TWENTY

Hâroon ushered Ibrâhîm toward the hallway bathroom, which was shared between the two of them and Yusrâ. “Let’s get you cleaned up, and then we can see about finding you something to eat.”

Though still crying, Ibrâhîm allowed himself to be led inside, and Haroon recited the necessary du’â as they entered the bathroom, left foot preceding the right.

Inside the white-themed bathroom—from the walls and floor tiles to the ceramic constructions of toilet, sink, and bathtub—Hâroon hung the clothes on the steel bar beside the two pale green bath towels already present and set the cream and diaper on the side of the sink. Locking the door so Ibrâhîm wouldn’t open the door and run out, he left his son to wander as he sat on the covered toilet seat beside the tub to turn on the water and adjust the temperature.

Ibrâhîm was ultra-sensitive about the temperature of the water he bathed in, Hâroon had discovered. What most people would consider pleasantly cool was too cold and what was a gentle warm seemed to be too hot. Having learned about the sensory issues that were connected with autism, Ibrâhîm’s sensitivity made far more sense than it had at the time he’d begun to notice it. It wasn’t the only particularity he had noticed though. He’d also taken notice of a lot of other habits, dislikes, and aversions that he now knew to be connected to sensory issues.

Ibrâhim abhorred collared shirts and anything made of denim. He despised anything stiff and scratchy, but he loved cotton and other soft materials. The times Hâroon had dared to dress him in clothes made with a material he didn’t like had resulted in a strip down, sometimes embarrassingly in public, followed by a laughing shriek as the child tore around in his diaper and his father attempted to catch him to redress him.

He had an odd aversion to the color green and wouldn’t eat anything of that color—vegetable or otherwise, including sweets—which made adding vegetables to his diet a challenge; and he also had a dislike of mushy foods like oatmeal and grits and refused to eat them.

He had an obsession with the color red. He loved anything from clothing to toys that were red. He had even swiped items from stores of that color to Hâroon’s embarrassment.

He hated having his hair touched in any form, including washed, cut, and brushed, which usually dissolved him to tears and could even lead to screaming. There were also a number of other small things that were of little importance but indicators of his son’s sensory sensitivities and autism.

Once Hâroon had successfully brought the water to the temperature Ibrâhîm preferred, he plugged the drain and let the water run to fill the tub. Ibrâhîm continued to whine and cry as he wandered around the bathroom, and the echo disturbed his sensitive sense of hearing, agitating him further. Clapping his hands over his ears, he rocked back and forth—one of the several stims he used when he became uncomfortable from a sensory overload. Though when he acted on them in public, people generally stared, Hâroon had noticed they seemed to have a calming effect on him. Lila would immediately try to prevent any type of stim that could be constituted as odd behavior in public, but he had realized it was more helpful to his son to allow him to calm himself in whatever way he chose as long as he wasn’t causing himself or others harm than attempt to force him into socially acceptable behavior.

Once the tub was half-filled, he switched off the water and rose. “Let’s get you cleaned up, Ibrâhîm,” he said, taking him by the arm and squatting before him.

Holding Ibrâhîm as still as could be managed—as he continued his rocking and frequent jerks—Hâroon undressed him, removing the pajama set. Nausea hit him as the stench of feces and urine became even stronger, increasing the building anger toward Lila. The brown-yellow stain on the sides of the diaper and covering part of the child’s upper thighs were a clear indication that it had reached its maximum long ago. Tamping down the nausea as best as he could, he mentally prepared himself for the worst as he removed the diaper. As expected, the diaper was full to the limit with human waste. His son’s backside was smeared with feces, and both his pelvic area and behind were red and irritated.

“Well, that’s nasty,” he told him, trying to keep his tone upbeat and cheerful despite the mixture of nausea and anger he was feeling.

He wrapped the dirty diaper as best as could be managed and tossed it into the trash—which would now need to be taken out as soon as possible—beneath the sink. Then, lifting the cover of the toilet seat, he picked up his son and set him on it to wash him thoroughly before putting him into the tub. He grabbed the spray hose installed beside the toilet and leaned over Ibrâhîm to wash the filth off.

Not welcoming the cold water on his naked, irritated skin, Ibrâhîm began to struggle and cry, but Hâroon held him in place, though it broke his heart to have his son in discomfort. “Hold on a minute, buddy,” he said in a soothing tone. “This won’t take long. I’m almost done.”

When he had successfully washed everything off, he returned the hose to its holder and lifted Ibrâhîm off the toilet seat. As he set him down, he noticed brown stains on the seat that would have to be cleaned. With a sigh, he grabbed the hose and washed off the stains and then put it back. A more thorough cleaning with antiseptic would have to wait until after Ibrâhîm was bathed and fed.

Though Ibrâhîm had stopped crying once he was given his freedom, he continued whining, and when Hâroon picked him up and set him in the tub of warm water, he wasn’t as excited or happy as he would have been normally. Though he despised having his hair washed, Ibrâhîm also loved water and loved to play in it. He enjoyed most of bath time and spent the duration of it kicking and splashing. This time, however, he was not in the mood for his usual water games. He didn’t try to remove himself from the water, but he whined and started crying again. Lila’s neglect obviously could not be fixed by the entertainment he usually enjoyed.

