For the next three months, Zeenah healed outwardly, the bruises fading, and she started going twice a week to a therapist. Having never been to a therapist before, she expected she was going to have to lie back on a sofa and talk while some impersonal white-coated professional took notes.
Instead, she was welcomed into a small, cosy office with a sofa upholstered in flowered yellow twill, by a therapist who didn’t seem all that much older than her. Her name was Karima Shehu, and she was beautiful in her own way and sociable. It was a relief beyond description to unburden herself to her. She was understanding and smart, and as Zeenah described things she had felt and gone through, it seemed she had the power to unlock the mysteries of the universe.
Karima said Abubakar's behaviour fit
