I. Jacob's POV.

I was sitting on the edge of the bed, leg thrumming vigorously against the floor and my heart beating just a little faster than usual. On their own accord, my fingers continued to beat against my thigh, a tell-tale sign of my nervousness. I glimpsed at my black leather wrist watch again.  

It’s been five minutes. How long does one possibly need to -

The unlocking and opening of the bathroom door jolted me from my thoughts and I hastily scrambled to my feet. I took in a deep breath and absorbed the sight of my beautiful wife, standing afore me, one hand perched against the doorframe. 

It only took me a few seconds of observing her face to realise the crushed expression she held. She glanced up at me with a smile that wasn’t even close to reaching her eyes, yet I asked anyway. 

“Well? What was the result?” I knew what it was…but I was hoping against hope, that this time, it would be different. That I could give my wife what we had been so desperately desiring for the last three years of our life together.

“It’s negative,” she stated, trying very hard to keep the disappointment from her voice. Hearing my thoughts confirmed, a wave of anger and frustration began to bubble up within me, slowly taking control of my body. Only a few seconds later, my emotions only went into further frenzy, as I uselessly watched my wife break down in sobs. Her cries and tears increased, yet all I could do was stand there like a frozen idiot, speechless, staring down at my hands helplessly. 

I moved forward with the intention of comforting her, like I have before, but this time, I decided against it.  

Why should you comfort her? She probably hates you…after all, you're the reason as to why she’s crying.  

I was in full agreement with my torturous thoughts, and so, in an act of impulse and anger, I spun on my heel and headed out the door. I knew I should have stayed and supported her, told her everything was going to be alright and that it was all the decree of Allah SWT. Yet I couldn’t stand for the umpteenth time to watch her break down - because of me.  

In times like these, I usually sought relief by heading to Zach’s house, right now however, I felt like being alone. I needed to think and just - think. Ten minutes later, I walked into my favourite cafe and promptly slid into a secluded booth in the corner. A waiter approached, and I asked for a large coffee. Once he had gone, I put my head in my hands and let out a defeated sigh. I closed my eyes and took in slow, calming breaths - a futile attempt to gather my thoughts. 

My wife - Keira, flashed before my eyes and instead of anger, I felt immense guilt. She had done so much for me, I couldn’t even begin to count my blessings. And when it came down to crunch time, what could I offer her in return? Certainly not the one thing she wanted the most - a child.  

A nostalgic smile crept it’s way onto my face as I recalled the first time I met her. I was passing by the orphanage to drop off something to Yasmine - what, I can’t remember. What I do remember however, was walking in to find a stunning blue-eyed brunette glaring me down. She began to mumble something under her breath, in a foreign language I couldn’t quite pin-point at the time. Her appearance had certainly screamed out she was from a land far from Gaza. 

She seemed to collect herself and then in an action that stunned me, began to speak to me in fluent Arabic, informing me of the little boy I had just knocked over whilst entering. It took me a few seconds to comprehend the interesting and foreign human before me. Finally I looked towards the floor and found a little one year old boy crawling away from me, tears brimming his eyes. He stopped and rubbed at his elbow, which was slightly red and within seconds she had picked him up and perched him on her hip.

She walked off after that, with only one backwards glance and a small teasing smile caressing her face.  

After that awkward meeting, in which I had not even spoken a word to her, I had begged and begged Yasmine to tell me who she was. Well, I wouldn’t have had to beg, if my lovely sister-in-law didn’t enjoy seeing me squirm and plea for once in my life. After a ton of threatening, she informed me that the girl’s name was Keira, a convert from Germany but also a journalist who had travelled to Gaza to document the suffering of Palestinians. I was captivated and enthralled by this woman like never before, and it wasn’t long before I decided I wanted her - literally. 

I’ve been told many times that I’m a simple man - I want what I want and I avoid what I don’t. With Yasmine’s help, I had asked to get to know her and with a surprising acceptance, we had both fallen down the bumpy path known as love and marriage. 

But it had been tough the last three years. She wanted children - so did I. But something was definitely off after a year of us trying with no success. As any normal couple would, we headed to the doctor for fertility checks, whereafter we were told that we were both very much normal. The only thing the doctor noted was my low sperm count, but even then, he had said that it should not affect our chances.  