Hâroon was sure Ibrâhîm was agitated and frustrated from not eating the whole day and having been unable to acquire food for himself. He was certain Lila had not fed the children at all. The more he thought about it, the angrier he became with her. She had not even bothered to show herself since his return either, which was probably safer for her since he was sure to let loose his rage the instant he set his eyes on her. There was absolutely no excuse for the gross neglect he had witnessed, and he could think of nothing she could say to justify it. What he had seen was what every parent’s nightmare was made of—one of the most extreme forms of child abuse and neglect that could result in the stripping of parental custody and rights.

“It’s alright, Ibrâhîm,” he murmured with a soft sigh, his heart breaking for his child. “I’m going to get you some food very soon. You just have to be a little patient.”

Working quickly so he could get to feeding Ibrâhîm and Yusrâ, he picked up the large cup sitting on the side of the tub and began to fill it with water from the tub which he then poured gently over his skin to wash him, avoiding his hair which would be left for last. He took the lavender-scented soap bar from the holder attached to the white-tiled wall and moistened it with some water before he rubbed it between his hands. Then he lifted Ibrâhîm to stand on his feet and began to cover his entire body with the lather. Then, after returning the soap to its place, he used the cup again, pouring water slowly and washing off the suds, refilling the vessel to repeat the process as many times as necessary.

Finally, he was nearly done—all that was left was to wash Ibrâhîm’s hair, which was certain to be even more stressful and difficult than usual. Refilling the cup with water, he poured it over the curly red locks, mentally prepared for the worst. The water had barely touched his hair when the child began shrieking and screaming. It was even worse than Hâroon had been prepared for. Though Ibrâhîm normally cried through his hair being washed, the blood-curdling screams were not the usual scenario. Intent on being as quick as possible since he knew the cries would not stop until it was over, Hâroon quickly wet and shampooed the hair as Ibrâhîm cried, screamed, and struggled. Then he took down the shower head, turned on the water and adjusted it, and quickly rinsed the shampoo out of his son’s hair as well as giving his body a quick rinse to wash off any remaining soap or shampoo.

“All done, all done,” he told the agitated little boy. “I’m sorry, buddy, but we can’t not wash your hair.”

Switching off the water, he returned the shower head to its holder, relieved to be done, and then lifted Ibrâhîm, who was still screaming, out of the tub and set him on his feet. He unplugged the drain and watched as the used water swirled in a miniature whirlpool and disappeared from sight. Normally, Ibrâhîm was fascinated by the sight, but today he didn’t even notice and continued crying and screaming.

Hâroon grabbed one of the towels off the bar attached to the wall and began to gently pat his son dry as he squatted before him, trying to hold him still. Then, trying to be quick and gentle, he dried Ibrâhîm’s locks, and Ibrâhîm released an ear-splitting screech, causing him to wince. How his wife didn’t think it necessary to make an appearance and check on their son when he sounded like he was being murdered was beyond him.

“Okay, okay...” Hâroon said softly, removing the towel from his son’s head as soon as his hair was adequately dried. “We’re done. No more hair stuff—I promise.”

He then tossed the towel into the sink and reached for the diaper and rash cream he had left on the side of the sink. “Let’s get you dressed and then we can find you some food,” he told Ibrâhîm. “This’ll only take a minute.”

He uncapped the tube, generously covering the irritated areas of his son’s lower body with the cream. Then he shook out the folded pull-on diaper, helping Ibrâhîm into it and pulling it up. “Done,” he announced as he recapped the tube and rose from his squatting posture. Picking up the pajama set that had been discarded on the floor earlier, he tossed it into the laundry hamper. Then, momentarily hanging the towel over one arm, he washed his hands with soap at the sink. Turning to Ibrâhîm, he wrapped the towel around him and guided him toward the bathroom door. “Let’s go and get you dressed.”

He unlocked the door and stepped out with the little boy, rash cream still in hand. As they entered the hall, he recited the du’â for leaving the bathroom and closed the door behind them.

With a hand firmly placed on Ibrâhîm’s bony shoulder, he directed him back to his bedroom. “Yusrâ, hon, can you wait outside while I dress your brother?”

Yusrâ, seated on her bed and looking at a book, nodded. “Okay, Daddy.” She slipped off the bed and left the room with her book.

Hâroon closed the door and went over to the chest of drawers, dropping the tube of cream into the drawer he’d taken it from. He guided Ibrâhîm toward the bed by the shoulders and sat down, removing the towel and dropping it to the floor. Positioning him between his legs, he picked up the T-shirt and proceeded to help him into his clothes.

“All done,” he told him once he was fully dressed. “Ready to go find something to eat?” He knew that once he had the children fed, he had a lot of cleaning up to do—something he wasn’t looking forward to, especially since he knew assistance was extremely unlikely.

