—STRAY

Hazeem 'Haz' Usmani. 34. Entrepreneur.

[haz-usmani]

noellechung​: 

Who: anyone @srphq-starters​

Where: Rockafellas

Just go out and enjoy yourself. That was what her mother had said to her the last time she called. Easier said than done. Noelle was terrible at trying to make small talk. She spent most of her time in the lab at the historic site and the people she usually worked with had been dead for hundreds of years which doesn't make for great conversation. She slipped on her favourite dress and tied her long brown hair back and stared in the mirror.  There was no doubt she was beautiful. Tall, slim and had perfect skin. But her eyes were dark and even when she tried to look soft, she gave a bitchy look. Noelle sighed at the mirror, part of her wanting to throw on the hoodie and watch pretty in pink for the millionth time. No. She had to get out there and face the world eventually and today seemed like the perfect time. 

After putting on some lipstick and her heels. She made her way to Rockafellas. She stepped in from the cool evening air to the warm, busy environment and her stomach flipped. It was so different to the quiet museums she had worked in. Now she was there, what should she do? After a moment of panic, she headed to the bar and people moved around her. She smiled at the barman and ordered her drink and paid for it, then turned and caught someone's eye. Giving them a please come talk to me look, she waved. “ Hi.” she mouthed from across the room.

**

Haz certainly didn’t miss his ex-wife, but there were times he missed the comfort of being married. The companionship, the social crutch. He even missed the solid weight of the ring around his finger. Without it, he just felt... untethered. Though that probably had more to do with his life in general these days. 

He couldn’t even say why he’d come out tonight - just a general feeling of needing to get out of his own head for a few hours. He didn’t know why he’d thought a bar would do the trick; crowds only ever made him feel more awkward and uncomfortable. But alcohol promised a pleasant buzz, and it wasn’t long before he slipped into the rhythm and hum of the club.  He didn’t even question it when he caught eyes with someone across the room, coming when she gestured, hoping for some of that companionship he’d been missing. “You’ve got that deer in the headlights look,” he teased without preamble. “Not a fan of crowds?” 

[judexwilson]

who: @haz-usmani​ where: outside a Halloween store

October in Salem is serious business as the whole city throws itself into the Halloween spirit. Jude’s a fan of this time of year and it’s one of the many things he likes about living there. The thing is, as much as he likes the spooky season, he has nothing set up at his apartment. No decorations, no pumpkins, not even a candy bowl for any kids that happen to live in the apartment building. He chained his bike to a rack and stood in front of the few Halloween stores which carries loads of merchandise for this time of year. He was about to walk in when Haz turned the corner and headed in his direction. “Hey!” he called out to him with a wave as he walked towards him. “Long time no see, man.” A door opened suddenly and nearly hit Jude in the face but he sidestepped it quickly before playing the whole thing off by leaning against the wall and laughed at the near hit. “Anyway,” he started with a laugh. “How’s it going?”

[haz-usmani]

Hazeem never really understood the appeal of Halloween. He supposed perhaps it would be different had he grown up with the tradition, but he’d never been allowed to trick-or-treat as a kid. His first real introduction to the holiday didn’t come until college when it was yet another excuse to get plastered on a weeknight. Still, he supposed he could indulge a friend, so when Jude invited him out shopping, he’d decided he could use an afternoon out. 

“Oh, y’know,” he shrugged, “one foot in front of the other.” Haz had never been one for sugarcoating, but he didn’t exactly have anything to complain about either. “You?” 

[haz-usmani]

The New and Improved Hazeem Usmani! 

While I loved previous Haz, his story was honestly a little too sad for me to emotionally handle right now. So I’ve made some drastic revisions, and please say hello to the new Hazeem Usmani! 

Name: Hazeem Usmani Age: 34 Gender/Pronouns: Cis Man / He/Him Occupation: Tech Entrepreneur  Relationship Status: Divorced Traits: compassionate, driven, intelligent, self-conscious, taciturn, melancholic Nicknames: Haz (almost exclusively), Zee

THE BASICS

Hazeem was born to Pakistani immigrants; his father came to the US as an engineer recruited by General Electric. They lived in Salem, and the first few years of Haz’s life were proof that the American Dream was possible.

His father died when he was 5, and it’s a loss he still struggles with. His mother was amazing, and did her best to raise him on her own, but he always felt like he missed out on having that strong father figure in his life.

