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Reham
Khan
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Copyright Reham Khan 2018
The Author asserts the moral right to
be identified as the author of this work.
ISBN 978-191641-52-01
Printed and bound in Great Britain.
Published by SK Publishing Ltd 2018
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the author.
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the authors prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
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Table of Contents
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Acknowledgements
I t is strange to write an acknowledgements section when there is hardly anyone to acknowledge. The sad fact is that this was a mountain that I had to climb largely on my own. No one wanted to tell my story. Everyone who took an interest was in it for other reasons. Eventually, even those who wanted to help found that they could not. There were too many complications. There were obstacles and opponents at every turn. This was too much and too scary for just about everyone. With so many things working against me, I probably should have just given up. But I did not. And I only needed one source of help.
This book would never have been completed had it not been for Sahir, my son. I would never have managed to organise it all by myself. We worked on it together, compiling passage after passage, chapter after chapter. It was a mammoth task. But we did it.
In bringing this book to you, Sahir was my only support. He kept me motivated and forced me to work harder. We would often stay up all night to get the job done. Sahir became an expert in editing, publishing, designing and countless other things. He single-handedly achieved what huge teams cannot. He displayed utter professionalism, and his tolerance of my totally unreasonable panic attacks was legendary.
Even Sahirs friends were supportive. Instead of complaining that he had no time to hang out, they got involved and gave us valuable feedback. These people offered more support than most people in my life ever have. I will not forget that.
Despite everything, this book was written. My story is ready to be told.
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Preface
T his is said to be the much-awaited book. Awaited by those who fear what it will expose. Awaited by those who think it might just help their own political careers.
There will be many in the media who pick up this book simply to get some juicy content for their shows. But that is not why I write it.
Why do I write this book? Is it for revenge against certain people I have known? Is it to set the record straight? Is it to prove my innocence and incriminate others?
It is none of the above. It is the account of a public figure who also happens to be a human being, something the world seems to overlook.
This is the account of a mother who is responsible for three children of her own, as well as thousands of children who have no mother at all (another fact people seem keen to forget).
This is the account of a young girl who grew up very quickly. This is a story for my two daughters; a story that will tell them that the happiness they are looking for is within them. You are responsible for the smile on your face.
This is a story for my son: If you love a woman, she will give you her life. But if you hurt a woman, she will leave you for a much better life.
This is a story for those out there who think that there is no point going on anymore. To you I say this: You will see that there is every reason to get up, no matter how many times someone pushes you to the ground.
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Prologue
T he pine door burst open.
A tall man barged in. He saw the mother with the young child clinging to her under the crisp white linens. The thin, cruel lips were pursed tightly together on his long face. He stripped the duvet from the bed and grabbed the womans thin wrists. In one swift movement, he dragged her to the floor. She fell to her knees. The little child cried out in terror. As the woman got up, she heard the familiar barrage of abusive words. But she realized that she was not afraid anymore.
The man did what he usually did, moving forward to punch her in the chest repeatedly. She heard herself scream for the first time in years. The man stepped back, as if surprised by any form of retaliation. The woman regained her bearings and stood in front of him. She threatened to call the police if he hit her again, but it had been twelve years and she had never reported him. She heard his laugh and screamed again, this time for her son.
Sahir!!!
As the man advanced towards her again, she warned him that she would call 999.
Oh really! Lets see you do it then, he jeered.
He knew her inside out. He thought she did not have the courage to go through with it. He had her right where he wanted her. His wife had thought about leaving him every day for over twelve years. She would be certain by Friday. But as he left for work on Monday, shed talk herself out of it. After all, it wasnt the sort of thing ladies did. How would her mother face society? What would people say?
She didnt look like a victim. Her lipstick was always in place. Her smile was always ready. She was young, confident and full of life. She had everything a woman could want. She lived in a five-bedroom house with en-suite bathrooms, a central staircase, four reception rooms, and a large conservatory. Not to mention the two luxury cars parked outside, one with her name on it. It was the perfect everything. She looked perfect. The house looked perfect. Her children looked perfect. They looked perfect together. But the reality was anything but perfect.
That night had hardly been the first time. There had been many times when a scene from a cheap soap opera was enacted in the country home. But something was different tonight. This woman was not the young teenager he had married long ago. This woman had changed. She ran out of the room and he chased her across the house and into her daughters room. With the phone in her hand and adrenaline coursing through her, the woman made her move. She didnt even notice the toys on the floor digging into her feet as she dialled the number she had wanted to call for so long.
The man stood in the doorway and stared. The kids stood petrified, looking from one adult to the other. From the look on his face, it seemed he didnt believe her. He seemed certain she was bluffing. But then he heard her say, Police. The Willows, South Street, North Kelsey.
He turned on his heel and disappeared. She locked the door behind him and sat down on the fairy-printed duvet of her daughters bed. Her three kids huddled around her. She felt her bony chest hurt where he had punched her. Punching her straight in the chest was his style, almost a signature move. She could always sense his cowardice; how he would aim like a little boy who was scared. It was almost as if he expected a punch back. But she never retaliated. She barely even managed a whimper most of the time.
She remembered how hed pinned her before, as he had many times. He was laughing as he forced himself on her.
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