I Detest Every Stepmother On The Planet.

My name is Razia, and if you could even call it that, my house is barely standing and is like a shattered tent. There's no door, only a frayed and unkempt curtain that billows in the breeze, a weak partition separating my world from the outside. She gave me a startled look as I welcomed her; it was as though she was shocked that I was still alive. Where should I sit when she told me to? There was nowhere to take a seat. Nothing to settle onto.

I looked at her as I lowered myself to the icy, bare earth. I believe she used to be really lovely, but her melancholy always hung over her like a heavy, oppressive fog. Her kids were gathered around her, watching my every action with famished eyes. Though hunger had also taken its toll on them, they were still as gorgeous as she had been. Their once-full and gentle cheeks had turned shallow and hollow, reflecting their mother's suffering.

She started, "Baji, I am very sad," her voice faltering like the curtain that was barely keeping us warm. "My life has been nothing but pain."

Her comments tore at my heart, pulling me all the way back to the start of my own pain. My mother was actually my stepmother—a cruel person with a cold heart. She showed no concern for me. I was just another burden that she needed to get rid of. I was studying in school with my pals, attempting to find some small measure of joy in an otherwise hopeless life. She did, however, later say that I was too old to attend school. She tore me from the one location that gave me a sense of significance in an instant.

I've always been a reserved girl who never got involved in household affairs. My mother received the meager money I made, and that was my only responsibility. However, my heart broke the day mother pulled me out of school. I sobbed the entire way home. I was attempted to feel better by the attendant who used to drive me to and from school. He assured me that he would let my mother know how much I enjoyed studying and that perhaps she would reconsider. However, I was aware of this.

My mother was unconcerned when the servant told her. My dad was the same way. When he asked her, "Why is Razia crying?," he hardly looked up. What's so important?

My father gave the servant a severe beating that evening. I saw him yell at him, accusing him of interfering in matters that weren't relevant to him. The servant vanished the following day and was replaced by a man by the name of Rashid. The first servant had a friend, possibly even a relative, in Rashid. He was aware of all the events.

When I was a young girl, all I wanted was kindness and love. Rashid showed me kindness. He gave me space to vent about my stepmother's cruelty, how much I wanted to study, and how much I wanted to go away. He assured me he would assist me. Using his own money, he purchased books for me, which I would then discreetly hide from my mother. I used to stay behind and study with Rashid while my sisters left.

My sister once saw me studying in my room with Rashid. I was doing nothing more than reading while seated on the bed. However, my mother entered the room with the force of a hurricane upon learning of it. She started punching me after grabbing my hair. She yelled at me, calling me names for stuff I didn't know. "What does this signify? Do you think he's cute? You're ruining this family!" she cried, harshly expressing her feelings.

She refused to listen to me when I tried to explain. She flung me into the bed, and I briefly lost consciousness when my head struck the corner. She was still there, still yelling, and still tearing at me with her hands when I woke up.

Without saying anything or inquiring about the circumstances, my father entered the room and took my mother's side. "This girl is a disgrace," she informed him. "She is making all of us seem bad. She needs to be eliminated."

Thus, they carried it out.

They gave Rashid my hand in marriage. I was just an issue that needed to be solved in their opinion. They didn't seem to care that Rashid was completely different from us and inferior to us in every manner. All they wanted was for me to disappear.

Rashid showed me around his village after the wedding. However, I discovered the reality when I got there. Rashid had a previous marriage. His first spouse was enraged. My life was miserable because of her, but what could I do? She refused to forgive me even though I begged her to pardon me for a sin I didn't commit.

The village had a distinct way of life. The individuals there treated me with more kindness than any member of my family had ever shown me. They attempted to act as a mediator between Rashid's first wife and me. However, there was nothing that could alter the reality that my life had changed.

My six kids and I shared a different home throughout a four-year period. Everything was under the hands of my loathed sister-in-law. Rashid wanted a divorce and had lost interest in me long ago. I couldn't live without him, but he wanted to be rid of me? I had no family to return to, no one who was concerned about my well-being.

It is a daily fight. Even though I have nothing to feed them, my kids are hungry. My stepmother's brothers give money from time to time, but it's never enough. Though, to be fair, what sort of parents discard their daughter like trash? I frequently wonder what kind of father allows his own children to suffer in this way.

With my kids all around me, I wait for the next blow to land. My once-optimistic life has turned into a prison. I feel as though every breath I breathe is a constant reminder of the life I lost and the freedom I never had.