

Satisfied they were both asleep and he wouldn’t have to worry about them for a while, he closed the door and then continued on to the bathroom. He entered with his left foot and recited the du’â for entering the bathroom.

After he’d relieved himself, washed, brushed his teeth, and washed his face, he performed wûdhû for the nâfil prayer he intended to perform. As he finished and left the bathroom, he said the appropriate du’â.

He didn’t even think of trying to wake Lila for Tahajjud. She’d probably throw something at him if he tried—or even attack him. Trying to get her up for Fajr was more than adventurous enough for him. She seemed in no way tempted to join him in the habit that had been instilled in him by his parents at an early age.

He could still remember when he had started praying it with his parents. They had been doing it long before he was born. He had been eight the first time his father had woken him up to join them.

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“Hâroon, get up.”

His father’s familiar voice broke through the barrier of slumber and he opened his eyes. The door was open and light from the hallway flooded in. His father stood by his bed, leaning over him.

“Daddy?”

“Would you like to join us for Tahajjud?” Yahya asked. “We have an hour before Fajr.”

Hâroon had never prayed the late-night prayer, but he already knew what it was and knew his parents prayed it together on most nights. His sister Maryam usually joined them.

He sat up and nodded. “Yeah.”

“Come on then,” his father invited and gestured for him to follow him out of the room.

Hâroon did wûdhû in the bathroom he shared with his brother and their teenage sister, and then he shadowed Yahya to the den. “What about Ya’qoob?” he asked, pointing to the still-closed door of the six-year-old.

“He’s not ready,” his father informed him. “He’s still learning to pray. We’ll ask him if he wants to join us when he’s a little older.”

When they reached the den, ’Alîyâ and Maryam were already there. They were dressed in two-piece prayer outfits and waiting.

They lined up for the prayer with Hâroon and his father in the front and the two females in the rear. Then Yahya raised his hands and began.

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That night had been the starting point for a lifelong habit he had never stopped. Every night afterward, he joined his parents to perform the prayer. Sometimes his sister joined them and sometimes she didn’t; sometimes it was just him and Yahya. He hadn’t known until he was older why his mother seemed to be skipping the prayer when she was quite wide awake.

After he’d married and moved out, he had continued the habit, even though Lila had never been in the mood to join him. It hadn’t discouraged him though. He had stuck to the habit his parents had nurtured in him as a young boy. When he’d first married, he had sometimes hoped for Lila to join him, so they could pray together and spend the early morning hours together just as his parents did. Time had long ago cured him of that desire. Instead, he took pleasure in the peace and quiet without her nagging and complaints grating on his nerves.

He returned to his bedroom on quiet feet and went to the dresser, removing a prayer rug from the bottom drawer. He shook it out and placed it toward the qiblah. He stepped onto it, raised his hands parallel to his ears, and then began the prayer.

He ended the prayer with one unit of Witr. Once he’d said his last tasleem and finished praying, he sat still on the rug for several minutes for his athkâr. Then he stood, folded up the sajâdah, and returned it to its place.

Though he still had plenty of time before needing to prepare himself for Fajr, He didn’t return to bed. Instead, he headed to the kitchen to indulge himself in a cup of hot chocolate. Every single night following Tahajjud, his parents sat down in the kitchen for a cup of hot chocolate or mocha. When he’d started praying with them, he had joined in. He’d never understood why his teenage sister didn’t; but as he’d grown older, he had become more aware of the smiles and glances between ’Alîyâ and Yahyâ that Maryam had probably noticed long before, and he’d started taking his drink back to his bedroom to enjoy by himself so the couple could have their time alone. He’d once fantasized about having a similar tradition with his own wife—but it was not to be.

