My younger daughter is back. I still can’t quite believe it, I tell my friend from the radio. She nods encouragingly and brings the microphone closer to my face. I clear my throat, swallow. The clock ticks. The corners of my mouth are cracked. Probably due to the smiling. What kind of feeling was it when you saw Elly again for the first time? My friend’s voice sounds unctuous. It is dripping with compassion. I was scared, I say. My voice goes up at the end of the sentence. I’m almost asking a question. In actual fact I don’t remember my feelings. I see Elly before me, as she enters the bare room. The way she gazes at the floor, hardly daring to look Hamid and me in the eyes. He squeezes my hand. I am rooted to the spot. Elly has completely changed. She slides along the wall like a shadow. Thin, pale, her hands shaking. I had never seen her so anxious before. But I knew: that’s my child. I growl the sentence. My friend’s eyes open wide. That’s what she wanted to hear. I bet she is mentally making a note of this point for a cut in the recording. She bites her lips. Did you not hesitate even for a moment? No, I say, not for a moment. I didn’t need a blood test to know. Quite the opposite, I was ashamed of myself for doubting during the years she had disappeared. For believing she was dead. I regret that. She is alive. She is so incredibly resilient. I’m proud of her. She is fighting her way back into her life right now. Of course we are trying to help her. But it’s not easy to put yourself in her place. The hardest thing for me is leaving her in peace. Obviously we’re not going to throw a party for her. I’m clear on that. But finding the right tone of voice to wrench her out of the void when her gaze drifts off, that’s not easy. My friend nods. She has children of her own. I can’t convey to her quite how far removed my Elly is from them. After the interview I am completely exhausted. Back at home I open the windows and the door to the terrace. The wind blasts through the house. I knock on Elly’s door and open it at the same time. Elly is sitting on the edge of the bed. It looks uncomfortable. As if she is expecting to be taken away any minute. I’m so shocked I can’t get a word out. She is here. She is really here. We look at each other, and it’s Elly who comes and huddles into me. I hesitate, then place my hand on her ribs. I can feel them even through the thick hoodie. Her breath goes in and out.