u/Excellent-Citron-862

I don’t even know why I’m writing this.
I think I’m desperately looking for answers because nobody around me can explain what happened.
My husband and I were together for over two years before we got married.
It wasn’t an easy journey because his family never accepted me.
I actually turned him down several times because I knew what his family were like and I didn’t want to spend my life fighting them.
His family made it clear they wanted him to marry within the extended family rather than marry me. They openly opposed our relationship from the very beginning, and I never truly felt accepted by them.
Despite all of that, he fought for me.
He begged me.
He begged my family.
He begged everyone around us to let him marry me.
He constantly told everyone I was the love of his life and that we’d get through anything together.
Before we got married, he left what he described as an abusive and dysfunctional family home. He had nowhere to live and was effectively homeless.
My family took him in without hesitation.
My mum fed him.
Gave him somewhere safe to stay.
Helped him rebuild his life.
Treated him like one of her own.
I stood beside him through one of the hardest periods of his life because I loved him.
We genuinely built everything from nothing together.
That’s why this hurts so much.
I genuinely believed that no matter what happened in life, we’d face it together because that’s exactly what we’d done from the beginning.
Even our wedding should have been a warning.
Guests had been waiting since around midday.
His family didn’t arrive until around 9pm.
The imam actually left because they were so late and had to be chased back.
Nobody from my family complained.
We were just happy everyone had finally arrived.
Then came our walima.
That became another horrible memory.
My father actually left because of how upset everything became.
His family refused to allow my family onto the stage.
An argument started over us having three additional guests.
While I was sitting on the stage as a bride, members of his family were calling me “fat” and “ugly.”
His brother swore at me.
It was humiliating.
Despite all of that, my husband still chose me.
That’s why what happened next feels impossible to understand.
We were only married for ten weeks.
I’m not pretending our marriage was perfect.
Yes, we argued.
But our arguments weren’t about cheating, abuse, money or anything major.
Most of them came back to his family.
They’d say hurtful things about me or disrespect our marriage, and I’d become upset because I felt he didn’t stand up to them enough.
Looking back, I also now realise I was pregnant during that time, although neither of us knew it.
In hindsight, my emotions were probably much higher than normal and neither of us understood why.
Despite the arguments, he never swore at me.
He never called me names.
He never intentionally tried to hurt me.
In so many ways he was an amazing husband.
That’s why what happened next makes absolutely no sense.
The Friday before he left, we had one of the biggest arguments we’d ever had.
At one point he packed a bag and said he was going home.
He didn’t even make it out of the front door.
Instead, we sat down and had the deepest conversation we’d ever had.
He asked me if I even wanted this marriage.
I admitted that during arguments I’d sometimes say “divorce,” but I told him I didn’t actually want one.
The truth is I wanted reassurance that he’d fight for us.
Looking back, I know that wasn’t a healthy way to communicate and I regret it deeply.
He cried his eyes out.
He asked me if I even loved him.
I cried too and told him,
“Of course I love you.”
He then said something I’ll never forget.
He said he was selfish because he didn’t want to lose me.
He said he wanted this marriage to work because he loved me more than anything.
He swore by Allah, by the Qur’an and by the Prophet ﷺ that he wanted this marriage and couldn’t imagine life without me.
We both cried.
We held each other.
We made up in what genuinely felt like an unshakable way.
We were intimate.
We ate together.
We fell asleep in each other’s arms.
If someone had asked me that night whether my husband would leave me the next day, I would’ve laughed.
I genuinely believed we’d got through the worst of it.
The next day I went out with a friend.
When I came home, something didn’t feel right.
My husband works from our utility room, and it’s somewhere I rarely go because it’s full of his work things.
For some reason I had a gut feeling something wasn’t right.
I asked him if everything was okay.
He told me there was nothing wrong and swore there was nothing to worry about, but he was visibly shaking while saying it.
That immediately made me suspicious.
I went into the room.
I saw two bags packed.
I opened one.
His clothes were inside.
The paperwork for our flat was inside too.
I asked him,
“Why have you packed all of this?”
He told me it was from the argument the day before.
But it didn’t look like someone who had angrily thrown things into a bag.
It looked properly packed.
That became our main argument.