After his father’s pension ran out, the family was on their own, and Haz’s mother took up various jobs to support them. When he was 11, she found a job as a housekeeper to an incredibly wealthy local family (the Hastings), and in a show of philanthropy, they took Haz under their wing and provided him with a top-tier education. Haz was something of a model student in all subjects, but really took to science in particular. 

He really felt like he was one of the family, and for a second started to let it go to his head. But when he developed feelings for their daughter, and tried to pursue them, he was told kindly but unequivocally by the patriarch that while he was good enough to be their “ward,” he was not good enough to date his daughter.  

That realization broke his heart and ignited a fire in him to prove them wrong. He worked hard and eventually got into MIT on a full scholarship on his own merit. While there, Haz really started to thrive and found a confidence in himself he didn’t know he possessed. He was fast friends with a guy who shared his drive and entrepreneurial spirit, and together they founded a medical device company poised to become the “Next Big Thing” in medicine. 

After graduation, he and his partner moved to Silicon Valley. While there, he met the woman who would become his wife - she was just as driven and ambitious as Haz and his partner, and eventually signed on to be the CFO of his company. 

Everything was going great, and his company was on the brink on releasing a device that promised to be revolutionary and take them to the next level, when news came out that his best friend and his wife were cheating on him. Not only that, but they made some shady business deals that cut Haz out of the company. 

He returned to Salem in disgrace, and has been here ever since. It’s been 3 years, and he’s still trying to find his next big idea. 

Haz considers himself to be spiritually agnostic, but culturally Muslim. He was raised in the faith by his mother, and after his father’s passing, his first real sense of community was with those in the Mosque. However, as he was brought into the Hastings’ world - dressing up like a J Crew catalogue for Sundays at church, Christmases worthy of a Normal Rockwell painting - he started to distance himself. Now, he finds that even though he doesn’t believe the teachings of any one religion, he deeply identifies with the traditions of his youth. He observes Ramadan, tries to meditate during prayer times, and eats Halal (minus alcohol). There was a time when he was ashamed of his Muslim heritage, but now he wears it proudly.

[tgpgifs]

What’s happening?

[fitzsimmonkeys]

michael is a forever mood™️

[haz-usmani]

harpernovak​: 

✶ — › CLOSED STARTER             ft. hazeem usmani @haz-usmani​​

stepping into the chief role was one that she was still getting to grips with - but harper knew that she wasn’t going to be learning the ropes if she didn’t fully throw herself into it. that meant making sure she was there for her staff, even if she didn’t know them all yet. she was a caring soul beneath the determination and need to control the world around her, even if that didn’t always shine through the way that she wanted it to. “doctor usmani, right?” she’d checked the name on her schedule at least four times before the meeting - there was nothing worse than calling someone by the wrong name. “without asking probably the worst question i could - how are you doing?”

**

He couldn’t deny that a part of him was terrified about returning to work, but it’d been long enough. His injuries had fully healed, and he had no excuse. The world continued on, and so must he. A meeting with the new chief sounded like an easy enough way to ease back into things, but it still didn’t stop him from having to quell the urge to turn the car around several times on the drive over. He was only lucky that his reserved nature meant his nerves didn’t easily show. 

“Call me Haz,” he replied, with what Isabel always called his ‘bedside manner’ voice. “I’m fine, thank you.” It wasn’t really the truth, but he doubted the administrator had interest in being his therapist as well. He was good enough to work, and that was all that mattered. “I appreciate you setting time aside for me. I know you must be busy settling in.” Another trick he’d learned - deflection. In his experience, people always preferred to talk about themselves. 

[haz-usmani]

queencobraeva​: 

For: @haz-usmani

Location: Salem Willows

Fall was about to come to Salem. Eva's favorite season in one of the towns she dreamed of being in, she couldn't be caught in her house for more than a few hours at a time. The time to be outside was upon them. The leaves would be changing colors. And find them is what Eva set out to do today With her attention on that she almost bumped into someone while she was on her leaf adventure.

"Sorry!" She apologized. "I w... I was looking for cool leaves!"

**

It was his last day before returning to work, and Haz decided to commemorate the day by visiting Abe’s favorite spot in Salem Willows. The autumn chill in the air made his knee ache, but his joints moved unencumbered, his stride steady as he made his way down the tree-lined walkway. As he reached an intersection, he nearly collided with someone, managing to step out of the way at the last moment. 

