“Oh God.” I touched his face. His cheek. Searching for any sign of the boy I’d raised. “What did he do to you? Baby, what did he do?”
Silence.
Prime appeared beside me. His hand on my shoulder. Heavy with guilt.
“Let’s get him inside,” he said quietly. “He needs to rest.”
Mehar was waitingin the living room when we walked in.
She’d never met Yusef before. Only heard stories. Only seen pictures. And now, here he was—her nephew, her blood—standing in front of her like a ghost.
She knelt down slowly. Put herself at his eye level. Her voice was soft when she spoke.
“Hi, Yusef. I’m your Auntie Mehar. Your mama’s little sister.” She reached out, her hand hovering near his arm. “I’ve heard so much about you. I’m so happy to finally meet you.”
Yusef didn’t look at her. Didn’t acknowledge her presence at all. Just stared at some point past her shoulder, seeing something none of us could see.
Mehar’s face crumpled. She pulled her hand back slowly, tears welling in her eyes.
Serenity touched her arm gently. “Come on,” she whispered. “Let’s give them some space.”
They retreated to the kitchen. I heard the door close behind them.
I guided Yusef to the couch. Sat him down. Knelt in front of him the way Mehar had done.
“Are you hungry? I made all your favorites. Rice and peas. Fried plantains. That chicken curry you love.”
Nothing.
“What about music? You want me to put on some music? We could listen to that jazz playlist you made.”
Nothing.
“Chess. We could play chess. I know I’m terrible, but?—”
“Zainab.” Prime’s voice was gentle. Tired. “He’s not… he’s not there right now.”
I looked up at him. Saw the guilt written all over his face.
“What happened?” I asked. “What did Rashid do to him?”
Prime sat down heavily in the armchair across from us. Ran a hand over his face.
“I don’t know everything. Yusef won’t talk. But from what I could piece together…” He paused. Swallowed. “Rashid was trying to mold him. Turn him into something. There was prayer. Training. Discipline.”
“Discipline?”
“The bruises. The blisters.” Prime’s jaw tightened. “He was making Yusef kneel for hours. Pray in Arabic. Breaking him down to build him back up. The same way he did to me.”
I looked at my nephew. At his hollow eyes. His rigid posture. The way he sat so perfectly still, like any movement might bring punishment.
“He broke him,” I whispered.
“I think…” Prime’s voice caught. “I think something else happened too. Something worse. But I don’t know what. He won’t tell me.”
Something worse.
What could be worse than this?
