The room quieted.
Khalid moved toward him, speaking under his breath. His father ignored him and opened the folder.
I could not see what was inside.
But I saw Khalid’s face change.
For the first time since I had known him, he looked genuinely afraid.
His father took out a folded document.
“Before tonight,” he said, “I believed I understood the man my son had become. I was wrong.”
Khalid reached for the paper.
His father pulled it away.
“Sit down.”
Nobody moved.
Then his father looked directly at me.
“Amal, I owe you an apology. Not because you have embarrassed this family, but because I should have listened more carefully when you first tried to tell us what was happening.”
My throat tightened.
I had expected denial. Perhaps an argument. Perhaps another demand that I forgive Khalid and return home.
I had not expected an apology.
Khalid stepped forward.
