There is nothing more painful than watching a beautiful family fall apart due to ego, stubbornness, abuse, betrayal, and an unwillingness to compromise. Many women, like Nahid, walk away from faithful, loving, and loyal husbands—realizing too late the value of what they had only after it is lost forever.
Yawar is not an ordinary man. A good husband who provides, protects, and remains loyal is a rare blessing. Sadly, Nahid never recognized this. She kept chasing a misguided sense of independence under hollow slogans like “my life, my rules,” mistaking it for freedom. In reality, it marked the beginning of lifelong regret.
What Nahid perceived as possessiveness was, in fact, Yawar’s deep care and concern. When he advised her on what to wear or where to go, it came from a place of love—not control. He was trying to protect his honor, his home, and the woman he loved. But his voice was drowned in the noise of modern rhetoric, where love is often misunderstood as restriction, and sincerity is mistaken for oppression.
Nahid’s family encouraged her defiance. They pushed her to label Yawar’s affection as toxic, and urged her to report him, drag him to police stations, courts, and feminist platforms. She painted herself as a victim, portraying Yawar as narrow-minded and controlling.
The reality, however, was quite different. Yawar only wished to bring Nahid, his parents, and his relatives together in a strong, affectionate bond. But Nahid pressured him to abandon his parents and long-standing relationships, insisting he focus solely on her and her family. Yawar resisted, as any respectable, principled man would. For this, Nahid employed every tactic to wear him down—but she never succeeded.
False and frivolous cases were filed, oblivious to the emotional and social pain inflicted on a man’s honor and peace. Those who once applauded her so-called “freedom” were nowhere to be found when she was left lonely, sad, and broken. Today, those empty slogans don’t pay Nahid’s bills or provide for her needs. The same parents who once cheered her rebellion never offer a single rupee from their own pockets. Money may have been Nahid’s dream, now seemingly fulfilled—but it came at the cost of peace, dignity, and stability.
She once took pride in how Yawar cared for her and provided for their family. Yet that same care eventually turned into legal notices and bitter courtrooms. And what did she gain? Nothing but isolation.
She fought to exclude Yawar’s parents and relatives from their home, demanding they have no place in their marital life. She saw them as intrusions and wanted a house exclusively for herself. Every time Yawar refused to sever ties with his family, conflicts arose.
Now, Nahid and her children have become unwelcome guests in her own parental home. The place she once proudly called her own now barely tolerates her. Her presence is seen as a burden. When her sisters visit with their husbands and children, Nahid ends up cooking, cleaning, and serving, hiding her tears behind forced smiles.
Time changes everything. Youth fades, parents age and pass away, siblings become occupied with their own lives—and Nahid finds herself alone, with no one to protect her the way Yawar once did.
The real victims of this ego and stubbornness are the children. A broken marriage deprives them of peace, security, and emotional grounding. No matter how much Nahid tries, she can never be both mother and father. And realistically, most men are hesitant to marry a woman with children from a previous marriage. Nahid has closed every door—herself.
Some women leave their homes in pursuit of wealth or a more glamorous life. But the grass is rarely greener on the other side. Most often, it’s an illusion. Nahid now finds herself lonelier, more disappointed, and more broken than ever.
She enjoys momentary attention on social media. Likes, comments, messages, and fake admirers bring her fleeting excitement. But none of it is real. These strangers do not love her. They don’t know her. They double-tap her posts but disappear when she’s in pain.
None of her Facebook, Instagram, YouTube, Snapchat, Skype, TikTok, Twitter, WhatsApp, or Telegram contacts share her sorrow. They don’t wipe her tears. They simply scroll past her life.
It devastated Yawar to learn—years into their marriage—that Nahid had kept him blocked from all her social media profiles. She always claimed to have no interest in social media. He was shattered when a colleague showed him her online posts and stories. While she welcomed strangers and acquaintances as online friends, she kept her own husband out.
Nahid ignored Yawar consistently. She remained glued to her phone, endlessly chatting with her parents and siblings, suffocating the man who truly loved her. During long drives and outings, where she could have connected with Yawar, she stayed lost in her phone. He looked at her with love, hoping for conversation—but she tore his heart apart through silence and neglect.
The man she lost was the one who cared when she was tired, who didn’t want her exposing her life online—not because he was insecure, but because he cared for her dignity.
As a Muslim woman, Nahid knew what her Deen prescribed: to seek her husband’s trust, avoid unnecessary interactions with non-mahrams, and protect the sacred bond of marriage. These were not limitations; they were divine safeguards for her honor and happiness.
But Nahid rejected all of it. She traded her home for hashtags. She chose ego over love. And now she lives the consequences. Because at the end of the day, when the lights go out, when the likes stop, and her heart begins to ache—no one is there. No one who truly cares. Except the man she once left behind—Yawar—the one who would have stood by her through everything.
About the Author
Syed Majid Gilani is a Government Officer and writer who reflects on family values, moral struggles, and real-life emotions through his heartfelt articles. He can be reached at syedmajid6676@gmail.com
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