After heating himself some hot chocolate on the stove, he sat down with a large mug of the hot, sweet drink at the kitchen table and floated in his thoughts. It had been two months since Ibrâhîm’s official diagnosis; he’d been busy with doctor’s appointments, therapy sessions, workshops, and making all the necessary changes to Ibrâhîm’s lifestyle that had been recommended to him since. On the sidelines, he had observed with a mixture of shock and horror as his already difficult wife seemed to be changing back into the girl he’d known in high school more and more with her behavior and late nights, which he definitely needed to get a handle on before she was completely out of control.

As the time for Fajr was nearing, he drained his mug, washed the dishes he’d used and put them away, and then headed back to his bedroom to get ready. After getting a fresh pair of clothes from his closet—a thawb and underclothes—he stepped back out of the room. He paused by the hallway for a towel and then continued on his way to the bathroom for his shower.

Hâroon was always quick and thorough in the shower. His brother had been the opposite. Since they hadn’t lived under the same roof in years, he wasn’t sure if that still held true or not. Within ten minutes, he was out and dressed. He stepped out of the bathroom as he scrubbed his thick auburn hair dry—or at least slightly so—with the towel. As he returned to his bedroom, he draped the towel on the back of the chair at his desk, put his watch back on, and checked the time.

The time of the athân was near, so he needed to leave or he’d arrive late. He picked up the white tâqîyyah on his dresser, setting it on his head, and left the room. Before departing the house, he needed to check on the children one last time and remind Lila to get up—though he doubted she would.

He opened their bedroom door quietly. Ibrâhîm and Yusrâ didn’t stir. They remained as they’d been when he’d checked on them about an hour earlier, curled up in their beds and covered by the blankets. With a soft, tender smile, he closed the door and walked away.

Steeling his resolve for what lay ahead, he moved down the hall in the direction of Lila’s bedroom. Waking her up was never easy and could even be dangerous. She’d thrown things at him many times just for trying to wake her up for Fajr. Someone with more self-preservation and less bravery would have probably stopped by now. He wasn’t quite sure why he hadn’t when his attempts never worked anyway. It was long after the time for prayer when she pulled herself out of bed, and it depended on her mood whether she prayed it or not. It made him wonder if their marriage was actually valid.

Mentally preparing himself, he stopped at Lila’s closed bedroom door. He opened it quietly and stepped into the darkness, leaving the door open to allow some light in to see. Though she normally locked it against him, he had surprisingly found it unlocked when he’d checked if she was home a few hours ago. She must have not been thinking clearly since he couldn’t remember a day she hadn’t locked the door in years.

As his eyes adjusted, he could make out Lila’s slender form wrapped in blankets as she slept in the large off-white king-sized bed, a far more luxurious and expensive piece than the beds bought for himself and the children. The rest of the bedroom was the same, decorated with over-expensive furniture he wouldn’t have bought if her nagging hadn’t been too much for his peace of mind.

He stepped up to the bed, almost tripping over the handbag she must have carelessly tossed to the floor when she’d returned home. His eyes made out clothes strewn about as well. He sighed as he carefully made his way forward so as not to trip over anything else. When he reached the bed, he looked around to make sure there was nothing nearby she could throw at him and cause harm—like a candle. The only thing he noticed was the lamp on her nightstand. He hoped she wouldn’t try to throw that.

He leaned over her and nudged her shoulder. “Lila, get up.” She groaned but didn’t respond or move. He shook her again. “Lila, it’s Fajr. You need to get up.”

“Go away,” she finally said without opening her eyes.

As soon as she spoke, he caught a whiff of something on her breath that smelled suspiciously like alcohol. Though he’d never touched it, he’d been around quite a few drinkers during both high school and college and recognized the stench instantly. Alarm coursed through him.

He narrowed his eyes at his wife. “Have you been drinking?”

Her eyes opened at the accusation. The pale blue eyes that had once fascinated him were cold. “It wasn’t much—and it’s not your business. What are you doing in here? You know you’re not allowed in here.”