“It’s fine,” he said politely, his eyes narrowing as he realized she looked familiar from somewhere. One of Abe’s pre-K teachers maybe, or... a patient? He couldn’t quite place her. It would probably come to him... He found himself weirdly inclined to engaged until he figured it out. “Any luck yet?” 

[deactivated-blog]

haz-usmani​:

Keep reading

[haz-usmani]

**

For a moment, the world stood still. Their eyes locked, and it was as though he were seeing her again for the first time. Not the actual first time - on the street and they were young and carefree and had the whole world ahead of them - but more as though the history of the last several months had been wiped clean, leaving him to see with startling clarity the pain she carried deep inside. It stopped him in his tracks, cleaved off another part of him to wither and die... 

And then Isabel blinked, and it was as though he could see her mentally constructing the walls back in place, struggling to lift every brick as she collected her clothes, mumbling apologies and curses as she tried to get herself back under control. It would be easier to let her, to not have to deal with the yawning abyss of grief beneath them, but Haz was tired. He wanted to surrender. And now that he knew what was underneath, he didn’t think he could go back even if he tried. 

With matching tears in his own eyes, he rushed forward, scooping Isabel into his arms before she could reach the door. He didn’t have any words, or even promises for tomorrow. Nothing was fixed, and the world still didn’t make sense. Their son was dead, and for now, he just wanted to mourn. He held her in his arms and wept. 

[haz-usmani]

asaxholland​: 

Asa felt like he was under a microscope for a moment, the man seeming to bore holes into him as he was gazed at. It wasn’t for a very long time- but maybe he was just hyper-aware of focus on himself. But suddenly he asked about his name and Asa’s eyes widened a bit. “Oh! Um, yes, that’s me! That’s… rather surprising, people don’t normally recognize an artist in the wild.” Asa chuckled, sinking into a chair in the little outdoor eating area. “That means a lot to me- he liked them then?” Asa had noticed the past tense, but perhaps his son had grown up and didn’t read younger childrens’ books like those any more. Though Asa did chapter books as well, but it didn’t mean people would immediately pick up a cover and recognize it as his art.

**

“Yes, well, like I said, it was every night,” he explained with a faint, polite chuckle. He’d know the artist was a local, but it felt odd seeing him now - otherworldly in a way that set him slight on edge. “They were his favorites. We read them cover to cover. Literally. He insists on reading even the copyright...” Haz’s tenses slipped without him even realizing it, transported back for one blissful moment as he remembered better times. The power of art, or whatever... It was only for a moment, though, and he blinked back to reality. “I’d love to buy your drink. A small token of appreciation - from my son and me.” 

[poltcrgeist-deactivated20210112]

“But I know better. You’re dead, and I’m the worst kind of alive.”

— Adam Silvera, History Is All You Left Me (via incandescentghost)

[haz-usmani]

avieelliot​: 

Avie nodded, as she thought about it. Her talks with Father Jack had been the closest she’d ever come to religion, but it fascinated her. It made sense, in a way - this part of it, at least. If you were a god, and you’d created all the world and all the universe and everything in it, and then the little people you’d made started attributing your blessings to stars, of all things. You’d be a bit upset yourself. 

“Now I’m just imagining an all-powerful deity getting jealous of a star,” she said, smiling a little. “I’m not sure it’s the star that grants the wish. Just reminds you to make one. It’s like a little signal light, telling you that it’s okay to ask for something. To have a little hope, just for a moment.”

She looked over at Haz, unable to even begin to imagine his pain. The little boy she mourned for was - as far as she knew - still alive somewhere. It was an altogether different kind of grief. But she figured it was probably helpful for both of them to remember the happy times, and try to be grateful for those. 

“See? Abe got it. He was absolutely right, if you ask me. Every star is a wish,” she said, looking back up at the endlessness above them. “Doesn’t mean they’ll all come true. But we can hope.” It was quiet for a moment, as she pondered what hope was even worth. “What do you hope for now? If you could… let yourself hope for something. What do you see?”

**

The memory felt like a ballon half filled with helium, teetering on the edge between flying and sinking. He was choosing to see the happiness in the moment, but with one wrong stop, he could tumble headfirst into darkness. “Who knew you were a closet optimist?” he teased, because the alternative might be bursting into tears. 

So what did he hope for? The easiest answer was nothing. It was the one he gave to Isabel, to anyone who dared to ask, but was it actually honest? If he was truly without hope, what was he still doing here anymore? 

