Every Thursday I Lied to Him – Part Five: The Old Apartment

I stood reading the message out loud so he could hear it.

“I am the woman Samer used to meet before Rana.”

I raised my eyes to Samer.

For the first time since I married him, I did not see my husband in front of me.

I saw a stranger standing in my house, whose features I recognized… but whose life I did not know.

I said:

— How many women, Samer?

He said, panting as if he were the one cornered:

— Hala, I swear everything before Rana ended before I met you.

I looked at him for a long time.

— And after I met you? Rana?

He fell silent.

I said:

— So the past was over… and then you went and reopened it with your own hands.

He lowered his head.

I opened the chat with the unknown number and wrote:

— Who are you?

She replied after a few seconds:

“I thought I was the only one he fooled. Turns out there were many of us.”

Then she sent an address.

The address of an old building in an area I sometimes heard Samer mention, only to quickly change the subject.

Once he said it was “a friend’s apartment.”

I wrote to her:

— What do you want from me?

She replied:

“Nothing. I just wanted you to know you’re not the first woman whose life was lied to every Thursday.”

Samer was watching my fingers move across the screen.

He said:

— Don’t go.

I did not reply.

He took a step closer.

— Hala… please, don’t go to that address.

I lifted my head toward him.

— Are you afraid I’ll go see the apartment? Or afraid I’ll see the old version of you?

He sank onto the sofa as if his legs could no longer carry him.

He said in a broken voice:

— Before marriage I was a different person. I was lost. I did many things I regret. But when I met you… I changed.

I said:

— And then?

He was silent for a moment.

— And then Rana came back… and I made the biggest mistake of my life.

I said:

— Don’t call it a mistake.

He looked at me.

— A mistake happens once and ends. You hid, you lied, you paid money, you got tested, and you had Karim intervene… that’s not a moment. That’s a chain of decisions.

He found no answer.

I mentioned Karim’s name.

And suddenly I felt there was one last piece I had not yet understood.

I said:

— Karim knew everything about you from the beginning… right?

He slowly raised his head.

Then he nodded.

— Karim has been my friend for a long time.

I felt a chill in my limbs.

He continued:

— He was the one who rented the old apartment. And when Rana started threatening me, I asked him to talk to her instead of me so the story wouldn’t reach you.

I said:

— And he knew I was your wife?

— Of course.

— And he knew me from university?

He hesitated.

Then he said:

— When he saw our wedding photo, he said he knew you.

I smiled a smile that held no joy.

— And then he started talking to me.

He said quickly:

— I swear I didn’t send him to you.

— But you knew later?

He did not answer directly.

I moved closer to him.

— Did you know, Samer?

He said:

— I found out after a while.

I felt something inside me break for the third time in one night.

I said:

— And you stayed silent?

— I wanted to see how far the matter would go.

I stared at him.

— So you were watching me?

— No…

— You were watching me!

My voice rose.

— Every Thursday I lied to you and said I was going out with my friend… and you lied to me and said you had work… and Karim in the middle knowing your secrets and knowing mine!

He said:

— Hala…

I screamed:

— Don’t say my name!

Silence sat heavily between us.

Then I sat on the floor.

I no longer had the strength to stand.

After a few minutes I said:

— I want to ask you one question, and I want an answer without beating around the bush.

He raised his eyes to me.

I said:

— When Rana said she was pregnant… did you believe her because you were actually convinced it could be your child?

The question needed no explanation.

He understood.

And I understood the answer from his face before he spoke.

He said:

— Yes.

I closed my eyes.

I did not cry.

This time the pain was greater than tears.

I said:

— Get up.

— Hala…

— Get up and leave the house.

He stood where he was.

— Listen to me for a minute.

— There’s nothing left for me to hear tonight.

He took a step closer.

I stepped back.

— I said leave.

He took his keys.

He reached the door, then turned.

— And the apartment?

I laughed bitterly.

— Afraid I’ll go?

He fell silent.

I said:

— I’m not going to the apartment.

He exhaled as if relieved.

Then I continued:

— I’m going to my parents’ house.

His face changed again.

— And the apartment, keep it for yourself… and for your memories.

He opened the door.

And before he left he said:

— I know I don’t deserve you to look at me. But there are still things you don’t know.

I said:

— Save them for the day I decide whether I even want to listen to you.

He left.

He closed the door behind him.

And I remained alone.

The phone in my hand held three names that had destroyed the last year of my life:

Karim.
Rana.
And the unknown woman.

I opened Karim’s chat.

I wrote:

“Did you know Samer was my husband when you started talking to me?”

The read receipt appeared immediately.

He replied:

“Yes.”

I wrote:

“And you knew he was the same Samer you were helping with Rana?”

He replied:

“Yes.”

I felt my heart sink.

I wrote:

“Then why did you continue?”

He did not reply right away.

One minute.

Two minutes.

Then a long message arrived:

“Because I saw you living inside a big lie. I was wrong to approach you this way, and I was wrong to let you trust me while I knew things you didn’t. I didn’t want to be your lover, Hala. But I wanted the truth to come out. And my way was wrong.”

I read the message twice.

Then I blocked him.

I did not reply.

I don’t want a new explanation from a new man.

I opened the chat with the unknown woman.

I wrote:

“Thank you for telling me the truth. I’m not going to the apartment.”

I waited a moment.

Then I wrote:

“I’m going somewhere more important.”

I closed the phone.

And for the first time since this story began, I stopped trying to figure out who was the victim and who was the guilty one.

Because I too was wrong.

I lied every Thursday.

I was looking for attention and sweet words in the wrong place.

And I no longer had an excuse for that.

But Samer lied too.

And the difference is that tonight I did not try to absolve myself…

And I did not allow him to absolve himself.

I got up.

I performed ablution.

I prayed two rak’ahs I had not prayed like them in months.

And in prostration I cried.

Not over Samer alone.

Nor over Karim.

Nor over my current self.

I cried over the old Hala…

Hala who used to believe that marriage meant we stayed together no matter how much we lied to each other.

I went to my parents’ house before dawn.

And for the first time in a long while, I slept without making up a story for anyone about where I was.

In the morning, I woke up to a message from Samer.

“I’m sleeping in the car in front of your parents’ house. I won’t move until you talk to me. Not so you come back… but so I can say everything once, and fix what I can before you leave me for good.”

I approached the window.

I pulled the curtain aside a little.

His car was really there.

And Samer was sitting inside it.

His head resting against the seat.

Wearing the same clothes from the night before.

And his phone in his hand.

I watched him for a few seconds.

Then I stepped away from the window.

I didn’t know whether to go down to him…

Or leave him waiting a little so he would understand how it feels when a person is left alone, not knowing whether the door will open for him or not.

But before I decided…

My phone vibrated.

A new message.

From the unknown woman.

I opened it.

And it contained only one line:

“Before you go down to Samer… ask him who was in the old apartment on the last night.”

My breath stopped.

And I looked out the window again.

This time…

Samer was looking directly at my window.

To be continued…
Part Six: The Night Everyone Confessed

Will Hala go down to face Samer?
And who was in the old apartment that night?
And has Karim’s role really ended… or has his real confession not yet begun?