He’d already known before she confirmed it, but her admission made it worse. She didn’t even sound guilty. “It is my business,” he said. “Whether you like it or not, I’m still your husband and what you’re doing is very much my business. We’re going to talk about this, but not now. I have to go. Get up and pray.”

“I heard you don’t pray for forty days after drinking,” Lila mused. She didn’t sound disturbed in the least. “That means I shouldn’t pray.”

Worry roiled in his gut at those words. She was losing the battle against her whims and desires. It didn’t even seem like she was trying to fight. He didn’t know if he could save her from what was happening, but he wouldn’t allow himself to be accountable for not trying.

“You heard wrong,” he said firmly, trying to remain calm despite the anger raging within. “Your prayers will not be accepted for forty days as punishment for your disobedience. You still have to pray.” He went to the door to leave. “Get up and pray.”

He doubted she would; and short of threatening her, he didn’t see how he could make her. However, she was an adult who was capable of making her own decisions, regardless of how harmful those decisions might turn out to be. He didn’t have the time to stand over her and make certain she prayed—assuming she’d even listen since she rarely did—since he had to leave or he’d be late. He’d done his duty by informing. It was up to her to obey or disobey.

Without another word, he left her bedroom and closed the door behind him. Then he went down the hall, turning down the corner that led to the door connecting the house to the garage. He unlocked it, walked through it to where his car waited, and locked it behind him.

Several minutes later, after unlocking the garage door, starting the car, and using the remote to lift the door, he reversed out of his car’s parking space, reciting the du’â for using transport. He used the remote to bring the door down and then drove away.

The sky was just beginning to lighten in shades when he returned to the house. He parked the car, switched it off, closed the garage door, and locked it as well as his vehicle. As he entered the house, he said the du’â for returning home. He shut and locked the door behind him.

He checked on the children first, but neither had woken just yet. He left them and headed back to his wife’s room. When he opened the door to check on her, he was unsurprised to find her asleep. He doubted she’d gotten out of bed at all.

Ignoring her preference that he stay out of the room, he entered for the second time of the day and marched to her bedside. “Did you pray yet?”

“You know I don’t want you in here,” she said without opening her eyes. “I don’t want you getting any ideas.”

“I’m not going to touch you,” he returned sharply. “You’re kidding yourself if you think I’d want to.” No truer words could have been spoken. Even the mere thought of sexual intimacy with her was sickening. It had been a long time since he’d felt any degree of desire for her.

Her eyes opened at that declaration. She gave him a saucy smile. “I can change that.”

If the look was meant to provoke desire or interest, it didn’t. It might have years ago when he’d been blind and hormone-driven. Now it just repulsed him. “Your old tricks won’t work on me,” he said tightly. He changed the subject before she could say anything more in that direction. “Have you prayed?”

She closed her eyes again. “Get out.”

“Lila.” He knew he was treading dangerous ground by her tone, but he was going to risk it anyway. “Get up and pray. Then we’re going to talk about last night.”

She sat up abruptly then, her blue eyes sparking with fury and her blond waves in wild disarray. “I said get out!” Not to his complete surprise, she grabbed for the hardest thing nearby—the lamp. “Get out before I throw something at you.”

Hâroon, self-preservation kicking in, stepped toward the door. “Fine,” he said stiffly. “I’ll leave you alone for now, but we will talk.”

She didn’t reply. When he glanced at her, she was lying down again and had her back turned to him. Without another word, he left the room and closed the door behind him.

With the sun rising, it was time to start on breakfast if he wanted an opportunity to eat before heading to work. Lila certainly wouldn’t be making anything for him. After leaving her bedroom, he started toward the kitchen.

Several minutes later, Hâroon sat down to a meal of coffee and biscuits. By then, sunrise had already begun and light was pouring in through the kitchen window. Starting with the du’â for eating, he took apart one of the biscuits, buttered side and added a small amount of strawberry preserves, which had been sent from his mother’s kitchen, and then closed it with the other side. He took a bite, chewed and swallowed, and then took a sip of his coffee—strong and black, just as he liked it.

