Haneed Was A Psycho

CHAPTER 17

Starting from May 2016, Haneed's era of delusions and nightmares began, burdening me once again.

I had to restrict my movements to take care of his needs and medications.

By mid-May 2016, my relationship with Waheed remained strained. We exchanged mere phone greetings, never delving into deeper conversations, even when I visited home.

Unexpectedly, Waheed appeared at my doorstep on a sunny day.

Without a call or text, he marched into the living room after I opened the door. My immediate thought was, "What kind of attitude is this, Waheed?"

Anxiety surged through me; what if Haneed woke up in his room? What if he walked in and saw Waheed here? Given his ongoing struggle with depression, his reaction could be unpredictable, my mind spiraled into negativity.

Waheed's gaze bore into me, and he spoke, "You claimed I changed so much just because I didn't attend Zahra's wedding. But did you ever consider what I went through while you married him, shattering my heart? Did you imagine my emotions on your wedding day? Well, she knows, Zarah knows it all. She knew you held my heart. She promised to help me confess to you before you married him, but she didn't. Rafi'ah, you might curse me later, think of me as a villain, but I need to tell you this. I might naturally move on over time, but don't discard me because of Zarah."

Waheed's confession left me in shock, with no time to react. The word "Zarah" had barely left his lips when Haneed emerged from behind him.

Haneed's anger radiated, his gaze fixed on us like we were engaged in something repugnant.

I moved toward him, wanting to explain, and then I saw the knife.

Fear gripped me, my body immobilized.

His eyes, brimming with fury, locked on Waheed. A murderous intent hung in the air, and I yelled at Waheed to leave immediately.

Waheed, surprisingly obstinate and foolish, stood his ground, offering no response. He closed his eyes as if awaiting death's embrace.

But death never came for Waheed, only the swift strike of Haneed's knife into his abdomen.

Waheed's face paled, tears welled in his eyes, and he crumbled to the floor.

I lunged forward, attempting to reach Haneed before he could strike again. He shoved me away, the knife stained with blood in his grip, his expression perplexed, as if awoken from a trance. He looked at his hands, soaked with crimson, and then at Waheed, who lay writhing.

Suddenly, Haneed collapsed onto his knees, the knife aimed at his own throat, his gaze helpless.

Reacting instinctively, I lunged at him, wrenching the knife from his hand, and slapped his face repeatedly. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I embraced him, my shattered husband, amidst sobs.

I screamed for help, my voice carrying out to the neighbors.

In no time, the neighbor from next door burst into our living room, as if drawn by an invisible force. Exhausted and drained, I was beyond explaining. I fell to the floor, Haneed clasping me against his chest, both of us in tears.

The following scene had me lying on a hospital bed next to Haneed.

I sat up and observed my Mom as she wiped her tears.

Anxious to know about Waheed, I inquired, and Mom informed me that he was in the ICU.

My Mom then urged me to be honest about what had transpired.

Recognizing the importance of transparency, I recounted the entire incident to her. Believing that we were alone, I shared the details, only to realize later that two individuals had eavesdropped on my confession from the doorway.

At that very moment, two police officers entered the room and endeavored to rouse Haneed from his slumber.

I instinctively tried to intervene, but my mother insisted I refrain. My mother had strategically orchestrated the situation to elicit a confession from me and uncover Haneed's involvement.

I could hardly bear the sight of my helpless husband, consumed by a profound sense of powerlessness. The officers displayed a callous demeanor, showing no consideration for Haneed's need to rest. Despite his evident frailty and fatigue, they took him into custody.

"Innalillahiwainnailayhirrajiun... Umma, will they harm him? Umma, please help Haneed, he's in a dire situation," I implored my mother, but she advised me to remain composed. She assured me that Haneed's father was exerting every effort to protect his son.

At that moment, I harbored a strong resentment towards my mother for orchestrating the situation.

Later that evening, I left the hospital and returned to our family home alone, the weight of the situation gnawing at my thoughts. Sleep eluded me throughout the night.

The next morning, a persistent knock on my door signaled my mother's presence.

Opening the door with a furrowed brow, I confronted her. She explained that her actions were a necessary step; in such dire circumstances, only the truth could potentially secure Haneed's release. She mentioned that Haneed's mental condition would be taken into account by the authorities.

Embracing my mom, I allowed my tears to flow once more.

At home, my sisters were deeply affected, their emotions raw as they prayed fervently for Waheed's recovery.

Medical experts recommended a surgery for Waheed, a complex procedure due to the extensive damage to his abdomen. My father suggested transferring him abroad for specialized treatment, but this option was ruled out as Waheed's condition rendered him too fragile for such a journey.

The weight of the situation was clearly taking a toll on my father, who couldn't help but direct anger towards Haneed for the unfortunate event.

While I empathized with my father's anguish, I also believed it somewhat unfair to place the entirety of blame on Haneed. The incident was unintentional, and he was not in control of himself at the time.

I came to realize, albeit too late, that my father had initiated legal action against Haneed. Furthermore, he sought to sever my marital ties with Haneed, citing his mental incapacity to fulfill the role of a husband.