Then I saw him. Her husband. Some dusty-looking nigga in work clothes, mid-fifties, with a gut and a face that said he’d never smiled a day in his life. He was in her face, finger pointed, voice low but sharp.
“—told you to have dinner ready on TIME. I work twelve-hour shifts at that factory and I come home to what? Cold food?”
“I was here with Baba, I didn’t realize?—”
“You didn’t REALIZE?” He grabbed her arm. Hard enough that she winced. “You have ONE job.”
“Hey.”
Both their heads snapped toward me.
His eyes traveled over me—my jeans, my uncovered hair—and I watched the judgment settle on his face.
“Who are you?”
“Her sister. Get your hands off her.”
Something flickered in his eyes. Men like him weren’t used to being challenged.
“This is family business,” he said, but his hand dropped.
“She IS my family.”
He looked at Mehar. Then me. Calculating whether this was worth a scene in a hospital with witnesses everywhere.
“I have to get to work.” He straightened his shirt. “Dinner on the table at six. Not six-fifteen. SIX.”
He walked past me, shoulder brushing mine. A power move.
I didn’t flinch.
When he disappeared around the corner, I turned to Mehar. She was trembling. And now that I was closer, I could see what the hijab had been hiding.
There was a purplish bruise on her cheekbone. I hated this. Our father had sent her to a man just as bad as he was.
“Did he do this to you?”
She tried to pull away. “It’s nothing. I fell.”
“Don’t lie to me. Not about this.”
Her whole body crumpled. She sagged against the wall, sobbing.
“He’s not as bad as Baba,” she whispered. “That’s what I tell myself. He doesn’t beat me as bad as Baba beat you and Zahara. So it could be worse, right?”
“That’s not a marriage. That’s a prison.”
“I know. But where would I go? I have no money. No education. Ahmad controls everything.”
“When you’re ready to leave, you call me.” I grabbed her hands. “I got out. Zahara got out. And we had NOTHING. You have more than we had because you have ME.”
Fresh tears spilled down her cheeks. But something else was there too. Hope.
“You’d really help me?”
“You’re my blood. Of course I will.” I squeezed her hands. “When you’re ready, I’ll come get you. I promise.”
She nodded slowly.
