Someone jerks me back by one arm, then shoves me to my knees. I am on a roof. At least three stories up. I blink hard. An awning extends a meter from the rest of the house. Lush potted plants surround a wicker chair and table with an icy pitcher of water sitting in the center of it.
I lick my lips. The terrible, bitter taste in my mouth is nothing compared to the dehydration. It is unseasonably warm today, and in the hot sun, wearing all black, how long before heat stroke sets in?
Raziq steps out from the shade of the canopy, his hands loose at his sides. He looks so much like his brother. Older. A bit heavier. Streaks of gray in his beard. But the same wild eyes. A voice so similar, fear floods my body when he speaks. “Lisette. Wife of Amir Abdul Faruk. You are guilty of adultery, kidnapping, and child abuse.”
I gape at him.Adultery? Child abuse?
“I am guilty of nothing. Inevercheated on Faruk. He would have killed me for evenlookingat another man. I took Mateen from Afghanistan because he would have died here! I kept him safe. And Faruk is dead. You have no claim on my son!”
Stars explode in front of my eyes. My cheek throbs with each beat of my heart. Raziq steps back and uncurls his fingers. “You have no say here,whore. My brother sent me the security footage from the night you stole Mateen. You were sleeping with the man who helped you commit that crime!”
“Nomar? I had never met him before that night—”
The second punch is not a surprise. But it hurts no less. I taste blood. “You will stay quiet unless I ask you a question. Though now I know your lover’s name.”
I shrink back against the metal railing and drop my gaze. This is Afghanistan. I have no rights here. I cannot travel alone. I cannot speak unless spoken to. I cannot even show my eyes. I am nothing. No one. Not even a person.
“These are grave charges, Lisette. By rights, I could have you stoned.”
I choke back a sob. Would he truly do it? Bury me up to my chest and throw rocks at my head until I die? One look at his face, and I have my answer. He would.
“But that would be a merciful death, and I am not a merciful man. You will not be stoned. Your punishment will be forty lashes every day for forty days. After that, I will decide if you have suffered enough.”
Tears stream down my cheeks. Forty lashes is survivable. Fortyevery day?I will be dead in less than a week. The scars on my back ache with the memory of Faruk’s braided leather whip. Of my wedding night when they were so fresh, they bled as he forced himself on me.
Nomar, where are you?
I dip my hands under the cape to wipe away my tears. The little device in my ear is gone. Flexing my toes, I do not feel the bandage. They took the GPS tracker too. This house is far from the city. If they think I am still in Kabul…they will never find me here.
“Mateen,” I whisper. “You said I would be with my son.”
Raziq looms over me. “I said you couldseeyour son.”
“Please. I am…yours.” The word sticks in my throat, but the only hope I have is to tell him what he wishes to hear. “I accept my punishment. I will not fight you. I only want to see my son.”
“Watch her,” he says, then disappears through a heavy wooden door. Two men take positions on either side of me. One, I recognize from the market. My stomach pitches. The memory of his hands on me is still so fresh.
Several minutes pass. I peek over my shoulder, but the dizzying height is too much. Does he know that it frightens me? He must. He knows everything else.
The door opens, and Mateen jerks free from the hold his uncle has on the shoulder of his tunic. “Maman!”
He throws his arms around my neck, knocking me back against the railing.
Holding him soothes a fraction of my panic. He is safe. Whole. “I love you,mon chou.I am sorry it took me so long to get here.”
“Can we go home now?” he asks.
Over Mateen’s shoulder, Raziq’s expression hardens.
My heart aches, but for as long as I am alive, I will protect my son. “This…ishome now. Remember?” Pressing my lips to his ear through the fabric, I switch to French and whisper, “You must do whatever your uncle tells you until we find a way out of here.”
“Okay,” he says and draws back to tug at the burka. “Why are you wearing this?”
“Because it is the law. Whenever I am outside or around men who are not family, I must cover my face.” I squeeze his arms, then run my hands up and down his back to check for bruises. He does not flinch, and I take comfort knowing he has not suffered…much. “I think you have grown in the past week. You will be taller than I am soon.”
“Enough!” Raziq snaps. Mateen presses closer to me with a tiny whimper. “Mateen, Hamza will take you to make wudu. It is almost Asr and you must wash first. When I am done here, I will join you for prayers.”
“I want to stay with Maman!”