“I hope that some day this will be over,” he said deliberately, letting his words hang in the air as he said them out loud for the first time. “This... constant ache, like a hole in my chest... I can’t live with it anymore. But I’m terrified of what it means if it’s gone. It’s like, I want it gone, but I don’t, if that makes sense?” 

[haz-usmani]

isabelusmani​: 

Her fingers curled into her hands, nails pressing harshly into the skin of her fingers. His words wrapped around her throat, pulling tighter and tighter. He hadn’t called her the bad guy, but his questions felt more like accusations, decisions he made. His question pierced her like a knife, digging into her constricted chest. Her heart sunk into her stomach. Do you even care? The words cracked her flood gate. Haz, her husband, the love of her life, the man who knew her better than anyone, didn’t think she cared their 4 year old son, her light, the best thing she ever did, had died? The pain covered every inch of her skin, setting it on fire. Her head spun, everything so intense she thought she might hurl. He thought her a monster? 

Her lip quivered as she went to answer him. “You can stand there in front of me and ask me that?” Her voice shook, cracking as she choke out the words. “I sat here for months cleaning your wounds, helping you to the bathroom, dressing you, while you barely even spoke a single word to me. I sat here and tried to hold your hand and you’d pull away. Or I would try to kiss you, to hear you groan stop, like I was just trying to get off.” How could she stay here when he wanted to suffer alone? “You wanted me here for what? So, you could watch me suffer? Bit sadistic, Haz.” Don’t cry. Don’t cry. She urged herself. Last time she cried, it didn’t stop for days. 

I can’t feel it. I mean, I do, every second of everyday, but it’s drowning me. It’s so intense I feel like I’m dying. I feel like I might not survive it, not alone. I am not strong enough. It’s going to consume me. Isabel kept the truth to herself, somewhat afraid he’d use it against her, he’d tell her she was grieving wrong. “Maybe I am empty. Maybe I can’t feel.” Her hand rose slapping herself across her face with everything in her. She paused for a brief second. The pain in her body all seemed to halt, allowing her red cheek to sting. She felt the urge to do it again. “Maybe I’m broken.” 

**

It was a dream. His whole life. It was like he was living in a waking nightmare. It couldn’t be real, and yet it was. Nothing could have prepared him for it; no pain he’d ever felt could possibly come close. He’d always thought his life was defined by loss - the loss of his father, the loss of his identity - and his struggle to reclaim what little left he could call his own. He’d clawed together a life for himself through sheer grit and determination - damn good one, one he was proud of. He provided for his wife and his child. He stood tall in the person that he was. For the first time, he had been truly happy. But he couldn’t salvage this... 

He still felt shellshocked, like he was stumbling through the wreckage of his life trying to figure out where he was, trying to find some sort of familiar landmark to reorient himself. The first months after the accident had been a blur, a haze of pain meds and grief so thick he couldn’t see clearly. It was only now beginning to lift, and Haz couldn’t decide which one was worse: oblivion or watching his wife disappear in front of him. 

“It’s a valid questions, Isabel,” he replied defiantly, too hurt to acknowledge the way her voice cracked and shook. “What, so I didn’t cope according to your specifications, so you’re punishing me? Punishing him? Do you forget that I was there, Isabel. I watched—” his voice gave out before he could say the words, a sudden onslaught of images flashing in his mind too horrific to speak. He blinked. A tear fell. He swiped at it angry. “I wasn’t aware there was a schedule,” he said bitingly. 

He was already exhausted and bitterly regretting instigating this fight. They were getting nowhere. He turned to leave, to try to get a few goddamn hours of sleep before beginning this all again in the morning when he hear the sound of flesh hitting flesh. 

His first thought was that she had hit him, that he had taken things a step too far, but he felt no sting. He turned, and even in the dim light, he could see the red forming on Isabel’s cheek. “What are you-” For the first time, concern leaked into his voice, the shock of violence leaching away his anger. She was still his wife, whatever little there was left of her, and the sight tore his heart wide open again. “Don’t do that. Please don’t do that.” 

[haz-usmani]

feidavenport​:

Which was more embarrassing: being so lost that you had to ask for directions, or asking for directions to the street you’re currently on? Fei could not tell, but it didn’t matter now - the blood rushing to her cheeks was enough to cover both of her unfortunate situations. Banana tried to jump up on the bench to sit next to the man, and Fei pulled at the leash to stop her.

