AIN ISSA, Syria: Prevented from reuniting with their husbands and fending off marriage proposals from militant fighters, women living alone under Daesh (ISIS) rule in Syria face a special set of challenges. Huda, who speaks using a pseudonym, is one of thousands of Syrians who have fled Daesh territory since a Kurdish-Arab alliance began a campaign to capture the group’s Syrian stronghold of Raqqa.

Like many others, she is now stuck in a temporary camp on the outskirts of Ain Issa, some 50 kilometers north of Raqqa, after fleeing her village of Al-Heisha with her 5-month-old son Nur.

“Daesh destroyed our families,” says Huda, whose village fell to fighters from the Syrian Democratic Forces alliance Friday.

“My husband works in Lebanon and hasn’t seen his son except once, in a photo sent on WhatsApp, because [Daesh] prevented all communication,” she says.

“I desperately wanted him to see his son, but [Daesh] prevented him from returning to the village,” she says, without explaining why the group insisted on preventing contact.

Her tired face suggests the separation has been taxing.

“He was not at my side during the most difficult moments,” she says.

The camp is dominated by women, some pregnant, and children, with relatively few men among them.

All around, women sit on the dusty ground, some breastfeeding babies, while older children with dirty, matted hair play.

Most of the displaced have not eaten in a day and are waiting for aid, while a few have beans they were able to grab as they fled toward Ain Issa.

Huda and many of the women around her didn’t hide their rancor when describing their absent husbands. “Most of the men who left to work in other countries never came back and abandoned their children,” she says.

Nearby, 35-year-old Maram speaks bitterly about life without her husband, her face wrapped with a scarf that leaves only her eyes uncovered. “I have five children. My husband works in Lebanon and remarried there, and I live in difficult conditions to provide for my children,” she says.

At the entrance of the camp, members of the Kurdish Asayish security forces inspect belongings, looking for weapons or documentation that could indicate ties to Daesh.

“Everyone undergoes this inspection because Daesh is trying to infiltrate among civilians and we will not allow that to happen,” one officer says.

The women are interrogated about their ties to Daesh, with some villagers suggesting locals were lured into matrimony with extremist fighters.

“Most of the women in our village were married to jihadis from [Daesh], who seduced them with money,” says Fatima Abbas, a 38-year-old from Al-Heisha, balancing her son on her knees.

“They would pay a dowry of a million Syrian pounds [$2,000] and they pampered them,” she adds.

Roqaya, 25, also from Al-Heisha, says she was the target of one Daesh fighter’s affections but fended off his offer of marriage in return for money. “I refused, I hate them,” she says.

In the village, the rumor spread that “when [Daesh] fighters go on a suicide mission, they ask their wife to marry a jihadi friend,” she says.

“Otherwise they won’t be pardoned for their sins ... when they’re in heaven,” she says mockingly.

Daesh has reserved some of its harshest restrictions for women, forcing them to stay largely at home, moving around outside only fully covered and in the company of a male guardian.

The group has also gained notoriety for sex slavery, particularly of women from the Yazidi minority captured in Iraq and traded in Daesh strongholds including Raqqa by the extremists who consider their sect to be devil worshippers.

Daesh now faces the prospect of losing both its remaining strongholds, as fighters target Raqqa and the group’s Iraqi bastion Mosul.