He picked up the bags and walked out.
I asked him,
“So what are you going to do? Are you going to divorce me?”
He replied,
“Yes… I will divorce you.”
He actually stuttered saying it.
Throughout our entire relationship he never even used the word “divorce.”
He always called it “the D word” because he believed divorce was so serious in Islam that he didn’t even like saying the word out loud.
That was the first and only time I’d ever heard him actually say it.
I simply asked him whether he would swear by Allah that he meant what he was saying.
He refused.
That gave me hope.
I thought he was emotional and would come home once he’d calmed down.
Instead I saw his location at the train station.
I rang him.
I begged him not to go back.
He kept saying,
“You wanted distance. You wanted this.”
I kept saying,
“No. Please come home.”
He got on the train anyway.
That was the last time I heard his voice.
After that he blocked my number.
Changed his number.
Turned off his location.
Cancelled our tenancy.
Cancelled our household bills.
And never came back.
A few days later I found out I was pregnant.
I managed to tell him.
He never replied.
He never asked if it was true.
He never asked for proof.
He never asked how I was.
He never asked about the baby.
Instead, a few days later I received Islamic divorce papers.
They weren’t from a mosque.
They weren’t through an imam.
They were simply typed up.
He issued three talaqs in one sitting.
He never paid my mahr.
One of the conditions of our marriage was that if we ever reached breaking point, we would involve mediation before divorce.
None of that happened.
There is one thing that haunts me more than anything else.
His email account was briefly still logged into one of my devices before he signed out.
During those few moments I saw that he’d created a folder called \*\*“Harassment from ex wife.”\*\*
Inside were my emails.
My voice notes.
My messages.
Recordings of me crying my eyes out, begging him to speak to me and trying to understand what had happened.
Seeing that absolutely broke me.
I wasn’t trying to harass him.
I was a terrified wife who had gone from sleeping in her husband’s arms one night to watching him disappear the next.
I wasn’t sending those messages out of anger.
I was desperately trying to reach the man I’d loved for over two years.
To see myself labelled as an “ex wife” within days, and for my cries for help to be filed away as “harassment,” is something I don’t think I’ll ever forget.
The hardest part has been his family.
They never wanted this marriage.
When my parents rang asking if he was there, they denied knowing where he was, despite us having reason to believe he’d gone back to them.
When they were told I was pregnant, they ignored it.
I rang his father crying and begged him to help save my marriage.
I even said I’d kiss his feet and my husband’s feet if it meant saving my family.
I was told I wasn’t welcome there and they wanted nothing to do with me.
When I asked whether I should contact the police because I couldn’t find my husband, I was told to wait another day or two.
Then the divorce papers arrived.
Based on everything I’d experienced over more than two years, I genuinely believe his family had a significant influence after he returned to them. They had opposed our marriage from the beginning, and from my perspective everything changed after he went back.
What I cannot understand is this…
How does someone spend over two years fighting everyone to marry you…
Leave the family he described as abusive…
Accept help from your family when he had nowhere to go…
Cry in your arms…
Swear by Allah, the Qur’an and the Prophet ﷺ that he loves you more than anything…
Sleep in your arms…
Tell you he wants to save the marriage…
Then within 48 hours leave, disappear and divorce you?
I keep blaming myself.
Did the arguing finally become too much?
Did I push him too far?
Was Friday his last attempt to save the marriage?
Or had he already made up his mind?
What hurts me most isn’t even just the divorce.
It’s the silence.
Even if he no longer wanted to be married to me…
Didn’t I deserve one final conversation?
Didn’t I deserve an explanation?
Didn’t I deserve enough respect to hear it from my husband rather than receive a piece of paper?
And then I think about the pregnancy.
Even if he had stopped caring about me…
Did he not care about his own child?
Did he think I was lying?
Why didn’t he even ask?
I’ll probably never know.
I loved this man with everything I had.
I stood beside him when he had nobody.
I believed we’d always face hardship together because that’s what we’d always done.
The husband who held me, cried with me and promised me the world on Friday is not the man who abandoned me on Saturday.
I genuinely don’t recognise him anymore.
I don’t know whether I’m looking for advice, answers or simply for someone to tell me I’m not going crazy trying to make sense of all of this. 💔

I don’t even know why I’m writing this.