“Oh. Shit. Sorry. God,” she said, looking over her shoulder for a street sign. “I think the name of the hair salon was A Cut Above? Something along those lines. But I’ll be fine, I don’t want to be a bother. If you want to just silently point in a direction, that’s cool.”

**

He was strangely grateful for the distraction, something more to occupy his mind than his own misery. “I think that’s where my wife goes,” he said, the name sounding familiar. Or maybe he’d just drove by it before and the name got lodged in his head. Either way, he had the vague sense of it being 3 or 4 blocks down, and a very tangible desire to not to be here anymore. “It’s not far, I can walk with you.”

[haz-usmani]

asaxholland​: 

Status: Open Location: Downtown Salem

So maybe Asa hadn’t left the house in a while. Maybe it had been nearly a week, give or take. But he’d been extremely focused on a project, finishing the last few illustrations for the next chapter book in a series he’d been working on with an author since the start. And he was proud- it was done. And he’d been paid, and he was outside. Things were very good. 

But at the same time, the mind fog was… tough. Asa found himself trying to focus. How did he have conversations again? How did he talk to people, normally? He felt like he’d emerged from a cave, walking around in a fugue state. Coffee would help… right? He spotted Witches Brew and started heading in that direction, already trying to figure out what he wanted. He saw someone stepping out to sit on the nice little patio. The Irishman asked shyly, “Sorry, um, what did you get, exactly? ‘s been a while since I came in there an’ I get overwhelmed with the options. Anything you’d uh, recommend?” 

@srphq-starters​

Hazeem recognized the man immediately. Even at such a young age, Abe had always been fastidious, insisting a book wasn’t properly finished until every word was read - even the about the author and illustrator sections. He’d seen that face staring up at him so many times it wasn’t even a question, even if it had been months since he’d dared to crack open the spine. 

“Chai Latte,” he said, putting down his book to observe the man properly. “Forgive me if this sounds weird, but you’re Asa Holland, right? I used to read your books to my son every night.” 

[haz-usmani]

isabelusmani​: 

Everything about this house only reminded her of what they lost - the missing picture frame on the wall, the the door that remained shut upstairs, to the stain on the curtain in the living room. The floor burned her feet. The lights pained her head, squeezing her brain as if her skull shrunk. Isabel no longer fit here. Her little dream life crumbled, slipping through her fingers. How could he sit here in it? Did he like the torture?

“Because you want me here?” Her words even sharper than before. Isabel cut like a knife when she wanted to, full of fire. Her mother always told her to be aware of her edged tongue. Isabel was always kind by nature, but protective and fierce.  “Because being here is so pleasant with your never ending silence or constant poking?” She rested on the edge of the couch, hand wrapping around the back. All she wanted was to be asleep, but she struggled with the task. 

“What do you want from me, hm?” Her voice dry and distant. “If you have something you want to say to me, Haz, you should just say it.” They’d done this dance for months now. Neither of them ever spoke truthfully when they did speak. Exhaustion overcame her, perhaps from work, or from her husband’s pointed finger. “Make me the bad guy, mi amor. If it makes you feel better, fine. ”

**

It was typical, so laughably predictable, for her to turn defensive, her walls rising even as she pretended to fall on her sword. It was infuriating and insulting, enough so that he let out a derisive scoff.  “I never said anything about a bad guy. You’re either putting words in my mouth or your projecting, but don’t deflect by pretending to be the martyr now.” 

Their son was dead. No amount of arguing or bartering or blame would change that.  It was a fact Haz couldn’t escape. The ghost of Abe was everywhere - the house, his new car, everywhere he went. He’d heard stories about people who lost loved ones and woke up every morning to one blissful moment before remembering all over again, but Haz didn’t even have that. It followed him into sleep, haunting his dreams with visions of the crash. He couldn’t escape it for even a moment, so... How could she? 

“Do you even care?” he asked, his voice suddenly ragged. “You’ve been so eager to build this new life - the job, the suits, the meetings... You come home late, you leave early. You won’t step foot near Abe’s room... And you think I give a flying fuck about emasculation? It’s like— does it even matter to you? Abe is gone. Our son, he’s dead, and he’s never coming back, but I still feel him! Every second of every day. And you have the audacity to say you’re not a mother now?” 