As he ate in silence, his mind wandered and he pondered the wisdom of leaving the twins alone under Lila’s care—and not simply because he’d realized she’d started drinking again. As of late, she had become far more neglectful of them. Since that fateful day at the doctor’s office, her carelessness had doubled and tripled to such an extent it was as if she’d forgotten the children even existed. On his return home from work, he usually found her immersed in her own interests while the children, especially Ibrâhîm, were ignored. Their son’s most basic needs, like food and a diaper change, were usually neglected. It was Yusra who was trying her hardest to take care of her brother to make up for Lila’s neglect. It had now reached a point where he usually feared what he’d discover when he returned home.

Though Lila had shown little pride or interest in Ibrâhîm during the last two years, she had at least seen to his basic needs while he was at work and watched him well enough so that he didn’t come to any harm; but now she wasn’t even doing that and her neglect also extended to Yusrâ. Hâroon had long ago lost count of the number of times he’d returned home to find the children unattended, hungry, and Ibrâhîm unclean. Instead, such responsibilities were left to him. She also refused to accompany him to any meetings or workshops that could aid in finding out how best to help Ibrâhîm. Their children had obviously fallen from her list of priorities. 

If this was Lila’s way of rebelling against the unwanted diagnosis, which obviously could not be changed, he didn’t know what to think. She reminded him of a spoiled little girl who hadn’t gotten her way or a moody teenager intent on showing her parents how displeased she was by unsatisfactory behavior. Thankfully Mrs. Blythe was usually available to watch Ibrâhîm and Yusrâ during his working hours, but today was one of the days she had been unavailable, which would leave his children alone with their neglectful and intentionally incompetent mother, and Hâroon feared what he’d discover when he returned.

Hâroon didn’t blame Ibrâhîm for the negative changes in the household; his son certainly hadn’t chosen to be autistic. He wasn’t frustrated by the time and effort he needed to put into working with him daily either, though Lila obviously held a different opinion, especially lately. Though he acknowledged the challenge and difficulty of working with Ibrâhîm, he considered it to be a special time between himself and his child rather than a chore. Though Lila never saw the need to involve herself or help during those times, if she was even present, Yusrâ was more than enthusiastic and eager to learn how she could help her brother.

After finishing his breakfast and draining the remains of his coffee, Hâroon said the du’â for after eating. Then he picked up the dishes and took them to the sink, returned the preserves and butter to the refrigerator, and wiped the table clean. Then he washed the dishes he’d used, including the baking pan the biscuits were made in.

After he was done, he cut up some fruits and placed them on the table for his children to find just in case they got hungry before Lila felt like bothering to feed them. He covered the dish with another plate. Then he filled a travel thermos with the rest of the coffee from the coffeemaker.

Before leaving, he decided to check on the children one more time. When he entered the room, the children were showing signs of beginning to wake up. Ibrâhîm rolled from one side of his bed to the other, and Yusrâ stretched out her small frame.

Hâroon stopped by Yusrâ’s bed first. It had been pushed against the wall on one side and had bars on both to prevent the chance of her rolling off the bed while asleep.

He kissed her on the head and her eyelids fluttered open. Though she had her mother’s eyes, they didn’t remind him of Lila much. They looked different somehow, much softer.

“Are you going?” she asked.

He nodded. “Yes, hon. There are fruits on the table if you get hungry, alright?”

She sighed. “Do you have to go? Can’t you do work here? I want you to stay.”

He wanted to stay, too. He didn’t really trust Lila with the children. However, working from home for even a small duration of time could not be done without some negotiation with his superiors.

“Let me talk to Mr. Eckhart and see if I can work from home for a few days,” he said. Brandon Eckhart was an understanding man and they’d become close in the last few years. The children adored him.

Yusrâ smiled. “Okay.”