Pushing aside the thought of the daunting task ahead of him, he focused his attention on feeding the starving children first. Ibrâhîm was still whining and crying loudly, and Hâroon determined that he had been forced to wait much too long. Feeding the children would have been his first task if Ibrâhîm had not been covered in filth.

Before leaving, he selected a fresh pair of clothes for Yusrâ to change into. Since she was already dressing herself, she wouldn’t require his assistance. Then he took Ibrâhîm by the hand, leading him out of the room. “Alright—let’s find you something to eat. Maybe you’ll be happier after eating.” He definitely hoped that would hold true. He wasn’t sure how he’d be able to keep him occupied while he cleaned if he was crying for the rest of the day.

Yusrâ was seated beside the door, leaning against the wall as she looked at her storybook. She looked up as her father and brother came out of the bedroom. “Can we eat now?”

“Yes,” her father said. “I’m going to the kitchen to make us something to eat. I left clothes for you on your bed. Change and then come to the kitchen. Call me if you need help.”

“Okay, Daddy.”

As she jumped to her feet and skipped into the bedroom, obviously in a better mood than she’d been when he had entered the house, he continued down the hall with Ibrâhîm. Passing by his open bedroom, this time Hâroon couldn’t resist glancing in to find out what Ibrâhîm may have done inside. He froze as his eyes took in the fiasco that proved his son had definitely been in his room, unattended by an adult. The average-sized bedroom—which contained white-themed furniture that consisted of a double bed, dresser, and bookshelf as well as a mahogany desk and matching file cabinet to store important documents from work—was a disaster. The pile of clean laundry, formerly neatly piled in a basket in a corner of the room to be folded at the first opportunity, was thrown and spread on the floor; an array of books—most of them business volumes, memoirs, history books, parenting guides, and Islâmic titles—had been pulled off the shelves within Ibrâhîm’s reach and thrown around the room, and pieces of paper that had been clearly ripped out of them were scattered; and the items that had been left on his desk—an assortment of books, papers, writing utensils, and other objects that had been left there for convenience—had been pulled down, some of the pencils broken, books open and pages ripped, and ink stains scribbled on some of the pages.

Hâroon drew in a deep breath and released it slowly, reminding himself Ibrâhîm was not at fault; he’d probably been acting out for attention. As important as some of the papers and books on his desk were, they were not irreplaceable. His son was. The state of his bedroom was just further evidence against his wife and her neglect.

It was miraculous that his son was relatively unharmed after being so severely neglected for most of the day, especially considering the damage he’d managed to cause to the house. Even though Yusrâ was present and would have tried to keep her brother out of trouble, she couldn’t really control him. The only reason Ibrâhîm was still standing in one piece, Hâroon knew, was that Allâh had been looking out for the children while their mother had been ignoring them. However, a repeat was not guaranteed to have the same result. Another day like this could most likely lead to Ibrâhîm harming himself or Yusrâ in some way; he could not allow this circumstance to repeat itself. He had to take action, so he decided that he’d probably take a few days off from the office until he could arrange someone who could be available to look after his children on a daily basis.

“Couldn’t even spare Daddy’s room, could you?” he murmured to Ibrâhîm as he looked down at him, humor mixed with concern in his tone. “You’ve left a lot of work for me today, kiddo.”

As they passed by Lila’s closed bedroom door, Hâroon paused. It was abnormally out of character for his wife not to make her presence known in some way. However, the entire house was silent and not a sound emitted from beyond the door. For a moment, he felt a prick of concern. Perhaps he’d misjudged the situation and something was wrong. Though any type of fondness he had felt for her had long ago died, he still cared enough to feel worry. He needed to ensure that she was fine and well. He’d never forgive himself if something was wrong and he completely ignored her need for help out of misplaced judgment and anger.

Though Ibrâhîm was still whining and crying to be fed, he knew he had to check and be sure Lila was fine before he continued on to the kitchen. He turned the doorknob first, but the door was locked, as was the usual. He rapped on the door with his knuckles. “Lila, are you alright?”

Silence was the only response he received. A chill of fear raced up his spine. He knocked harder, raising his voice. “Lila?”

When there was no response nor even a sound within to hint that she was merely ignoring him as she usually did, his slight concern turned to dread as all the possible reasons his wife could be kept from answering passed through his mind. There was the slight possibility that she was sleeping very heavily and just couldn’t hear him, but his own instincts told him that wasn’t the case. He had to get into the room and find out what was wrong.

Even though the couple had not shared a bedroom for years, he retained a copy of her bedroom key just in case. Thankful for that twist of fate, he dug into his pocket and pulled out the key ring that held extra copies of all the bedroom keys for the house. Sorting through them, he finally selected the key for Lila’s bedroom from among them and pushed it into the lock. The turn of the key and sliding back of the lock seemed eerily loud in the silence.