I think I’m desperately looking for answers because nobody around me can explain what happened.
My husband and I were together for over two years before we got married.
It wasn’t an easy journey because his family never accepted me.
I actually turned him down several times because I knew what his family were like and I didn’t want to spend my life fighting them.
His family made it clear they wanted him to marry within the extended family rather than marry me. They openly opposed our relationship from the very beginning, and I never truly felt accepted by them.
Despite all of that, he fought for me.
He begged me.
He begged my family.
He begged everyone around us to let him marry me.
He constantly told everyone I was the love of his life and that we’d get through anything together.
Before we got married, he left what he described as an abusive and dysfunctional family home. He had nowhere to live and was effectively homeless.
My family took him in without hesitation.
My mum fed him.
Gave him somewhere safe to stay.
Helped him rebuild his life.
Treated him like one of her own.
I stood beside him through one of the hardest periods of his life because I loved him.
We genuinely built everything from nothing together.
That’s why this hurts so much.
I genuinely believed that no matter what happened in life, we’d face it together because that’s exactly what we’d done from the beginning.
Even our wedding should have been a warning.
Guests had been waiting since around midday.
His family didn’t arrive until around 9pm.
The imam actually left because they were so late and had to be chased back.
Nobody from my family complained.
We were just happy everyone had finally arrived.
Then came our walima.
That became another horrible memory.
My father actually left because of how upset everything became.
His family refused to allow my family onto the stage.
An argument started over us having three additional guests.
While I was sitting on the stage as a bride, members of his family were calling me “fat” and “ugly.”
His brother swore at me.
It was humiliating.
Despite all of that, my husband still chose me.
That’s why what happened next feels impossible to understand.
We were only married for ten weeks.
I’m not pretending our marriage was perfect.
Yes, we argued.
But our arguments weren’t about cheating, abuse, money or anything major.
Most of them came back to his family.
They’d say hurtful things about me or disrespect our marriage, and I’d become upset because I felt he didn’t stand up to them enough.
Looking back, I also now realise I was pregnant during that time, although neither of us knew it.
In hindsight, my emotions were probably much higher than normal and neither of us understood why.
Despite the arguments, he never swore at me.
He never called me names.
He never intentionally tried to hurt me.
In so many ways he was an amazing husband.
That’s why what happened next makes absolutely no sense.
The Friday before he left, we had one of the biggest arguments we’d ever had.
At one point he packed a bag and said he was going home.
He didn’t even make it out of the front door.
Instead, we sat down and had the deepest conversation we’d ever had.
He asked me if I even wanted this marriage.
I admitted that during arguments I’d sometimes say “divorce,” but I told him I didn’t actually want one.
The truth is I wanted reassurance that he’d fight for us.
Looking back, I know that wasn’t a healthy way to communicate and I regret it deeply.
He cried his eyes out.
He asked me if I even loved him.
I cried too and told him,
“Of course I love you.”
He then said something I’ll never forget.
He said he was selfish because he didn’t want to lose me.
He said he wanted this marriage to work because he loved me more than anything.
He swore by Allah, by the Qur’an and by the Prophet ﷺ that he wanted this marriage and couldn’t imagine life without me.
We both cried.
We held each other.
We made up in what genuinely felt like an unshakable way.
We were intimate.
We ate together.
We fell asleep in each other’s arms.
If someone had asked me that night whether my husband would leave me the next day, I would’ve laughed.
I genuinely believed we’d got through the worst of it.
The next day I went out with a friend.
When I came home, something didn’t feel right.
My husband works from our utility room, and it’s somewhere I rarely go because it’s full of his work things.
For some reason I had a gut feeling something wasn’t right.
I asked him if everything was okay.
He told me there was nothing wrong and swore there was nothing to worry about, but he was visibly shaking while saying it.
That immediately made me suspicious.
I went into the room.
I saw two bags packed.
I opened one.
His clothes were inside.
The paperwork for our flat was inside too.
I asked him,
“Why have you packed all of this?”
He told me it was from the argument the day before.
But it didn’t look like someone who had angrily thrown things into a bag.
It looked properly packed.
That became our main argument.