[haz-usmani]

avieelliot​: 

who: @haz-usmani​ where: Avie’s backyard when: evening what: wine and stargazing and talking too much

The walls Avie had built around her heart three years ago were very much still standing strong. They were concrete and iron, and diamond in some places. No one got in. Nothing got out. But she’d been trying to at least put in doors, lately. She’d been trying to see the good in people again. It wasn’t really working, but she was trying.

The closest thing she had to a friend in Salem that wasn’t one of her dogs was a man called Hazeem, whose eyes were even sadder than her own. They’d met by chance, and hit it off immediately, and if Avie was being forced into conversation with humans, she was glad to have chosen this one. Even if his words broke her heart every day… at least she was feeling something.

“Have you ever wished on a star?” she asked him, during a lull in one conversation. They’d just opened yet another bottle of Merlot, so the night was young. “I used to do it all the time.”

**

Aveline Elliot could best be described as tiny, acerbic Brit with a chip on her shoulder, and it surprised Haz just how much he liked that about her. Maybe six months ago they would have had nothing in common, but now he found his few fleeting moments of contentment happened most often in her presence. It was a friendship built on misery, which sounded desperate and depressing, but there was comfort in sharing a bone-deep sorrow with someone who needed no words to explain it. 

There was also, he found, a safety in sharing it with someone who had never known Abe and who didn’t know Isabel - an anonymity where he could share his grief in his own words, without it being tainted by others. It felt like... space, when he was slowly being suffocated. 

It was fitting, then, looking up at the big, dark sky, and he took a deep breath just to remind himself he was alive. “Growing up, we were told not to wish on stars. No one but Allah could control our fate. I don’t think I could ever believe in it - wishes being granted by stars - but I like the ritual of it. Last summer, there was a meteor shower, and we took Abe out camping so he could see them. He was convinced he could make separate wish for every star he saw.” 

[haz-usmani]

isabelusmani​: 

Isabel knew what his response would be. Still, she challenged allowing the small amount of hope within her to ignite briefly. Maybe he’d grab her with both hands, kiss her til tomorrow, and the stalemate they lived in could end. Of course not. She wanted to laugh at her own naivety. A simple no wouldn’t have cut as deep as the question he proposed. Because I’m still here. The words didn’t dare slip from her lips, only to be made a fool of again. Isabel blinked her eyes shut, so no tears ran down her cheeks. Her head turned from him shaking. Again, she swallowed her pain. How was she suppose to handle losing her son and her husband seeming to no longer love her all at once? 

“Then stop pretending it matters if Nate Blackwood wants to keep me late to make me scream his name.” She turned from him completely, itching to rid herself of the stiff button down clinging to her skin. Heading out of the kitchen, Isabel shrugged off her shirt as she unbuttoned it. She laid it on the back of the couch. A chance of sleep flew out the door as soon as he opened his mouth tonight. Her skull squeezed her brain as her thoughts overflowed. “I’ll sleep on the couch.” She unzipped her skirt, kicking it to the floor too. A hand ran through her hair and then over her face - lost without being able to roll through the motions. 

“Maybe I’ll just go back out.” She hummed more to herself than to him, thinking out loud. Being here felt like a lost cause.  Her fingers mindlessly played with the strap of her bra. Everything felt constricting. She grasped at relief, but attaining it felt impossible. “I’ll go..” She said a bit more certain this time. Neither of them would be happy if she were here. 

**

He followed her back into the living room, arms crossed as he leaned against the farthest wall. Even now, as she undressed, he couldn’t ignore the beautiful shape of his wife’s body, the soft elegant curves that had once swelled to hold Abe inside her. He’d thought she was beautiful from the moment he met her, but never more so when she was carrying their child, keeping him safe until he was ready to come out into the world that  would eventually steal everything from him. In the darkness, he couldn’t see the stretch marks that still kissed her stomach, but he knew they were there. He’d marveled at them, placed his lips to every one more times than he could count. 

Were they the only physical reminder Isabel had left? Would she trade her skin if she could? Replace it with something clean and unmarred, like she had so much else, and take what was left of Abe with her? 

“Maybe you should,” he replied, his voice quiet but strong. “You seem so desperate to escape, I’m surprised you haven’t already.” She was barely ever home, so caught up in her work. Every day he wondered if this would be the day she didn’t come home; a sick part of him even hoped for it, if only because he was tired of waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

[haz-usmani]

what do you want?

"That's irrelevant. And impossible. So it's not even worth answering."

(He wants his son back.)