Months passed, yet Keira still had not fallen pregnant. It started to affect her both mentally and emotionally, and she began to convince herself that something was wrong with her. In the beginning, when we had first planned to have children, she was extremely patient. As time drew on, and test after test came back negative, she would cry herself to sleep then during the day, she became highly aggressive and distant.  

A new problem arose after a year and a half of us trying - doctors had detected a tumour in my brain. Although it was benign, with a lot of blood, sweat and tears, I was shipped off to Jerusalem in order to have a proper surgery that would permanently remove it. Doctors in the city linked my increasing low sperm count with the tumour. It had resided on my hypothalamus, the part of the brain that controlled hormone functioning. It was believed that the tumour was disrupting my natural flow, but doctors assured that now it was gone, we should have no trouble conceiving.  

We left Jerusalem with rekindled hope - we could finally be parents. 

Alas, it’s been another year since my operation and no baby on the way.  

I was momentarily cut from my thoughts as the waiter placed a steaming cup of coffee in front of me, the smell tantalising my senses. I took a sip and relished in it’s bitterness. After another, I sighed and raked a hand through my hair. I leant back against the soft couch that adorned the booth, and continued to think. 

Maybe, it was time to draw the line.

 **** 

I gently closed the door behind me and hung the keys up onto their hook. I shrugged off my jacket and carelessly threw it onto the nearby chair. I cleared my throat.  

“Keira?” Most of the lights in the house were switched off, so I was unsure if she was even home. A light was emanating from underneath our bedroom door and I took slow, reluctant steps towards it. I exhaled a breath and opened the door wide, my eyes travelling around the room in search of my heartbroken wife. 

She was asleep on the bed, both of our bedside lamps turned on. She was in foetal position one hand resting beneath her cheek and the other on her stomach. My heart ached at the sight before me, but it only fuelled me onwards, urging me to do what I had to.  

I took off my shoes and crawled onto the empty space beside her. I lay down for a while and just watched her. I absorbed and memorised every detail of her face, I tracked her breathing but most of all, observed in pain and curiosity at the hand that rested tirelessly against her stomach.  

I’m so sorry Keira.

Just as I was about to wake her myself, she stirred and shifted in her sleep. Within seconds, her prominent blue eyes landed on mine and she gifted me with a light smile. “Where did you go?” she croaked, her voice still hazy with sleep. 

“Had to clear my thoughts,” I replied, lacing my fingers through hers. 

“And did you?”  

“What?” 

“Clear your thoughts?” she asked, analysing me knowingly.  

“I did.” I sat up, suddenly ram-rod straight and stiff. I felt her sit up too, as if sensing that I had something to say. I averted my gaze from hers, staring hard at the marble floor. “I’ve come up with a solution.”  

“What’s that?” she questioned.

I clenched my fist and ignored the pain in my chest. With the strongest and most determined voice I could muster, I said, “you need to divorce me.” I chanced a glance at her face. Her baby blue eyes were widened and a hand flew to her mouth in shock. My voice trembled a little, but I continued to speak. “I love you, which is why I should let you go. I can’t give you what you want Keira, Allah SWT knows we’ve tried. You deserve so much more, and so much better. Maybe someone else can give you that,” I whispered, squeezing my eyes shut and turning my face away from hers. “With someone else,-“ I didn’t get to finish my sentence, since Keira’s fists came down beating upon my chest. 

“You idiot!” she yelled, tears streaming down her face. “How could you say that?! How could you doubt me like that?!” She continued to shove, push and hit at me, although it wasn’t her fists that were killing me inside, it was the crushed look of betrayal on her face. I caught her wrists and swiftly brought her onto my lap, attempting to calm her down. I trapped her with my arms and whispered sweet nothings to her. She clenched my shirt roughly and cried hard - harder than she ever had before. 

We sat like that for half an hour, before her tears dried and she finally spoke up. “Don’t ever say anything like that again,” she whispered, her face still hidden in my chest. 

I kissed her temple. “I won’t.”

****