He left her and went to Ibrâhîm’s bed on the opposite side of the room Just like his sister’s, it had bars on both sides and was pushed against the wall. Just as he leaned over to kiss him, the boy’s eyes opened and he sat up, his head almost colliding with Hâroon’s chin.

Hâroon smiled. “Awake, are you?” He pecked him on the cheek. “Daddy’s going. I’ll see you soon.”

Ibrâhîm didn’t seem to notice him. He showed no acknowledgment of his words, staring straight ahead. He was already in his own world, dwelling within whatever mysteries lay in his mind that Hâroon had yet to figure out.

Hâroon left him and headed to the door. “Assalâmu ’alaykum,” he said as he left. “Love you.”

“Wa’alaykumus salâm!” Yusrâ called after him. “We love you, too!” Ibrâhîm was silent.

Before leaving, Hâroon poked his head in Lila’s room once more. “I’m going.”

She groaned. “What’s with you today? Leave me alone!”

He ignored her. “The kids are up so you need to watch them. Don’t go out. You and I are going to talk about some things when I get back.”

She mumbled something beneath her breath that he couldn’t hear. It was probably best that he didn’t know what it was anyway. He left her and headed toward the door.

Minutes later, he was reversing his car out of the garage. Then he used the remote to lower the door again. He recited the du’â for using transport, buckled himself in, and then drove away; but even as he started on the long commute to the office, all he could think about was whether it had been wise to leave the twins alone with Lila and what he would find when he returned home.

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The midsummer day was sweltering hot, even as it was nearing sunset.  The busy city was filled with activity as people returned home from school and work. Cars and buses slowly moved toward their destinations on the crowded roads; pedestrians—men, women, and children—walked home on the sidewalks.

Hâroon, maneuvering his car through the traffic, was on his way home from work. As he drove in the direction of the house he shared with Lila and their two children, a feeling of dread came over him. He’d spent most of his workday distracted and worrying about what he’d find on his arrival home. He’d called the house a few times during his workday, but Lila hadn’t answered. He couldn’t decide if she was just ignoring him or if she’d gone to sleep again. Yusrâ usually knew not to answer the phone or door, so the fact that she hadn’t picked up in her mother’s place wasn’t surprising. However, the unanswered phone calls did nothing to help his uneasiness.

As turned down their street and then pulled up to the garage, fear and worry roiling in his gut, he removed the remote control from the cup holder and pressed the button that lifted the door. It rose and he pulled in and parked, hitting a button to lower the door and then dropping the remote back in its place. As it closed, he got out to attach the padlock back on the garage door, but as soon as he exited the still-running vehicle, he could hear Ibrâhîm’s screams and cries, though he had not yet entered the house.

Uncertain of what was waiting for him indoors, he quickly attached the padlock, switched off the car, and locked it. Then, carrying the briefcase of papers he’d brought home with him that he needed to review, he headed toward the door that led into the house. As he neared it, the crying became louder. He could even hear Yusrâ’s voice, obviously trying to comfort her brother.

“Don’t cry, Ibby,” she said, sounding very close to tears herself. “Daddy is coming. He’ll help us.”

He could not detect—or at least not from his current position—Lila’s presence or involvement. It seemed likely that she’d left the children alone and unattended and was ignoring them, though he desperately hoped to be wrong. It would not be the first time she’d left them unsupervised as she relaxed in her room with a book or browsed the Internet on the computer. It was not beyond her carelessness to lock herself in her room just to keep them from bothering her.

When he let himself into the house, the crying was louder than ever, and he winced from the volume as he stood in the hallway that connected the rest of the house to the garage.

The first thing he noticed as he stood there, after the wailing and screaming, was the nauseating stench. He cringed in disgust as he realized Lila had not even bothered to see to their son’s most basic needs, a seething anger rising in him. For her to leave him in a dirty diaper all day—which he was certain she had since it had happened before—was inexcusable. If she had not bothered to change him even once, Ibrâhîm had probably been sitting in filth for at least eight hours, and that could very well result in a skin irritation—which the little boy already suffered enough of as a symptom of his autism—or illness.

