“Listen to me!” she demanded. “First thing, you drink this herbal tea. And then you climb out of whatever pit you’re in.” Deepa put a pillow behind my back as Um Buraq lifted me. I took the glass of tea and sipped slowly. The taste of sage and cinnamon filled my head as the warm liquid slid down my throat, into my excavated belly. I stared at Um Buraq blankly.

“Now, you listen to me,” she began. “Abu Moathe is shit. Every man is shit. The sooner you accept this truth, the easier your life will be. I thought you knew this by now. What were you thinking? He was going to marry and make you respectable? You take what you can get from them. They have all the power in the world, but it’s possible to have power over them. This is what you must learn.”

I leaned forward and let my head fall onto Um Buraq’s shoulder. She put her arms around me, then pushed me gently back. “You get one more day of self-pity, but tomorrow morning you get out of bed, clear your head, and decide how you will live. It is that simple. You make that one decision. Then you make another, and another. There are no forces holding you in this pathetic state. You are young, beautiful, and healthy. You have a home, family, and friends. Start from there.”

Deepa nudged me gently to drink more of the tea before they both left the room. I lay there through the night, watching memories and imagination play on the ceiling, much the same as I do now in the Cube.

Before sunrise, I made the decision to roll out of bed at the call to fajr prayer. My scarred, empty womb felt like a boulder in my abdomen as I walked to the kitchen to make coffee. To my surprise, Deepa was already awake, boiling an ibriq of coffee. She poured two cups and pushed one toward me where we sat at the table, sipping in silence, because words had no place in that moment. I made another decision to pray, performing the ritual wudu cleansing, then donning the prayer robe Um Buraq had left for me and performing the fajr salat . It felt good to pray. I made another decision to wash my hair and shower, scrubbing every inch of skin on my body. Then a decision to dry and style my hair. A decision to apply light makeup. When Um Buraq awoke at noon, I sat down to eat with her and Deepa.

“You look good,” Um Buraq said, taking a large bite of eggs and bread. “What have you decided to do?” The chewed-up eggs tossed around in her mouth as she spoke.

“I want to be normal,” I said.

“You have always been normal, girl,” she said. “Normal isn’t what other people do. You make your own normal.”

I knew what she meant. Um Buraq was always railing against social propriety, pointing out the layers of hypocrisy everywhere, hating on men.