“They also told me what had happened to your parents. When I heard about that, well, I turned around and left.”
I wasn't going to tell you. I decided it would be too much for you. For anybody.”
Abdul Sharif reached across the table and put a hand on her kneecap.
But I came back. Because, in the end, I think he would have wanted you to know.”
I believe that. I'm so sorry. I wish...” Laila wasn't listening anymore.
She was remembering the day the man from Panjshir had come to deliver the news of Ahmad's and Noor's deaths.
She remembered Babi, white-faced, slumping on the couch, and Mammy, her hand flying to her mouth when she heard.
Laila had watched Mammy come undone that day and it had scared her, but she hadn't felt any true sorrow.
She hadn't understood the awfulness of her mother's loss. Now another stranger bringing news of another death.
Now she was the one sitting on the chair. Was this her penalty, then, her punishment for being aloof to her own mother's suffering?
Laila remembered how Mammy had dropped to the ground, how she'd screamed, torn at her hair.
But Laila couldn't even manage that. She could hardly move. She could hardly move a muscle.
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