He headed down the hall in search of Ibrâhîm and Yusra, uncertain of what else he’d discover and partially dreading it. He stepped into the main area of the house. As he’d feared and already deduced, Lila wasn’t in sight nor could he hear her movements nearby, but the sounds of Ibrâhîm’s screeches and Yusrâ’s voice led him in the direction of the den and he followed them.

Hâroon hadn’t been quite sure what to expect when he found the children, especially since the little boy wasn’t being watched by his mother, but it was even worse than he’d thought possible. As he paused at the entrance of the den, he recoiled in horror at the sight that greeted his eyes, his anger towards his wife rising several notches. Ibrâhîm, sprawled out on the floor as he screamed and cried, was still dressed in the navy-blue, rocketship-printed pajama set he’d changed him into after bathing him the night before, an obvious sign Lila had not bothered to change him though it was now past five. She seemed to have not bothered supervising him either—books and a variety of other items were scattered haphazardly on the gray-carpeted floor, tan leather furniture, and mahogany coffee table, most likely thrown during the tantrum. There were stains of some kind on the pale gray curtains and torn pages from the scattered books around the room, some of which came from expensive Islâmic books that had been extremely hard to find.

Yusrâ sat beside her brother, patting his back and trying to talk to him. She wasn’t in much better condition than he was. Her hair was messy and tangled; she was still dressed in her pajamas, evidence Lila hadn’t changed her either and hadn’t bothered to take her to the daycare center; and he saw food stains on the front of her clothes. A plate of some type of yellow pulp was in front of her that looked like it might be half-cooked eggs, some of it smashed into the carpet.

“Daddy!” she cried as soon as she saw him. Then, unlike her usual self, she burst into tears. “Help me! I don’t know what to do! Ibrâhîm won’t stop crying and the food I made is yucky and I don’t know how to change him!”

Hâroon had always prided himself on being a calm-natured individual and slow to anger most of the time, but as he witnessed the obvious, intentional neglect of his children and thought of the harm both of them could have come to if not for Allâh’s protection, an unfamiliar feeling of rage burned and boiled within him; it took all the willpower he had not to give into the fury and unleash it on the wall to the background of his son’s screams and daughter’s wails.

Giving into the pain momentarily, he squeezed his eyes shut and forced himself to take deep, calming breaths. Growing up, it had been his elder sister Maryam with the boiling hot temper and his brother Ya’qoob had been more likely to give into emotional outbursts. Of the three of them, Hâroon had always been the calm and level-headed one, but he didn’t feel so level-headed now. Though he had been frustrated, annoyed, and irritated with his wife many times since they’d married, it was the first time he had felt absolute rage—the first time he had almost lost complete control of himself, but he didn’t want to scare the already agitated children when it wasn’t their fault.

When he had calmed down enough to deal with the situation and act reasonably—rather than taking out his anger on inanimate objects that were not at fault—he opened his eyes again. “Yusrâ,” he said softly, gently. “It’s alright.” He strode across the room to the crying children. “I’m here now,” he said, rubbing her back comfortingly. “Don’t cry.”

Thankfully, Yusrâ calmed quickly. She wiped her eyes on the sleeve of the heart-printed pajama set she was wearing and managed a watery smile. “I’m okay now. But Ibby is dirty and we’re hungry.”

Hâroon nodded as he picked up Ibrâhîm, who continued to thrash and scream. With every mournful cry and every movement he attempted to free himself with, Hâroon’s heart broke more. He rubbed Ibrâhîm’s back comfortingly as he jerked and fought. “It’s alright, buddy. I’m here. Daddy’s here. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

The stench of his son was intolerable and nauseating. His clothes were damp from urine and, to Hâroon’s horror, he noticed a brown stain of which there was no doubt what the source was. Another wave of anger hit him at Lila’s neglect—this was the type of carelessness that could bring child protection services to his door and get his children taken away from him. In fact, it was a miracle that hadn’t happened already since he was certain Ibrâhîm had been screaming and crying for a good part of the day without any response from his mother. One of the neighbors could have easily called child protection services or the cops. If either had walked into what he had found on his return home, he would probably have an appearance in court to make.

