In a brightly lit room with warm, orange walls and a thick rug spread out over the tile floor, a dozen cushions border a long, low table.
“Put her down,” Raziq orders.
I manage to stay upright for several seconds before the room starts to spin. My knees hit the carpet.
“If you expect to eat, you will take your seat right now.” He points to the far corner of the room. “Hamsa is bringing Mateen down for dinner. He defied me all afternoon and refused his prayers. Your presence ruined all the progress I have made with him the past three days.”
My heart leaps into my throat. I crawl toward the cushions, nauseous and dizzy. “Let me talk to him.” Lowering myself down, head bowed, I scramble for anything that might diffuse some of Raziq’s anger. “The failure is mine. I understand now. Why you brought him here. Mateen needs you. He spent the last three years without a father. You can be that to him.”
The words leave a bitter taste in my mouth, but through the black mesh, I think I see Raziq’s expression soften.
“But he needs time. If you let me stay with him…I can help ease this transition. Help him see you are doing what is best for him.”
He stalks over to me, and I curl my shoulders inward. “This will not change your punishment.”
“I would never ask for that. I deserve my sentence.” If he could see my face, he would know I am lying. That I wish he would drop dead in front of me. Or that I could be the one to kill him. But this country used me and left me to die. Twice. It is time I useditfor something.
“Very well. You will be allowed to stay with him in his room tonight. Tomorrow, I will move him into one of the larger suites with multiple rooms.”
“Thank you for your…generous gift.” The words stick in my throat, and I imagine them like knives piercing his chest.
“Maman?” Mateen races into the room and throws himself against me. Adrenaline floods my limbs, easing the pain of the welts across my back. “You smell bad.”
Laughing, I press a kiss to his cheek. “I know,mon bébé.I spent the afternoon in the sun and I need to wash. But we will eat first.” I look to Raziq. “He is still young enough to eat with me. But if you want him at your side…”
With a wave of his hand, Raziq dismisses the implied question. “I have already eaten. He may eat with you until his next birthday.”
I take my son’s shoulders and hold him at arm’s length. “Mateen, sit on the cushion with your legs crossed. Do you remember all the meals we had in Papa’s home?”
He shakes his head and tugs at the burka. “How will you eat with this on?”
Two men approach Raziq, crouch down, and talk in low tones. Leaning close to Mateen, I whisper in his ear. “Do not ask questions now. After the meal, he said he will let me stay with you in your room. Until then, it is very important you do exactly as I tell you.”
His brown eyes well with tears, but he nods. Finding my hand under the black cape, he squeezes so hard, I bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from crying out.
A woman in a pale blue burka comes into the room carrying a tray laden with steaming plates of food. With the grace of a dancer, she sinks to her knees and arranges the dishes in front of us.
My gaze lands on the pitcher of water, and suddenly, I am so thirsty, nothing else matters. It is barely cool, and I spill half the glass trying to maneuver it under the cape, but I do not care. Until Mateen tugs at my sleeve.
“How do I eat this?” he whispers. “There is no silverware.”
His uncle’s stare makes my skin crawl as I explain how to take the naan and use it as a spoon. He struggles at first—as do I—but soon is so focused on the meal, I think he has forgotten Raziq is even in the room.
Watching him smile up at me between bites is a joy I feared I would never have again. But if Nomar cannot find us, it will not last long. I can barely keep my eyes open. The meal and the warmth of the room conspire with my injuries. My mind wanders to Nomar. I hope he knows I love him.
The serving girl clears away the mostly empty dishes, but as she returns with a pot of tea, three of Raziq’s men crowd through the doorway, and she flees with a quiet whimper.
“It is time,” the tallest of them says. The other two take up positions close to me.
Raziq rises. Bile rises in my throat at his gleeful smile. “Bring them.”
“I can walk on my own,” I snap when the closest man grabs my arm. In truth, I am not certain I can, but I have to try. “Mateen, give me your hand.”
He chews on his lower lip, but slips his fingers in mine. His hold gives me the strength to get to my feet.
We walk down a dim hallway, one guard ahead of us and two behind. Around a corner, we enter a sitting room. I gasp when I see video of Raziq’s Kabul home on the large wall screen.
“You were smart,” he says, “to hide the GPS tracker where you did, Lisette. But I am smarter. It has been transmitting from myformerhome all evening. And ten minutes ago, your lover and his friends attempted to rescue you.”
