His lower lip juts out and he stares at the game. “Papa would not like that. He wants me to be like him.”
Anger and sorrow battle in my heart. “We do not live with Papa any more, Mateen. If you want to play football, you will play football. Or paint. Or be a doctor. Anything. And when you get better, you can have chocolate every week.”
His eyes go wide. “Really?”
“Yes. Every week.” I lean down and brush a kiss to his forehead. “But right now, there is someone outside who wants to meet you. Can I bring her in?”
Mateen nods, but his little body tenses under the blankets. He has been so brave, but every child has his breaking point. He knows nothing of my family. Of hisgrand-mamanandgrand-papa. Of France. Faruk forbade me from speaking French at all, though I managed to teach Mateen a few words here and there.
I wave Noele in, then take her hand and lead her closer to the bed. “Mateen, this is your aunt.TanteNoele.”
She crouches down and smiles at my son. “You are so big! Yourgrand-mamanwill weep with joy when she sees your beautiful curly hair.”
He burrows deeper under the blankets, pulling them up to his chin.
I want nothing more than to hug Noele and never let her go. But instead, I slide a hip onto the mattress and gather my son as close as all the wires and sensors allow. “Mon bébé, you have been so good for me the past few days. I know you are scared, but Noele is my sister. She is family.”
“What about Papa?” Mateen asks. “He is family too.”
My fingers shake as I trace the swelling under my right eye. “He hurt me, Mateen. All the time.”
His big eyes water. He’s solemn when he whispers, “I know, Mama.”
Guilt curves my shoulders, and I touch my forehead to his. “Papa is staying in Afghanistan, but we are taking a big plane across the ocean tonight. Somewhere the doctors can make you better and no one will ever hurt us again, okay?”
Mateen considers for a moment, his lower lip wobbling. “Okay.”
* * *
Noele has not stopped talkingsince she sat down. I think she wants to tell meeverythingthat has happened since I disappeared. Before lunch. “Maman and Papa hired a private investigator. He even went to Afghanistan to look for you. But he never found you. TheDirection Générale de la Sécurité Intérieuresaid he was the best.” She huffs out a breath. “Did yourhusbandpay him off or something? God. He was a bastard, yes? Why did you go to Afghanistan with him in the first place?”
If I told her the truth, would she believe me? That Faruk tricked me into getting on that plane. That he locked me away in the middle of the desert with no hope of escape. That he beat me and starved me and threatened me until my spirit was broken. That every day I feared he would snap and kill me.
“Lisette?” She touches my arm, her big green eyes bloodshot, no doubt from the twenty-hours she spent on planes to get here from Marseille. “Did you hear me?”
“Je suis désolée.” The apology tumbles from my lips without thought. How can she think this is a good time to talk about what Faruk did to me? With Mateen so close? “He does not need to hear this, Noele. Please.” The words wobble and catch in my throat. I cannot cry. Faruk punished me for my tears. But now that I am free, it is all I want to do. I am afraid if I start, I may not ever be able to stop.
“Oh.” Noele sits back. Her eyes flick to Mateen. His full lips are twisted into a frown as he frantically jabs the buttons on his game. “Then I will tell you what you have missed. Papa retired six years ago. Maman had to take up bridge to get out of the house every day. He wanted to talk to her nonstop.”
I laugh, picturing my mother and father bickering about the dishes or whose turn it is to buy scones at the market. Such mundane things, but still, I am enraptured at the thought.
A brisk knock startles us both, and a dark-haired man enters the room. “Starfire.”
The code word calms my racing heart. Trevor assured me every one of the guards would use it so we would know they had no ill intent. After the man finishes his security check, he leaves us, and Dr. Joey peeks her head in. “How’s my favorite patient?”
Throwing my arms around her, I hold on for so long, Dr. Joey pats my back and pulls away with a nervous smile.
I step aside and gesture to my sister. “I am so happy you could come. This is Noele.”
The two embrace, and Noele kisses her on each cheek. “I owe you a debt I can never repay. We had given up hope. Maman and Papa cannot wait to meet their grandson.”
A blush creeps up Joey’s cheeks. “You don’t owe me anything. Except maybe pictures once in a while? Of Mateen growing up big and strong?”
The two exchange email addresses, and Joey eases a hip onto the edge of Mateen’s bed. “FIFA again? Who’s winning?” she asks.
“I am! Want to play?”
One of the machines beeps twice, then hisses as it delivers a small dose of fast-acting insulin through the pump attached to my son’s side.
