Thus, I was torn from my husband and my son in the span of a single hour.

From that day on I would go out every morning to al-Abṭaḥ, sit at the very spot where my tragedy had unfolded, summon back the moments when I was cut off from my child and my husband, and weep until night cast its shadows over me.

I kept to that routine for a year—perhaps a little less—until one day a man from my clan passed by. His heart melted at the sight of me and he said to my people:

“Will you not set this poor woman free? You have separated her from her husband and her child!”

He persisted, softening their hearts and drawing forth their compassion, until at last they said to me, “Go and join your husband if you wish.”

But how could I leave for Medina to be with my husband while my son—the apple (1) of my eye—remained in Mecca with the Banu ‘Abd al-Asad?!