I smiled.
“Who are these people?”
“Me and you.”
“Where are we going?”
She pointed toward the open door.
“Inside.”
I held her close.
For the first time in years, I did not have to wonder whether she was drawing a place to hide.
She was drawing a place where she wanted to live.
Almost a year after the night of the award ceremony, I received a package from Khalid’s father.
Inside was a letter and a copy of a document I had never seen before.
The letter was brief.
Amal, there is one more thing you deserve to know. I am sorry it took me so long to tell you.
The document was an old letter, written by Khalid’s mother before my marriage.
I read it once.
Then again.
Fatimah had written to her husband years earlier, asking him to intervene because she feared the way Khalid was treating a woman he had been involved with. She described arguments, threats, and the fear that had settled over the household.