He picked up the bags and walked out.
I asked him,
“So what are you going to do? Are you going to divorce me?”
He replied,
“Yes… I will divorce you.”
He actually stuttered saying it.
Throughout our entire relationship he never even used the word “divorce.”
He always called it “the D word” because he believed divorce was so serious in Islam that he didn’t even like saying the word out loud.
That was the first and only time I’d ever heard him actually say it.
I simply asked him whether he would swear by Allah that he meant what he was saying.
He refused.
That gave me hope.
I thought he was emotional and would come home once he’d calmed down.
Instead I saw his location at the train station.
I rang him.
I begged him not to go back.
He kept saying,
“You wanted distance. You wanted this.”
I kept saying,
“No. Please come home.”
He got on the train anyway.
That was the last time I heard his voice.
After that he blocked my number.
Changed his number.
Turned off his location.
Cancelled our tenancy.
Cancelled our household bills.
And never came back.
A few days later I found out I was pregnant.
I managed to tell him.
He never replied.
He never asked if it was true.
He never asked for proof.
He never asked how I was.
He never asked about the baby.
Instead, a few days later I received Islamic divorce papers.
They weren’t from a mosque.
They weren’t through an imam.
They were simply typed up.
He issued three talaqs in one sitting.
He never paid my mahr.
One of the conditions of our marriage was that if we ever reached breaking point, we would involve mediation before divorce.
None of that happened.
There is one thing that haunts me more than anything else.
His email account was briefly still logged into one of my devices before he signed out.
During those few moments I saw that he’d created a folder called **“Harassment from ex wife.”**
Inside were my emails.
My voice notes.
My messages.
Recordings of me crying my eyes out, begging him to speak to me and trying to understand what had happened.
Seeing that absolutely broke me.
I wasn’t trying to harass him.
I was a terrified wife who had gone from sleeping in her husband’s arms one night to watching him disappear the next.
I wasn’t sending those messages out of anger.
I was desperately trying to reach the man I’d loved for over two years.
To see myself labelled as an “ex wife” within days, and for my cries for help to be filed away as “harassment,” is something I don’t think I’ll ever forget.
The hardest part has been his family.
They never wanted this marriage.
When my parents rang asking if he was there, they denied knowing where he was, despite us having reason to believe he’d gone back to them.
When they were told I was pregnant, they ignored it.
I rang his father crying and begged him to help save my marriage.
I even said I’d kiss his feet and my husband’s feet if it meant saving my family.
I was told I wasn’t welcome there and they wanted nothing to do with me.
When I asked whether I should contact the police because I couldn’t find my husband, I was told to wait another day or two.
Then the divorce papers arrived.
Based on everything I’d experienced over more than two years, I genuinely believe his family had a significant influence after he returned to them. They had opposed our marriage from the beginning, and from my perspective everything changed after he went back.
What I cannot understand is this…
How does someone spend over two years fighting everyone to marry you…
Leave the family he described as abusive…
Accept help from your family when he had nowhere to go…
Cry in your arms…
Swear by Allah, the Qur’an and the Prophet ﷺ that he loves you more than anything…
Sleep in your arms…
Tell you he wants to save the marriage…
Then within 48 hours leave, disappear and divorce you?
I keep blaming myself.
Did the arguing finally become too much?
Did I push him too far?
Was Friday his last attempt to save the marriage?
Or had he already made up his mind?
What hurts me most isn’t even just the divorce.
It’s the silence.
Even if he no longer wanted to be married to me…
Didn’t I deserve one final conversation?
Didn’t I deserve an explanation?
Didn’t I deserve enough respect to hear it from my husband rather than receive a piece of paper?
And then I think about the pregnancy.
Even if he had stopped caring about me…
Did he not care about his own child?
Did he think I was lying?
Why didn’t he even ask?
I’ll probably never know.
I loved this man with everything I had.
I stood beside him when he had nobody.
I believed we’d always face hardship together because that’s what we’d always done.
The husband who held me, cried with me and promised me the world on Friday is not the man who abandoned me on Saturday.
I genuinely don’t recognise him anymore.
I don’t know whether I’m looking for advice, answers or simply for someone to tell me I’m not going crazy trying to make sense of all of this. 💔

I don’t even know why I’m writing this.
