Page 141 of Invisible Bars
They weren’t the physical kind made of metal; they were the kind made of image, control, and expectations… just as my father had stated.
Money doesn’t make you free; it just changes what holds you down.
I looked like a man who had it all—and maybe I did—but I still wasn’t free. I couldn’t show weakness. I couldn’t lose my temper in public. I couldn’t love out loud. I couldn’t let go—not even for a second—not unless I wanted everything I built to be used against me. I was always calculating… always guarded.
Then Naji showed up.
Twitching. Blinking. Cursing at nothing and everything. Beautiful and anxious all at once.
I didn’t know her yet—not really—but I recognized pain when I saw it.
Naji was quiet, but her silence was loud as hell. And when she did speak, it was clipped and cautious—like she didn’t know if it was safe to say too much. Her eyes stayed moving, and when they landed on me, they didn’t trust me—not fully.
And why would they?
Naji had been uprooted from her familiar world, thrust into a strange house, and forced to adopt a role she never agreed to play. All she had left was her teddy bear, packages of peppermint tea, and the pills that dulled the edge of her anxiety—though even those seemed to be losing their grip on her lately, as her hands trembled slightly more with each passing day.
What Naji didn’t realize was that I was acutely aware of the little signs of her distress. I noticed the way she flinched at the sound of laughter or chatter when too many people were gathered around. I observed how she would tap her fingers rapidly beneath the table—a nervous habit she performed when she thought no one was watching. Her voice would sometimes crack mid-sentence, like she was holding back more than just words.
Naji was in a cage of her own, and I was the one who locked the door—even if I told myself it was for her safety.
The truth was, I had no idea what I was doing. Yet I understood too well what it felt like to be trapped in a life you didn’t ask for, to be expected to perform and to be the calm in the storm when you were barely staying afloat yourself.And somehow, without saying much, Naji reminded me that we both had invisible bars.
Hers were anxiety and trauma; mine were legacy and lies.
“Well, why I’m here, I may as well tell you that your mother’s planning one of herrandomdinners next Saturday. Told me to remind you that you'reexpected,” Pops announced, bringing me back to the moment.
I rolled my eyes. “Of course I am. But next week? She usually tells us at leasttwoweeks in advance.”
“Hey, I’m just the messenger, son. I will say, I do think you should invite yourwife.”
I chuckled. “Bold of you to assume she will even agree to go. Naji gets really nervous meeting new people; that’s why she said what she did to you. It wasn’t disrespect; it was panic. Social settings twist her up, and I’m not trying to overload her more than she already is.”
“Imanio, I get all of that, and I know you haven’t been married too long, but you can’t keep her cooped up in this house forever. Ask yourself this. Is she your wife or a prisoner?”
I leaned back in my chair after I said it; his question echoed in my head.
That was the part I hated the most—how blurry the line felt some days. I knew better than anyone what it felt like to be stuck somewhere and feel like you didn’t have a say. I told myself I wasn’t doing that to Naji—that this was different.
But was it?
Naji had no freedom. She barely left the house. Most days, she didn’t even make it past the damn kitchen unless she was with me. And the truth was—I liked her close. Close meant safe. Close meant I couldseeher… control the environment. But maybe—just maybe—that was my own trauma talking. My own need to contain what I cared about so I didn’t lose it.
“She’s my wife,” I answered with no shame. “I don’t know her whole life story, but from what I do know, she’s been through some shit… including my fucked up actions that has contributed to making her life even more miserable. And if it’s a choice between protecting her peace or pleasing Giselle, you already know what side I’m on.”
My father gave me a look, like he respected that more than he was willing to say outright.
“And that’s why you need to break the news at the dinner… with witnesses. Because God knows what your mother is going to do or say once she finds out.”
“One-on-one or in a room full of people, she’s still gonna show her ass. I already know it.”
“That’s true. Well, if there’s gonna be drama, let’s just get it over with in one sitting,” he said, exhaling like he was bracing for it too.
“You must be planning your grand announcement, too, huh?” I asked, wearing a smirk.
“Yes. But only in front of you, Dess, and her. But back to your wife. Don’t make her feel like a secret or like you’re ashamed ofher.” His voice was firm—not accusing, but not soft either. “But I have to ask. Are you?”
First it was Grandma, now him.
