Ally gripped the phone to her ear and paced the bathroom. The automated voice on the other end thanked her for her call and promised to return it as soon as possible. Considering she’d heard the same message every day for the past four months, she knew the number and the man’s words by heart. She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and sucked in a breath as the message beeped.
“Good morning. This is Alisha Dimarchi. Wife of David Dimarchi. Calling. Again. I’m following up on the status of the investigation around my husband’s death.” As usual, her voice cracked at the last few words. She cleared it and continued. “I’ve left several messages and would appreciate a response, please, to let me know I’m contacting the right person.”
She’d recited the same words more times than she could count; sometimes they were spoken politely, other times they were filled with emotion she couldn’t hide. There was no doubt the agency had her contact information, but she provided it again before the message beeped a second time and the line disconnected.
Ally slid the phone to the counter and willed it to ring as she paced the room. Although in the message she called it an investigation, it didn’t appear anyone else viewed it the same way. The police had already closed the case, citing no evidence of foul play in the crash that killed him. No one seemed bothered with trying to understand why her husband had slammed on his brakes and parked his car in the middle of the road in the first place.
The only witness, a shadowy figure in a dark hoodie, had vanished. A nearby store’s video showed the person running down the sidewalk seconds after the incident. No other footage of the individual or incident existed.
It was a person no one seemed interested in finding because, as far as the detectives were concerned, her husband voluntarily stopped his car and as a result was rear-ended. And for most people, their logic would have been enough. But most people didn’t know David. And most people hadn’t been kidnapped and taken to another country. Most people hadn’t been tortured and raped for two years. Most people hadn’t clawed their way out of hell only to lose the man they loved three years to the day after they’d escaped.
Ally smoothed out the white card in her fist and returned it to the spot under the box of Q-tips in David’s drawer. She’d found it there days after the crash. Her fingers brushed against the container. He usually hogged most of the countertop and took longer getting ready than she did. A smile tugged at her lips. Funny how the things she once found annoying she now ached for.
A knock at the bathroom door brought her out of her thoughts.
“Ally Bayti, breakfast is ready.” Her father’s gentle voice echoed through the thin wood separating her from them. Instead of calming her, her muscles tightened.
Privacy was a luxury she no longer enjoyed. Her parents moved in the day she lost David and hadn’t left her side since—no matter how many times she’d asked, begged, or ordered them to do so. They worried she’d hurt herself and scrutinized every move she made and every word she uttered. She knew this because their voices floated through the thin walls of her apartment. Even the fan in her bathroom, the one place in the house where she could hide from them, did little to block them out.
“Coming!” She looked up at the image in the mirror and shook her head. Pappa’s blood pressure would double if she went out looking the way she did. Ally opened her drawer and retrieved her makeup bag and a hair tie. After smoothing out the top of her hair, she bunched her thick curls into her fist and twisted the band tight around the ponytail. She took out her beige tube of concealer and spread it over the black circles etched under her eyes.
Once the areas under her eyes and the dark hollows beneath her cheekbones were the same shade of brown as the rest of her face, she put away her makeup. Ally stared at the bathroom door, willing herself to leave. Instead of moving toward it, her legs propelled her backwards into the master closet. She turned on the light and shut the door behind her. Tight muscles relaxed the minute the faint scent of cedar and musk filled her lungs. It was the only space that still smelled like him.
She took her time changing, and once she finished, picked up the worn leather backpack in the corner and headed to the large suitcase leaning against the far end of the room. Ally lowered to her knees, unzipping the luggage enough to get her hand through. When her fingers brushed against smooth plastic, she grabbed one of the packets and pulled it out, quickly sealing the suitcase shut and returning it to its spot. Ally tucked the bag into her brown leather backpack and headed to the kitchen. It was time to face the family.
As soon as she walked in, she wished she’d stayed in the closet. Instead of two sets, four pairs of eyes stared back at her. Her big brother, Nik Bhai, her sister, Reya, and her parents were all seated around the table. Considering it was the middle of the week and her siblings both worked, their visit had a purpose. Her. She slid into one of the two seats still vacant and stared at the cup of chai in front of her.
Her father cleared his throat. “Alisha, I called the family together because we need to talk with you.”
He averted his gaze when their eyes locked. She watched him adjust his glasses and shift in his seat. Her mother grabbed Ally’s hand and gave it a squeeze.
“A woman from the Counter Terrorism Department contacted me last night. She said you’ve been calling them daily, sometimes two times, asking about David’s car accident.”
She leaned forward on her elbows, her pulse rising. “What did she say?”
Silence weighed heavy in the room. Pappa scratched the top of his almost-bald head and cleared his throat. Her brother’s chair creaked when he leaned back. Bhai resembled his father minus thirty years and, unlike Pappa, had a thick head of black hair. He raised his brows at the patriarch, encouraging him to continue.
“Well?” Ally’s face heated as the two men silently communicated with each other. After all the messages she’d left, they’d finally called back, but not to speak with her. She pulled her hand out of her mom’s grasp and locked gazes with the only person who would look back, her baby sister. “Rey, can you please tell me what she said?”
Rey opened her mouth but Alisha’s father answered. “She said you are harassing them. To tell you there is no investigation and to stop calling.”
“Harassing them?” She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. “Trying to get answers about my husband’s death bothers them?” Ally kept her voice low as she scanned their faces. “Is that what you told David when he searched for me?”
