“I don’t want to do this anymore. I just want to work as a school clerk and a saleswoman at the mall, and support my family,” I said.

Um Buraq looked at me and I held her gaze, refusing to be the first to look away. She moved her eyes first, running her tongue over her teeth and sucking air to dislodge food from the crevices of her vast mouth. “Then that’s what you shall do, my dear. I am here if you ever need me,” she said.

We held each other in a stare again. “Thank you for taking care of me these past days. I’ll pay you back for the doctor bills,” I told her.

“You’re welcome. And you don’t need to worry about the doctor bills. I took care of it and that’s that,” she said.

The contradictions of our relationship cemented. I felt affection for this woman who had blackmailed and prostituted me. The force of sharing unspeakable secrets created a closeness with her, at the same time that I had an urge to get away from her and never see her again. More paradoxical was that Um Buraq loved me, at the same time she used and exploited me. I can’t explain that, but I know it’s true.

I resumed my life as I had done when Mhammad left me, as if the past had not happened, and I was simply carrying on uninterrupted. I went back to my school clerk job and picked up more evening hours at my retail job and more clients for eyebrow threading.

Fridays were reserved for family, and a sense of contentment slowly crept into the physical exhaustion of my routine. My salary was much less than I had led my family to believe in months previous, and I was forced to use some of my savings to cover bills. But every day I made the same series of decisions, and life went on.

It was Jehad’s final year of high school, and much of our home life revolved around ensuring him the privacy, quiet, and nutrition he needed to get through the grueling exams every quarter and also to complete university applications. At the midterm results, one bit of good news followed another. Jehad was poised to be in the national top five of his graduating class. Then came university acceptance letters from England, Italy, and Russia, and I was confronted with the cost of university. One year’s tuition was more than I thought all four years would be. The savings I had wouldn’t be enough.

Mama and I took all our jewelry to get it valued, but selling would only cover a fraction of what we needed. Jehad had saved some money too, from working odd jobs here and there, and assured us that he could get a job wherever he landed to cover the rest. But it was an unrealistic plan that we all knew couldn’t work, given the amount needed. I tried getting a bank loan, but they said I didn’t earn enough to get more than a small personal loan of one thousand dinars.