He turned the knob and slowly pushed open the door, partly terrified of what he’d find. Leaving his son in the hall, just in case it wasn’t something he would want him to witness, he entered. Sunlight poured in through the windows, the off-white curtains drawn back, and the king-sized bed was made up and empty. He stopped short in confusion as he looked around. The bedroom, almost double the size of the one he now used with an attached bathroom and mahogany furniture, was bright and silent. Lila didn’t even appear to be in the room, but that didn’t make sense. She’d never depart the house and leave the children alone while he was at work, or at least he didn’t think so. She usually left them with Mrs. Blythe at the very least.

Within moments, however, he quickly confirmed that Lila was definitely not anywhere in the bedroom. For just a moment, he thought it possible that she could be in the shower and hadn’t heard him, but the bathroom was silent and when he tried the door, it opened easily, a vacant room greeting his eyes. The growing concern he had felt before opening the bedroom door turned to horror as he began to consider the idea that maybe his wife had truly left their two four-year-old children, one of them developmentally-challenged, alone and unattended in the house; but he still didn’t want to believe it. He held onto the hope that maybe she was just hiding out in one of the other rooms. They still had two other unused bedrooms that Hâroon had thought to be unnecessary—maybe she had confined herself in one of them to not be found for whatever reason she had.

He strode out of the room, closing it behind him and then locking it back to prevent Ibrâhîm from entering and rifling through his mother’s belongings. As the little boy followed, whining and crying, Hâroon explored the rest of the house. It took less than a minute to confirm that Lila definitely wasn’t in the other rooms. Both bedrooms were the same empty spaces they had been when he and Lila had moved in two years ago and his wife wasn’t in either one. The realization soon hit him that she had indeed left Ibrâhîm and Yusrâ alone in the house, obviously for hours, and the concern and worry he had temporarily been overcome by quickly exploded into a hot, molten rage. If she had appeared at that moment, he couldn’t have guaranteed that he wouldn’t have struck her—and he had never hit a woman in his life.

He would be giving the woman a piece of his mind whenever she saw fit to return home. He still couldn’t believe she’d actually left two young children alone and unattended in the house for hours, and her very own children at that. Though he had noticed drastic, troubling changes in his wife in the last few months in her behavior toward the children and even more so since they had received the diagnosis, he had never thought it possible she would take her neglect this far. It was an absolute relief that Ibrâhîm and Yusrâ had come to no harm and surprising that no one on the street had noticed the problem. Perhaps his closest neighbors still had not returned home, which would explain why no one had bothered to check. In a way, it was a miracle that neighborhood cops hadn’t noticed either, or he’d be fighting a battle with child protection services. If Lila had been so determined to head out, she could have at least taken the time to call him to return home instead of leaving their children alone.

“Daddy?” Yusrâ’s voice interrupted his thoughts, sounding slightly confused. “You weren’t in the kitchen. I was looking for you.”

Hâroon pushed his angry thoughts of his irresponsible wife to the side. He had more pressing concerns and duties to tend to at the moment, but he definitely wasn’t letting Lila off for her latest behavior. He turned to his daughter. “Sorry, hon. I was looking for your mother.”

“Mommy isn’t here,” Yusrâ informed him matter-of-factly. “She’s not back yet.”

“When did she leave?” he asked as he took Ibrâhîm’s hand and led the two children to the kitchen.

Yusrâ shrugged. “A little bit after you, I think. She didn’t take me to play group. She said she was too busy.”

If asked before today, he wouldn’t have believed his wife would leave the two children alone and unattended while she went out to see to her own wishes, but now he wondered if this was the only time she had done so. “Does your mother leave you and Ibrâhîm alone in the house when I’m at work?”

“Sometimes.” Yusrâ stopped and bit her lip, looking uneasy. “But I’m not supposed to tell you...” She added, “She comes back before you. She’s late today.”

The fact that Lila had been leaving the children alone and unattended during his absence from the house for some time was troubling and did nothing to cool the anger and rage he was feeling toward her. If anything, it made him angrier. Nothing could justify leaving the children alone. If something important came up, there was no reason she couldn’t take the children with her, but knowing Lila and her recently frivolous and self-centered ways, it probably wasn’t important at all.

“I wish you’d told me,” Hâroon said, feigning a calm he definitely didn’t feel. He didn’t want Yusrâ to feel at fault. “You and your brother are too little to be by yourself. I would have made sure someone was here if I knew your mother was going out and leaving you by yourselves.”

“It’s okay, Daddy,” Yusrâ said. “I’m a big girl now so I don’t need a babysitter anymore. Mommy said so. Ibrâhîm needs to be watched though, so I watch him carefully. I didn’t do so good at watching him today though, so I guess a grown-up would be better...”

Hâroon’s heart broke a little for the little girl. She wasn’t supposed to consider it her primary responsibility to watch and take care of her brother. She was four years old and being given the responsibility of someone at least ten years older by her own mother. Why on earth his wife saw fit to put her responsibilities on the shoulders of their little girl just because she didn’t feel like doing them was beyond him.

