“Yes, I have come to my senses. I want a divorce, Charles.”
He sat up straighter, clearly taken aback by my words. “My name is Xavier—and I love you, so that’s not going to happen. You knew when we first got married that Islamic law has no provision for divorce other than death. I’m your husband. Your only husband!” He spoke with finality, the same way he did when he was giving orders to the countless men who were always at his beck and call. The problem was, he seemed to forget that I wasn’t one of them.
“Really?” I shot back defiantly. “And what kind of husband have you been the last five years?” I said it loud enough for half the people in the visiting room to hear.
“I’ve been a faithful one. Can you say the same?” Most people would have stopped at that moment, frightened by his steely calm, but I had come this far, and I was going to have my say.
“No, I can’t, and that’s why I want a divorce. You can’t do anything for me locked up in here, Charles. I’m a woman. I need to be held at night. I need to be made love to. Hell, you stay in so much trouble that we can’t even have conjugal visits.” I stared at him, refusing to back down.
He reached out for my hand, but I moved it away. I didn’t want him to soften my resolve. “I understand, and I’m sorry,” he said, sounding more sincere than I would have expected. “I can fix that. Get my conjugal reinstated. I know this hasn’t been easy on you, but I can make this right. Sonya, baby, I love you.”
I shook my head. “It’s a little late for that, don’t you think? You’re not a husband; you’re a responsibility. A responsibility I don’t want anymore. I just want to be free.”
His eyes flashed with anger. “The only way for you to be free from me is for one of us to die. And I don’t plan on dying anytime soon. You get where I’m going with this?”
“I don’t love you anymore!” I pleaded. “I’m in love with someone else. What part of that don’t you understand?”
“None of it! Because it’s not happening and that’s that,” he barked so loudly that I saw people from the next table flinch. Their eyes shot toward us, but they looked away just as quickly. Even the other men in prison jumpsuits wanted to pretend they hadn’t heard anything. They were all so afraid of him—but I wasn’t.
I clenched my jaw and sat straight and motionless, letting him know that I wouldn’t let him intimidate me with his yelling. First he looked frustrated, like I was a hardheaded child he was trying to discipline, but then he just looked confused. He wasn’t used to anyone pushing back against his authority.
“You love this man. Is that what you’re telling me?” His eyes were tearing up, and I realized that beneath his hard exterior, he still had feelings for me. This was the most vulnerable that I’d ever seen him. Unfortunately, it was a little too late for that.
“Yes, I love him,” I replied with tears now falling from my eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for it to happen, but it did.”
He angrily swiped away a tear that had escaped and began to run down his cheek. “You do understand that I will kill this man—and any other that stands between us.”
Just like that, the hard-as-nails husband that I knew was back. If I had thought for a second that he was going to let me go easily, I realized now that it was a foolish notion.
“You’re serious?” I asked.
“Very serious. As far as I’m concerned, he’s already dead.” His voice was barely a whisper as he dropped that bomb; then he stood up and walked out of the visiting room.
Paris
4