CHAPTER 53

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It was pitch-black when we arrived at the compound. Never had I been so relieved to see those gates. Maroof parked the car, looked at Hassan and sighed. Badriya had fidgeted so much in the last hour of the drive back that I’d thought she might just jump right out of the car. I didn’t bother with my burqa. Our car had barely stopped before I jumped out and opened the gate. There were lights on.

I opened the door to find Jameela rushing toward it. Her face told me everything.

“Jameela!”

“Oh, Rahima-jan! Allah, help us—dear, young mother!” Her voice rose and fell, my heart with it.

“Jameela, where’s my son? Where’s Jahangir? Is he all right?” I grabbed her by the arms and moved her aside, pushing my way toward her room. Shahnaz emerged, holding her chador tightly at her chin. She was looking down, avoiding my gaze. I stopped short when I saw her. Her lips were trembling.

“Why are you all out here? Who’s watching my son? Where is he?”

Jameela rushed back and grabbed me before I could run into her room. By this time, Badriya had joined her.

Jameela hugged me tightly and held my head to her chest.

“Rahima-jan, Rahima-jan, God has decided to take your son! He’s taken your little boy, dear girl. God give him peace, that darling little boy!”

I froze. That was what I’d read in Badriya’s face. I looked at her now but she, like Shahnaz, diverted her tearful eyes.

Someone wailed. Someone moaned no, no, no, no. My son’s name.

It was my voice.

This couldn’t be true. This couldn’t be real. I looked around, thinking everyone I lived with had gone mad.

Abdul Khaliq came into the hallway, his eyes red, his lips tight. He looked at me and shook his head. I saw my husband’s shoulders heave. Bibi Gulalai stood behind him, sobbing into a handkerchief.

“Why? Why would you leave a sick child? His mother should have been here with him!” she cried out.

I looked into my husband’s eyes, our first truly intimate moment. It was as if no one else existed.

It’s true . . . It’s true, Rahima. What they’re saying about Jahangir, our son, is true! Our beloved boy is gone!

Abdul Khaliq covered his eyes with his hands before he looked up, took a deep breath and yelled for someone to find his prayer cap. His voice cracked and my chest caved in as the air was sucked out of the house.