When he and the children reached the kitchen, he stopped in the doorway. The mess that met his eyes caused his shoulders to slump in resignation. It appeared that the only rooms that had been left untouched were the bathrooms, Lila’s locked bedroom, and the spare rooms that didn’t contain anything that Ibrâhîm could have gotten into and had also been locked up. Naturally, his hungry son had struck the kitchen, probably in an attempt to find himself food, but the disaster he’d left behind seemed to indicate that he may have not been successful in achieving his goal.

The large refrigerator gaped open and a mess of broken eggshells and glass jars was scattered before it. It was a relief that neither of the children had cut themselves on the shards of shattered glass. The lower cabinets had also been opened and bags, boxes, and cans were spread across the flour. The countertop was dusted with a crystal-like substance that he recognized as sugar, making him realize that his son had probably climbed up on top and pulled the sugar out of one of the overhead cabinets, and he saw traces of flour on some parts of the counter and the floor. Drawers had been pulled open and silverware spilled onto the floor. Even the pantry was open and some of the items had been pulled off the lower shelf, nothing of which would have appealed to his son since most of what was stored was raw and dry ingredients.

Looking around him at the disaster, Hâroon desperately hoped nothing of the raw food unfit for consumption before cooking, such as the eggs, had entered Ibrâhîm’s mouth. Given the state of the house, Lila’s irresponsibility and neglect could have had a far more dangerous and tragic result to his son’s health and welfare. He was thankful that the only harm that had been done seemed to be on objects and that the child was fine—even though he’d certainly left a mess of the likes he had never seen or thought possible. He also knew he—and only he—would be the one to clean it.

His parents would have found his relationship with Lila when it came to the household chores extremely odd. He had been taught from a young age to pull his weight around both the house and the farm, but the women had always been the primary caretakers when it came to the household—not so with his wife. After living with her, he had soon realized she was nothing like his mother and sister, and she had no inclination to take on the household chores he had automatically expected her to. He found himself both cleaning up after the twins as well as cooking their meals; and though he was more than willing to lend a hand, as he and his father had frequently done when he was growing up back home, he found it frustrating that Lila left most of the housework to him while she spent the whole day at home and he was working. She couldn’t even be bothered to supervise their children properly.

“I guess you must have been really hungry,” Hâroon commented lightly to Ibrâhîm, forcing down the anger and rage he felt toward his wife. “I’m sorry Daddy wasn’t here to help. We’ll fix that in just a minute.”

“I tried to cook,” Yusrâ said, and he took notice of the pan left on the counter by the stove, the stool Yusrâ usually used to reach the bathroom sink to brush her teeth beneath it. “It didn’t taste very good. Ibrâhîm didn’t like it.”

Hâroon was horrified that Yusrâ had had such easy and open access to the stove. She could have easily burned herself or caused a lot of damage. A four-year-old child was nowhere near ready to cook on her own. Between her wailing and Ibrâhîm’s screaming earlier, he hadn’t focused on that point, but now he clearly remembered the plate of underdone eggs that she’d had in front of her in the den.

Hâroon tried not to show his fear when he finally responded. “I think it’s best that you leave the cooking to the grown-ups for now, Yusrâ hon. You’re not quite ready to do that yet. You could hurt yourself.”

“I guess not,” she agreed with a sigh. “I would have waited, but I was hungry and Ibrâhîm was crying and getting into everything.”

“Daddy will make sure you and Ibrâhîm aren’t left alone to take care of yourselves again,”  Hâroon said firmly. “This won’t happen again.”

Yusrâ smiled in relief. “I’m glad. Today was really hard.”

“I’m sorry, hon,” he said, deciding he was going to need to have a very serious talk with Lila whenever she saw fit to return home.

Just in case there happened to be traces of glass on the floor too small to be seen, he decided to carry the twins to the table, grateful he had not yet removed his shoes. He picked up Ibrâhîm first. “Don’t move,” he instructed Yusrâ. “There might be glass and I don’t want you to cut your feet. I’ll carry you. Let me get your brother settled first.”

“Okay, Daddy.”

After he had carried the little boy to the table and buckled him into the toddler highchair, he returned to the doorway for Yusrâ. Since she obediently followed instructions and was able to stay in her chair for a long duration of time, he set her on a chair. “Stay. Don’t move. I’ll get you both something to eat.”

Then he turned back to the mess that was waiting for him. As he looked around again, it came to him that Ibrâhîm’s attempt to feed himself showed he had known where the food was kept and how to attempt to reach it. It was proof to him that the little boy wasn’t quite as oblivious and unaware of his surroundings as he seemed, and it gave him hope for his future.

With both children seated, Ibrâhîm banging on the table from his chair and whining to remind his father of his need for food, Hâroon went to the refrigerator, trying to avoid stepping on glass shards, broken eggshells, and spilled food. Knowing the hungry children had already been made to wait long enough for a meal and could not wait for much longer, especially Ibrâhîm, he looked over the contents for something fast and easy to give the twins to keep them occupied long enough for him to start a meal.

After a quick scouring of what was available, he picked out a few apples and oranges from the drawer the vegetables and fruits were  stored in. He stepped away from the refrigerator, the mess on the floor preventing him from closing the door—at least not without making it worse.