I think I’m desperately looking for answers because nobody around me can explain what happened.
My husband and I were together for over two years before we got married.
It wasn’t an easy journey because his family never accepted me.
I actually turned him down several times because I knew what his family were like and I didn’t want to spend my life fighting them.
His family made it clear they wanted him to marry within the extended family rather than marry me. They openly opposed our relationship from the very beginning, and I never truly felt accepted by them.
Despite all of that, he fought for me.
He begged me.
He begged my family.
He begged everyone around us to let him marry me.
He constantly told everyone I was the love of his life and that we’d get through anything together.
Before we got married, he left what he described as an abusive and dysfunctional family home. He had nowhere to live and was effectively homeless.
My family took him in without hesitation.
My mum fed him.
Gave him somewhere safe to stay.
Helped him rebuild his life.
Treated him like one of her own.
I stood beside him through one of the hardest periods of his life because I loved him.
We genuinely built everything from nothing together.
That’s why this hurts so much.
I genuinely believed that no matter what happened in life, we’d face it together because that’s exactly what we’d done from the beginning.
Even our wedding should have been a warning.
Guests had been waiting since around midday.
His family didn’t arrive until around 9pm.
The imam actually left because they were so late and had to be chased back.
Nobody from my family complained.
We were just happy everyone had finally arrived.
Then came our walima.
That became another horrible memory.
My father actually left because of how upset everything became.
His family refused to allow my family onto the stage.
An argument started over us having three additional guests.
While I was sitting on the stage as a bride, members of his family were calling me “fat” and “ugly.”
His brother swore at me.
It was humiliating.
Despite all of that, my husband still chose me.
That’s why what happened next feels impossible to understand.
We were only married for ten weeks.
I’m not pretending our marriage was perfect.
Yes, we argued.
But our arguments weren’t about cheating, abuse, money or anything major.
Most of them came back to his family.
They’d say hurtful things about me or disrespect our marriage, and I’d become upset because I felt he didn’t stand up to them enough.
Looking back, I also now realise I was pregnant during that time, although neither of us knew it.
In hindsight, my emotions were probably much higher than normal and neither of us understood why.
Despite the arguments, he never swore at me.
He never called me names.
He never intentionally tried to hurt me.
In so many ways he was an amazing husband.
That’s why what happened next makes absolutely no sense.
The Friday before he left, we had one of the biggest arguments we’d ever had.
At one point he packed a bag and said he was going home.
He didn’t even make it out of the front door.
Instead, we sat down and had the deepest conversation we’d ever had.
He asked me if I even wanted this marriage.
I admitted that during arguments I’d sometimes say “divorce,” but I told him I didn’t actually want one.
The truth is I wanted reassurance that he’d fight for us.
Looking back, I know that wasn’t a healthy way to communicate and I regret it deeply.
He cried his eyes out.
He asked me if I even loved him.
I cried too and told him,
“Of course I love you.”
He then said something I’ll never forget.
He said he was selfish because he didn’t want to lose me.
He said he wanted this marriage to work because he loved me more than anything.
He swore by Allah, by the Qur’an and by the Prophet ﷺ that he wanted this marriage and couldn’t imagine life without me.
We both cried.
We held each other.
We made up in what genuinely felt like an unshakable way.
We were intimate.
We ate together.
We fell asleep in each other’s arms.
If someone had asked me that night whether my husband would leave me the next day, I would’ve laughed.
I genuinely believed we’d got through the worst of it.
The next day I went out with a friend.
When I came home, something didn’t feel right.
My husband works from our utility room, and it’s somewhere I rarely go because it’s full of his work things.
For some reason I had a gut feeling something wasn’t right.
I asked him if everything was okay.
He told me there was nothing wrong and swore there was nothing to worry about, but he was visibly shaking while saying it.
That immediately made me suspicious.
I went into the room.
I saw two bags packed.
I opened one.
His clothes were inside.
The paperwork for our flat was inside too.
I asked him,
“Why have you packed all of this?”
He told me it was from the argument the day before.
But it didn’t look like someone who had angrily thrown things into a bag.
It looked properly packed.
That became our main argument.