The condition the children were in gave Hâroon a different and far more negative perspective of his wife than he’d ever had. Though she had few redeeming qualities and he often thought of her as selfish and self-centered, he’d never thought her capable of cruelty and heartlessness toward her own children. She had willfully and intentionally left them to their own devices while knowing quite well that they had to be supervised, especially Ibrâhîm. Though Hâroon had heard of women who did not care much for their children and had even abandoned them, it still shocked him that his wife might very well be one of them.

As Ibrâhîm continued to cry and scream, struggling to wrench himself free, Hâroon carried him up the stairs to the bedroom wing, heading toward the children’s room to get what was needed for his bath. Yusrâ trailed behind him, hiccupping from her intense breakdown earlier. Along the way, he passed his bedroom, the open door making him realize he’d forgotten to lock the door when he’d left for work, which meant Ibrâhîm had probably entered and may have destroyed it just as much as the den.

Deciding whatever damage Ibrâhîm had wreaked on the bedroom could wait until after he’d been cleaned up and both children had been fed, he continued on to the next room. He was unsurprised to see the disaster area Ibrâhîm had made. Momentarily setting down the still-crying child, he looked around him with a resigned sigh. Construction toys, dolls, jumbo-sized cars, and the games recommended by specialists were scattered between the shelf, toy chest, and bed. Clothing had been pulled out of the closet from the shelves that could be reached and now hung from them or stretched across the length of the floor. The variety of shoes Ibrâhîm and Yusrâ owned for different seasons and outings—boots, sneakers, and sandals—had been pulled out from where they had been neatly parked at the bottom of the closet and tossed about, the pairs now separated and some missing. Some of the tear-proof picture books that had been kept on the toy shelf were among the array of scattered items as well as the ripped pages Hâroon recognized to be from storybooks he tried to read to the children occasionally.

The room was in absolute chaos, and what he had seen of the den and the twins’ room made him terrified to see what any of the other rooms his son might have targeted might look like. The fact that his wife had left their children alone and unattended long enough for Ibrâhîm to pull off such chaos heightened his already boiling anger. More than familiar with his tendencies and habits, he knew Ibrâhîm would have had to have been left alone for quite some time to have achieved such a level of destruction of their home.

It was beyond him how Lila could be so careless and neglectful of her own child—or any child who needed supervision for that matter—but it was somehow worse when it was Ibrâhîm who was her responsibility. Even if she now felt their son was a burden because of his behavior and the diagnosis, it did not excuse her neglect. She was still Ibrâhîm’s mother and it was her responsibility to care for him. It was beyond ridiculous that he could not trust her with her own children and was forced to rely on the goodwill of a neighbor to watch them most of the time, which he couldn’t expect her to continue to do so long-term when she had other responsibilities. He would need to find a solution to the problem and soon.

Yusra was in playgroup and her center had after-school programs for kids whose parents worked late, so she wasn’t a concern. He could make arrangements to drop her off before work and pick her up after Ibrâhîm, who had been rejected from several daycare centers when Lila had tried to enroll him, would be the problem. Though Hâroon had noticed Ibrâhîm’s behavior starting to show improvements from the therapy, those improvements had not yet reached a degree he’d be easily accepted into a regular daycare program.

It was of course inconceivable for him to take  Ibrâhîm to the office. For the average four-year-old, it may have been possible for a short duration until he could decide on what to do about the problem, but that could not be done with his son. He would be a major distraction from work, would be unable to sit still for longer than a few seconds at a time, and would probably get into important documents or destroy objects the instant his back was turned. It was not a risk he could take if he wanted to keep his job.