He paused at the sink and quickly rinsed the fruits. Then on two separate plates, he placed the selection of fruits, peeling the oranges. Tossing away the orange peel, he set a plate before each child. “I’ll make you something more filling, but eat this for now.” Then he added, “Say bismillah, Yusrâ.”

As she did, he recited the du’â for Ibrâhîm. He had barely recited the basmalah when both brother and sister grabbed one of the fruits on each of their plates, taking large bites and chewing hungrily.

He watched as the twins enthusiastically chewed with gusto. Though both children loved food, he had never seen them enjoy something as simple as apples and oranges so much. It brought home how hungry they must be and Haroon’s heart squeezed painfully.

“Stay,” he reminded his daughter as he left the table. “Don’t move from your chair.”

She nodded in the midst of chewing, and he left the children to continue eating so he could decide on a full meal to make for the three of them. Before deciding on what he would make for lunch, however, he decided cleaning up the shards of glass on the floor should be his first priority. As obedient as Yusrâ was, she was not likely to sit still for the entire time it took for him to prepare a meal. He went to the hallway storage closet that the cleaning supplies were kept in, took the long-handled dustpan and the connecting broom, and returned to the kitchen to sweep up the mess waiting for him, especially the glass.

Hâroon pushed everything that had been dropped or fallen to the previously white-tiled floor into the dustpan with the broom, including the flour and sugar by the counters. Streaks of red, orange, white remained, but the glass, broken eggshells, and anything else that could be stepped on and cause harm had been removed. He dumped the mess into the trashcan and then swept up anything remaining he’d missed. Once he was sure all the glass had been swept up, he dropped what was left in the trash and then rinsed the stain-covered dustpan and broom at the sink.

He returned them to the closet and retrieved the mop to wipe up the stains that remained on the floor. Before mopping, he leaned the mop against the counter and picked up the silverware spilled onto the floor, rinsing what had only been dusted with flour and sugar and tossing those that had been touched by wet substances into the sink. Then he dampened the mop strings at the sink and then set it on the floor, dragging and sometimes scrubbing the floor. Though he considered simply wiping up the stains with just water, especially considering the mixture of items that had been on the floor, to be a mediocre job, it would be adequate enough until the twins had been fed and he had the time to thoroughly clean.

After he was done, he rinsed the mop, wrung it out, and then leaned the head against a wall to dry. Then he grabbed one of the kitchen cloths, dampened it at the sink, and wiped down the counters. By the time he had finished, both children had finished their fruits and Yusrâ had left her chair with her empty plate. Since the kitchen was now hazard-free, Hâroon lifted Ibrâhîm out of his highchair as well.

Yusrâ, without being instructed, dumped the remaining apple core in the trash and then took her plate to the sink. She used her stool to reach it and put the dish inside. Then she quickly rinsed her hands and mouth. Ibrâhîm, likewise, picked up his plate but then held it out to his sister, emphasizing a growing dependence on her to do things for him that made Hâroon uncomfortable and brought home the realization that Yusrâ had probably taken the role of caretaker and mother figure in Ibrâhîm’s eyes.

As she reached for the plate, Hâroon stopped her. “No—don’t do it for him. I think he understands enough to do this himself.” Going over to his son, he smiled. “Finished? Alhamdulillâh. Let’s throw that in the trash.”

With a hand on his shoulder, he guided him to the trashcan. “Throw it away, Ibrâhîm.” The child remained motionless, so he placed a hand on his and physically made him remove the core from the plate and drop it into the trashcan. “Good job, Ibrâhîm.”

“You did it, Ibby!” Yusrâ praised in the background, even though she understood it had been mostly her father.

“Okay—let’s put that in the sink and wash you up, and then I’ll start on the lunch,” Hâroon told him, guiding him to the stool Yusrâ had used. “Put it in the sink,” he prompted him as soon as he’d gotten him up on the stool, but Ibrâhîm remained still as he held the plate. Then Hâroon placed his hands over Ibrâhîm’s to make him place the dish into the sink. “Good job.”

He turned on the water; and Ibrâhîm automatically shoved his sticky hands under the stream of water with a shriek of glee, splashing the water about. With an amused chuckle, Hâroon washed the boy’s hands and face as he continued splashing the water. Then, turning off the water, he set him down, and Ibrâhîm whined in disappointment.

To keep his son occupied and in the kitchen, Hâroon took a large mixing bowl from one of the lower cabinets, followed by different-sized cups from the overhead cupboards. He filled the bowl with water, dumped the cups inside, and set it on the floor. Ibrâhîm’s obsession with water play would keep him occupied for a long while and hopefully long enough to allow him to finish making their lunch. He set the bowl on the floor by the table and away from the stove and then took Ibrâhîm by the hand to lead him to it, sitting him down. Without any prompting or encouragement needed, the boy discovered the bowl quickly and shoved his hands into it happily, splashing the water. The floor would probably be wet by the time he was done; but water could be easily mopped up and it would keep him out of trouble and risky pursuits while his father was cooking.