He picked up the bags and walked out.
I asked him,
“So what are you going to do? Are you going to divorce me?”
He replied,
“Yes… I will divorce you.”
He actually stuttered saying it.
Throughout our entire relationship he never even used the word “divorce.”
He always called it “the D word” because he believed divorce was so serious in Islam that he didn’t even like saying the word out loud.
That was the first and only time I’d ever heard him actually say it.
I simply asked him whether he would swear by Allah that he meant what he was saying.
He refused.
That gave me hope.
I thought he was emotional and would come home once he’d calmed down.
Instead I saw his location at the train station.
I rang him.
I begged him not to go back.
He kept saying,
“You wanted distance. You wanted this.”
I kept saying,
“No. Please come home.”
He got on the train anyway.
That was the last time I heard his voice.
After that he blocked my number.
Changed his number.
Turned off his location.
Cancelled our tenancy.
Cancelled our household bills.
And never came back.
A few days later I found out I was pregnant.
I managed to tell him.
He never replied.
He never asked if it was true.
He never asked for proof.
He never asked how I was.
He never asked about the baby.
Instead, a few days later I received Islamic divorce papers.
They weren’t from a mosque.
They weren’t through an imam.
They were simply typed up.
He issued three talaqs in one sitting.
He never paid my mahr.
One of the conditions of our marriage was that if we ever reached breaking point, we would involve mediation before divorce.
None of that happened.
There is one thing that haunts me more than anything else.
His email account was briefly still logged into one of my devices before he signed out.
During those few moments I saw that he’d created a folder called “Harassment from ex wife.”
Inside were my emails.
My voice notes.
My messages.
Recordings of me crying my eyes out, begging him to speak to me and trying to understand what had happened.
Seeing that absolutely broke me.
I wasn’t trying to harass him.
I was a terrified wife who had gone from sleeping in her husband’s arms one night to watching him disappear the next.
I wasn’t sending those messages out of anger.
I was desperately trying to reach the man I’d loved for over two years.
To see myself labelled as an “ex wife” within days, and for my cries for help to be filed away as “harassment,” is something I don’t think I’ll ever forget.
The hardest part has been his family.
They never wanted this marriage.
When my parents rang asking if he was there, they denied knowing where he was, despite us having reason to believe he’d gone back to them.
When they were told I was pregnant, they ignored it.
I rang his father crying and begged him to help save my marriage.
I even said I’d kiss his feet and my husband’s feet if it meant saving my family.
I was told I wasn’t welcome there and they wanted nothing to do with me.
When I asked whether I should contact the police because I couldn’t find my husband, I was told to wait another day or two.
Then the divorce papers arrived.
Based on everything I’d experienced over more than two years, I genuinely believe his family had a significant influence after he returned to them. They had opposed our marriage from the beginning, and from my perspective everything changed after he went back.
What I cannot understand is this…
How does someone spend over two years fighting everyone to marry you…
Leave the family he described as abusive…
Accept help from your family when he had nowhere to go…
Cry in your arms…
Swear by Allah, the Qur’an and the Prophet ﷺ that he loves you more than anything…
Sleep in your arms…
Tell you he wants to save the marriage…
Then within 48 hours leave, disappear and divorce you?
I keep blaming myself.
Did the arguing finally become too much?
Did I push him too far?
Was Friday his last attempt to save the marriage?
Or had he already made up his mind?
What hurts me most isn’t even just the divorce.
It’s the silence.
Even if he no longer wanted to be married to me…
Didn’t I deserve one final conversation?
Didn’t I deserve an explanation?
Didn’t I deserve enough respect to hear it from my husband rather than receive a piece of paper?
And then I think about the pregnancy.
Even if he had stopped caring about me…
Did he not care about his own child?
Did he think I was lying?
Why didn’t he even ask?
I’ll probably never know.
I loved this man with everything I had.
I stood beside him when he had nobody.
I believed we’d always face hardship together because that’s what we’d always done.
The husband who held me, cried with me and promised me the world on Friday is not the man who abandoned me on Saturday.
I genuinely don’t recognise him anymore.
I don’t know whether I’m looking for advice, answers or simply for someone to tell me I’m not going crazy trying to make sense of all of this. 💔