At first, Hâroon considered the idea of hiring a long-term caretaker for Ibrâhîm and Yusrâ, but after some thought, he realized that a caretaker could only be a temporary solution to the problem, if he could even find one, and both his children needed permanence and stability. Ibrâhîm especially, at this sensitive part of his life, didn’t need hired help—he needed a mother to love him, support him, and understand the confusion he was going through. As much as Ibrâhîm needed stability, love, and support, Hâroon and Yusrâ needed it, too.

Hâroon wanted a home he wished to return to rather than escape from, a woman who would bring pleasure and joy at the very sight of her rather than resentment and misery—things he could not feel for Lila. The only emotions his wife evoked were resentment, anger, or dread. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d even felt the urge to touch her, but he considered it an advantage since it saved him from the humiliation of acting on a desire that would be shot down; there had been nothing that had humiliated him and stabbed his pride more than to realize his wife was repulsed by his touch.

A man with less taqwâ than he possessed may have eventually fallen into an extramarital relationship. It would have been far too easy for Hâroon to do the same. Since his wife wasn’t meeting his emotional and physical needs, it would have been simple to find a woman to fulfill the role. Even though he wore his religion outwardly, women still noticed him. He would never be considered the most attractive of men, but he was pleasing enough to catch attention. His family was too far away to catch wind of any indiscretions on his part and he was surrounded by young, attractive women at work. However, he was not that kind of man. If he could control himself during the hormone-crazed teen years, he could certainly do it even better now. On days the temptation to act on desire and loneliness was stronger than others or overtures from an interested woman seemed harder to resist, he fasted just as it was recommended and it helped him.

The things he desired for both himself and the twins could only be achieved by marrying again. He would find someone who would accept and support his son regardless of his difficulties and problematic behaviors and be a mother to both children. He would find someone who would provide him with the emotional support and physical satisfaction every man needed from his wife. He would have the kind of marriage he’d dreamed of before Lila had crushed his dreams, pride, and self-esteem with her emotional abuse and sharp tongue.

In truth, it was not the first time Hâroon had considered the thought of marrying a second wife. He had thought about it more than once since Sâlih Harrison had married a second wife. It would be the perfect solution to his problems if he could pull it off correctly. His wife didn’t desire to be intimate with him, have any more children, or even take care of the children they had—all of them more than valid reasons to marry another wife. Over the past few months, he had thought about it more and more; and he felt he’d finally come to the decision. A second wife was what was best for both him and the twins.

“Ibrâhîm made a big mess everywhere,” Yusrâ’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “I tried to stop him, but he wouldn’t listen.”

Hâroon smiled gently. “It’s alright. Daddy will clean it up later.” No truer statement was spoken. He knew Lila wouldn’t help, even if she was partly responsible for not supervising the children properly.

As Ibrâhîm wandered around the room, still crying and screaming, Hâroon focused on what needed to be done rather than the future he was planning in his head. That would have to wait. Making his way through the chaos his son’s bedroom had become, he waded through the scattered toys, books, clothing, and other items before finally reaching the closet. First, he quickly removed all the items that had been partially pulled off the shelves by Ibrâhîm and dropped them to the floor to be refolded and put away later. He fully expected to be doing it himself with no help from his wife, as usual. Then he sorted through the articles of clothing the four-year-old had not been able to reach, selecting a red T-shirt—Ibrâhîm’s favorite color—and a pair of khakis. He moved on to the chest of drawers by the bed and pulled open the middle drawer, taking out a fresh diaper as well as rash cream, certain he would need it.

He dropped the clothing onto Ibrâhîm’s unmade bed to dress him in after his bath and then tucked the diaper and tube of cream under his arm as he took his son by the hand and led him out of the bedroom. “Wait in here,” he told Yusrâ. “I’m going to get Ibrâhîm cleaned up.”

“Okay, Daddy,” she called after him.