“Fun! Can I play, too?” Yusrâ asked as she watched her brother.

“Of course,” Hâroon said.

She needed no further encouragement. She sat across from her brother and the two were soon laughing and shrieking as they splashed water on themselves and each other.

Hâroon smiled and left the children to their game. Satisfied that his cleaning of the kitchen was adequate enough to prevent him from worrying about either of the twins if they decided to wander around, he turned his focus to what he would make for their lunch—apples and oranges were not nearly enough after being left starving throughout the day, though Ibrâhîm and Yusrâ seemed temporarily satisfied. He began to look through the remaining contents of the refrigerator, freezer, and pantry following the attack on the kitchen. At one time, he may have been tempted to go for an easy TV dinner that could be conveniently warmed up quickly, but most of those contained gluten or additives he’d been recommended to avoid in Ibrâhîm’s diet by specialists. Instead, he was to stick to mostly raw ingredients that he could verify and cook what he could be sure fit in Ibrâhîm’s new diet. As challenging as it was on some days, he did his best to follow the recommendations he’d been given, but Lila had proved to be not as careful since he had caught her giving their son whatever happened to be fast and easy for her, and it made him wonder if she really cared about trying to help Ibrâhîm.

After perusing what was available, Hâroon decided on making burger patties. Though hamburger buns—and any other kind of gluten—had been banned from Ibrâhîm’s diet, he could still have the burger meat, and he loved it. It was also easy and fast. He took out two packages of ground beef from the freezer and shoved it into the microwave, turning it on the defrost. Then he rummaged through the pantry and cabinets for the rest of what he needed. He took salt, pepper, and a variety of other spices from the pantry. Then from the cabinets he removed a large bowl, a plate, a skillet and its lid, and the board he used for meat. He took out the spatula and the box of latex gloves he used when handling raw meat from the drawers. He set everything on the wiped down counters and then turned to the microwave as it beeped.

He pulled out the meat and tested the consistency. Though it was cold, it was now soft enough to have the seasonings mixed into it and be molded into patties. He pulled out a pair of gloves from the box, sliding his hands into them. Then he dumped the meat off its Styrofoam tray and into the bowl. He dumped the salt, pepper, and other seasonings over the raw meat and kneaded it into the meat. Once everything had been well combined, he began to remove generous-sized balls from the meat, flattening them into patties before placing them on the board. He continued until every last scrap of meat had been used and he had eight large patties that would be more than enough for lunch for the three of them.

To the background of splashes and shrieks, Hâroon set the skillet on the stove and turned the dial to heat it up. After several minutes, he sprinkled the bottom with water to test the temperature, satisfied it was ready when it sizzled. He dropped three patties into the wide pan and covered it. As he waited, he glanced over at his children, smiling as he watched them splash water and fill the cups with water before pouring them back into the bowl. Then he turned his attention back on the food.

Less than thirty minutes later, he was done and the well-done burger patties were piled onto the plate he’d had ready. He turned off the stove and removed the skillet from the heated burner, setting it on one of the unused ones to cool. He collected the other things he’d used, including the bowl and board, and tossed them in the sink as well as trashing the meat-covered gloves and returning the condiments to the pantry. He took out three clean plates and rinsed them, setting them on the counter beside the one which held the patties. Using the spatula, he placed one burger on each child’s plate and two on his own. Then he pulled out the roll of aluminum foil from one of the drawers and covered the plate that held the remaining burgers to be saved for later, shoving it into the microwave.

Before pulling the children away from his water play and serving them their lunch, Hâroon went to the refrigerator and took out a large tomato as well as the jar of pickles—which Ibrâhîm had thankfully not broken. Setting them on the counter, he retrieved the cutting board and knife. Washing the tomato, he cut it into thin slices, which he divided between the plates for himself, Ibrâhîm, and Yusrâ, and then he took out three pickles from the jar—the only green vegetable his son seemed to like—and placed one on each. Returning the jar to the refrigerator and tossing the knife and cutting board into the sink, he carried the plates to the table and then looked over at his children.

So occupied with their water play, both Ibrâhîm and Yusrâ didn’t even notice the aroma of the food, though Ibrâhîm was usually the first to appear at the very hint of it. With a small laugh to himself, Hâroon made his way over to them, noticing the floor around him was damp from the water they’d splashed but most of the water still remained in the bowl. He wouldn’t have to mop up much.

“Come, kids,” he said, reaching for Ibrâhîm and lifting him to his feet. “You can play more later. Let’s eat.”

Yusrâ instantly jumped to her feet and ran to the table, sitting down in a chair. Ibrâhîm, however, whined and protested at first, trying to pull away as he was led to the table, but as soon as he noticed the food, his struggles ceased and he obediently seated himself beside his sister. Since the kitchen was free of danger, Hâroon didn’t try to put him back into the highchair.

As he said the basmalah for Ibrâhîm and reminded Yusrâ to say it for herself, Ibrâhîm reached for the large, thick burger patty with excited fingers which was thankfully the first one Hâroon had made and now cool enough not to burn him. He bit into it hungrily and then shoved slices of tomato into his mouth as he chewed.