Reya reached across and tried to grab her hand. “It’s not the same situation, Di. We didn’t know if you were alive or dead. There is no question Dave is dead. We all saw him in the coffin.”
Ally pulled her hand away and curled her fingers into her palm. “I know my husband is dead,” she whispered.
Not a single person in the room met her gaze. “Every night I go to bed dreading the morning because once I wake up I will have to remember my David is dead.” Although her words were spoken softly, it felt like she screamed them. Four months later, uttering the statement had the same impact as someone ripping her lungs and heart out of her body.
“We wouldn’t know what you think because you won’t tell us.” The hurt in Reya’s tone stung.
Ally shook her head. “I don’t tell you because you don’t understand. You can’t understand.” She had to get away from them. Away from their looks of pity, their disappointment, and their judgment. She rose to her feet and snatched the backpack from the floor.
Her brother grabbed her wrist when she walked past. “Let it go, Ally. The police and everyone else believe there was nothing suspicious about the accident.”
She glared at him. “Two people can look at the same situation and see two different things. You are allowed to perceive his accident one way, and I am allowed to perceive it another.”
Nik cut her a look. “Your way is wrong. Your story is created by grief and a need to somehow keep him alive.”
The corner of Ally’s mouth curved up. “Wow, Bhai, you should give up pediatrics and go into psychiatry.”
He rolled his eyes but didn’t respond.
She twisted her hand out of his grasp and pointed at herself. “What I believe?” Ally took a step backward from him. “Is the truth. There is no way he would have just stopped his car in the middle of the road. Something made him stop. And no, I don’t think it was a cat or a dog or that he was so sleepy that he decided to park his car and take a nap in the middle of the road.”
She walked out of the kitchen and grabbed her sneakers from the coat closet. Her eyes burned with emotion. Ally blinked it away and sat on the sofa as she worked on untying the knots in her laces.
I’m alone. The realization crept into her consciousness the moment she had lost him. And with every passing day, the darkness grew heavier. No matter how many people suffocated her with their presence, the isolation persevered. Sometimes, in her lowest moments, she found herself wishing she could go back in time. Back to when she was locked away in Sayeed’s compound being tortured.
The sofa shifted when her sister slid onto the cushion next to her. Ally’s fingers shook, making it hard to undo the knotted lace of her shoe.
Rey grabbed the sneaker out of her hand. “Di, some shitty things have happened to you. You’ve had to survive them all and then lose Dave.” Her sister’s voice cracked. “That would put me over the edge, too.” Reya placed the unknotted shoe back in Ally’s lap.
“You think I’ve gone over the edge?” she whispered. Her sister’s words didn’t surprise her. They had just never been uttered out loud before. It was also the reason why Ally had stopped talking to them about her suspicions.
Bhai positioned himself on the coffee table in front of her. “We think you need more help than you’re getting.”
She pulled the shoe onto her foot and then worked on unknotting the other one. “You’ve already increased my meds, and I’m in counseling twice a week. How much more help are you wanting me to get?”
He cleared his throat. “The woman from the agency told Pappa about an intensive trauma treatment center for people who’ve gone through things like you have.”
She paused mid-lace. “And what exactly have I gone through?”
Bhai averted his gaze and shifted in his seat. “The rape and kidnapping.”
Ally nodded and returned to working on her shoes so she could get away from them.
“We all believe you need to go there.”
The emotion in her mother’s voice made her look over at the woman standing in the hall. Her face glistened, wet with tears, and Pappa stood beside her, holding her hand. “Every night you wake up screaming, and then we’re finding you asleep in your closet. It’s not normal.”
She rose. “Please tell me what exactly is the normal way a woman should mourn the loss of her husband?”
Mummy’s gaze locked with hers, but her father answered. “By grieving and letting your family comfort you. Creating untrue stories about things are not going to help you heal. You have to let him go.”
Ally clenched her fists as she looked at every person in the room. “Is this what the people at the center told you to say to me when you staged this intervention?”
The room fell silent as each person looked away.
Rey hugged her and rested her chin on Ally’s shoulder. “Di, we all love you very much, and no matter who told us to say what, this is the truth. No one person should have to survive the shit you’ve had to endure. There’s nothing wrong with getting help.”
She sucked in a breath and didn’t bother arguing. Help was exactly the reason she’d called the agency. Ally shook her head and headed for the table by the door where she and David kept their keys.
“I’ve researched this place,” Rey said from behind her.
The keys were missing. She opened the drawer and found it empty. “Did they tell you to hide my keys, too?”
Her sister ignored her question and continued to sell the institute. “It’s an eight-week intensive program run by the U.S. government in Germany for soldiers struggling with post-traumatic stress. They don’t normally allow civilians in.” Rey cleared her throat. “But since your situation is a little different, they are offering you a spot.”
“It sounds like a great opportunity, but I’m not going.” Screw the keys. Ally turned and headed for the door.
“Let her go. She needs some time.” Her brother’s words rang true; she needed time. Time to figure out what to do because there was no way in hell she was leaving her home.
As soon as she exited the apartment complex and her feet hit the sidewalk, Ally started to run. My David is dead. The words continued to echo in her head, growing louder with each step. She made her way down several blocks of sidewalk, and when she turned into the park, she broke into a sprint. She was almost home.