Not knowing. To be completely blinded by life. She saw his demise coming but thought he’d pull through with strength from family and Allah.

Maybe prayers are not listened to, she thought. Maybe they dissolve the minute after leaving your soul, in a pew, kneeling, worshipping on hands, and knees.

Words and thoughts disappear in mid-air, never lifting high enough to God’s ear, Basima whispered, alone to no one.

The mother of two spent her time thinking of Salman. His erratic behavior before leaving each day. His strange smell and appearance when he came home late; disheveled, red eyes, smelling of whores. But, she never confronted him. She just prayed it would stop.

Basima had to find out the truth. Discover what happened to her husband. She decided to follow this trail, leading to him during the rest of her days; making missing person posters, calling police stations throughout the burroughs, asking questions around Hunts Point, unveiling who he was. And, tossing prayer aside. It had done no good.

At first, she felt sorrow followed by grief. Now, she just felt angry. The children always asked when Baba was coming home. Household chores neglected. Smells from the kitchen ceased. Basima was now cold and angry. Her children felt this.

The young wife asked Salman’s parents to watch over the young ones during this time. They, too, were at a loss. However, the older couple agreed. The boy and girl would live with the grandparents for a while until this mystery came to an end; maybe months. Perhaps a year. She would discover the truth.

And maybe that was the will of Allah. Maybe that was his divine plan. Or it could be Salman’s free will.

But why? Why so much suffering? she thought. Our lives and choices turn into children’s prayers.