Hâroon watched Ibrâhîm with an amused grin. Though he knew Ibrâhîm would eventually need training on how to eat properly at a table, now was not the time to teach him. Beside him, Yusrâ started on her own burger with a similar lack of finesse in her eating. As the two children ate happily and enthusiastically, Hâroon left the table to get the three of them something to drink with their meal. He took the carton of orange juice from the refrigerator as well as a glass for himself and two sippy-cups for Ibrâhîm and Yusrâ from the overhead cabinet. After rinsing both, he filled them and capped the twins’ cups.

After placing the cups on the table, he went to the silverware drawer and took out a knife and fork, which he rinsed before he took to the table as well. Then he seated himself to eat with his children, starting with the basmalah before he cut the patty into smaller pieces and used the fork to stab them and pop them into his mouth.

Ibrâhîm finished before Hâroon and grabbed his cup of juice, sucking on the top enthusiastically until it had been drained. Before his next actions could be predicted, he had already slipped off his chair and taken his plate and cup. Then, to his father’s absolute shock, Ibrâhîm confidently dropped his dishes into the trash can and then seated himself at the abandoned bowl of water to continue splashing with his grimy hands. Hâroon wasn’t sure whether to laugh or groan. His attempt to teach Ibrâhîm the use of the trashcan had definitely backfired.

Yusrâ, finishing what remained of her burger, burst into fits of laughter. “Daddy, look what Ibby did! He threw away his plate and cup!”

Hâroon smiled. “I think he got confused between the garbage and sink. Finish your food.”

Deciding the plate was not in any immediate need of rescue—it obviously wasn’t going anywhere—and that Ibrâhîm would be occupied long enough for him to finish his meal, he continued eating. Beside him, Yusrâ finished her burger and drank her juice. As soon as he was done, he rose and picked up the plate and cup. Yusrâ followed with her own dishes.

He dropped his dishes into the sink and took Yusrâ’s to do the same. Then he retrieved Ibrâhîm’s plate and cup from the garbage can to throw them in as well. As Yusrâ washed, he recovered the pan and lid from the stove and also took the bowl of now greasy water from Ibrâhîm, tossing it all in the sink as the child screeched in protest.

“Enough of that,” he told him as Yusrâ stepped off the stool and he washed his hands. “It’s dirty now and you need to wash. We’ll find something else for you to do.”

“What will you find for him to do?” Yusrâ, standing by as she waited patiently, asked curiously.

Hâroon smiled. “We’ll see.”

As Ibrâhîm cried and pulled on his tunic, Hâroon lifted him to the sink to wash as well. Momentarily distracted from his woes by the tap, Ibrâhîm happily splashed the water around him as Hâroon did his best to wash him, but as soon as he was set down, he started whining again.

“Hold on a minute,” Hâroon told him as he turned off the tap and then mopped up the water that had been spilled during the water play. He took the Ibrâhîm by the hand and led him out of the kitchen, Yusrâ trailing behind them. The dishes could be done later—they were not the highest priority at the moment. “Come. Let’s see what we can find for you to do while Daddy cleans up this disaster you made.”

He led him, still whining mournfully, to his bedroom, and went to the locked cupboard that many of the activities he’d bought for him in the last three months had been stored in. Taking the key from where it was kept at the top and out of his son’s reach, he unlocked it. The educational activities and supplies that specialists had recommended for Ibrâhîm, many of them expensive Montessori materials, had been neatly organized on the shelves. Though he had tried to encourage Lila to attempt to use them with Ibrâhîm throughout the day and even with Yusrâ, she had yet to show any interest, and after today, he knew she never would.

After looking over the contents for a short while, he took down two activities that Ibrâhîm and Yusrâ both seemed to enjoy. A wooden stacker, the pieces painted in bright colors, and a wooden knob puzzle that required them to fit the correct shape to its place. As soon as he had put them down, Ibrâhîm seemed to notice and quickly sat down. He smiled and locked up the cabinet, returning the key to its out of reach place.

Yusrâ looked on with interest. “Can I play, too?”

“Of course,” he told her. “You stay in here with your brother and play. I need to clean up the messes he made. Call me if you need anything or if he starts getting into anything.”

“Okay,” she said, sitting down with her brother. As he started removing puzzle pieces, she pulled the stacker toward her and started to take it apart.

Hâroon threw one last glance at Ibrâhîm and Yusrâ, watching as they worked separately. Satisfied they were both occupied, or at least for a while, he left the bedroom.

In his mind, Hâroon began to prioritize the list of tasks he had to do. Though exhausted and wishing he could just relax in the children’s bedroom as they played, he knew it wasn’t possible. He needed to take advantage of Ibrâhîm’s preoccupation to clean. With his wife and her impending return pushed to the back of his mind, he headed to his own bedroom first to see what could be salvaged of Ibrâhîm’s destruction, the beginning of what promised to be a long, tiring evening cleaning up the chaos the house had become.