AN ARAB MOBSTER LOOKS FOR A WIFE

Khaled Hashimi

After Alya's birth, she became the center of my universe. Unfortunately, as doctors warned from the beginning, she could be a special girl, and she was. My little daughter, with blonde hair, light and expressive eyes, with a tender look, a prominent nose and white skin, was Dad's pride.

Every day filled my life with happiness, even though his development was a little different from that of the other children. However, every afternoon we followed our routine: I put on her best dresses, combed her short hair, and got ready to visit her mother. Alya didn't understand why we did it, but I always explained to her that Mom was sick and that I should be there for her.

With my little girl in my arms, I headed to the only place that occupied my thoughts lately: the psychiatric hospital. In my mind and in my heart, I had already forgiven Jennifer for anything she had done. There was no room for resentment in me, I just wished that she would be the same as before, so that we could have her back in our lives.

"Good morning, nurse, how are you?" I greeted Dora, the nurse who had become almost a friend over time.

"Good morning, Mr. Hashimi. How is little Alya?"

"All right, thank you. Is Jennifer ready? We haven't been able to see you for almost a week, is there a problem?

"Mr. Hashimi, the doctor wants to talk to you."

A chill ran through my body as I held on tighter to my daughter. The anxiety grew, I feared that bad news was coming, just what I didn't need at that moment.

"What doctor?" I asked, with a sense of unease.

"Mrs. Mackenzie's case manager."

"Thank you very much."

"He's coming, wait a moment, please."

I sat with my little girl on my lap, as uncertainty enveloped me. Everything around me was fading away, what was so important that I should hear? Two minutes later, the psychiatrist in charge appeared behind those doors that had always troubled me and sat down next to me.

"Mr. Hashimi, it's nice to see you. Her daughter is beautiful."

"Yes, it's going to be five years old. I hope Jennifer can cut the cake with us."

The doctor gave me a compassionate smile and stroked my little girl's hair.

"Well, I think it's my duty to tell you that the time has come to let you go, Mr. Hashimi."

"What do you mean by that, doctor?"

"First, I want to thank you for your generous contributions to the hospital. They have been a great help, especially with the addition of more doctors to our team. But I am afraid that it would be selfish of us to go ahead with this process."

"Doctor, please be clearer," I asked, as I squeezed Alya tightly.

"Jennifer suffers from dementia. Gradually, you will lose even the ability to walk. It is a devastating diagnosis. Unfortunately, she no longer knows who you are, or who she herself is. It's a traumatic process for both you and your daughter. Jennifer has become a completely different person, and I'm afraid we won't even be able to afford her daily visits. It has become aggressive, posing a danger to you and the child."

My world fell apart in that instant. What little hope I had left vanished. How could that be? How did we get to this?