“The Price of Silence: I Married an AIDS Patient by Choice”

Poverty — it’s more than just a lack of money. It becomes a burden, a label, a shame stamped on the soul. We live in a world where the poor are embarrassed by their lack, and the rich flaunt their privilege. But when will the tables turn? When will the poor hold their heads high, and the wealthy be humbled by their arrogance?

I am Fatima, the middle daughter of a man who never wanted daughters, and made no effort to hide it. My mother, a woman defeated by life, raised three girls under the roof of cruelty and control. Shahd is my elder sister, three years ahead of me; Raga, my younger sister by two years. And I—stuck in the middle.

Our father never cared for our happiness, but he allowed us to study, perhaps the only good thing he did. Even so, he refused to support us financially. We worked while studying, scraping by every day. Shahd, beautiful and graceful, caught the eye of an advertising director. Lured by his promises, she entered his world—only to lose herself in it. Money changed her morals. She disappeared, leaving a stain on our family name.

From that day on, our lives became unbearable. My father beat us, insulted us, and blamed us for her choices. The day he announced he would marry Raga and me off to our neighbor’s sons, I rebelled. I refused outright. Raga, too, cried out in protest. We had suffered enough. All we wanted was to marry kind men, not ones chosen for us like livestock in a trade.

He threatened, forced, and tried to break us. During this chaos, a boy from my university named Ward unexpectedly asked to speak with me. We had barely exchanged greetings before. Why me? I couldn’t imagine.

I worked as a waitress near the university. One day, I served coffee to Shahd and spilled it on her expensive clothes. Her friend insulted me; my manager humiliated me, accusing me of hiding secrets. I quit on the spot, even losing my unpaid wages. But the real pain was Shahd still chasing me in the shadows of her new life.

Ward kept insisting he needed to talk. He was rich, well-known, and very attractive. Any girl would dream of him. But I didn’t. I feared men. I feared what they expected from us.

When we finally sat together, I trembled. He spoke for nearly an hour—about business, commerce, life, and values. I heard nothing. Only one thing made sense to me: he wanted to marry me.

And then, just like that, he admitted it. "I want to marry you," he said. "But it will be a marriage in name only—on paper."

I was shocked. He promised to give me everything—money, a house, protection from my father’s wrath. I asked for 20 million and a house in a prestigious area. He agreed without hesitation.

Then came the truth.

He said, “I have AIDS.”

 

It hit me like a slap in the face. I broke down. He told me it happened while he was studying abroad—one wild night, too much alcohol, a careless mistake.

I didn’t let him continue.

Why did I still say yes?

Because I had no choice. My father's home was hell. My future otherwise was darkness. I didn’t want to be sold off like Raga. I thought maybe, just maybe, I could save myself this way.

Now, every night, I cry into my pillow. I ask myself: What have I done?

But I still don’t have the answer.