I woke up from a nightmare gripped with panic and sat in bed sweating, Bilal still sleeping next to me. The clock read 3:48 a.m. It was Friday, the day we usually slept in. I tiptoed to the bathroom and peed on the pregnancy test filament, as the instructions indicated. I watched the line of my urine travel up the filament. It crossed the first window on the test, revealing a single red line, the “control,” to make sure the kit was working properly. The edge of my urine advanced to the next window, and slowly a pair of lines appeared. The insert’s interpretation said, Positive: Congratulations! You’re pregnant.

I sat on the toilet thinking that the pregnancy-test makers should stick to the facts without assuming they know what is or isn’t cause for congratulations. Fucking patriarchy. I wrapped the test stick in tissue and tossed it, got back in bed, and fell asleep until I was assaulted by sunlight coming through the window. I had forgotten to close the heavy shades the night before.

Bilal was already awake and dressed, making breakfast. “Morning of goodness and jasmine, my beautiful wife,” he said, unusually cheerful, as if he were in a movie scene. He didn’t normally like to talk in the morning. Mostly he grunted until he had had his coffee on the terrace.

“Sabaho, my love,” I said, kissing him.

The movie-scene cheer of that morning quickly slumped into ordinary quiet, and we went through the motions of our Friday routine. Coffee, a light breakfast for him, big one for me, newspaper on the terrace, lazy hours at home, and—although he didn’t believe in God—afternoon prayer at the mosque. It was something he looked forward to all week. I rather loved his contradictions. I went sometimes, but mostly Jumana and I would get together to cook, maybe take a few clients at the salon, go shopping, play cards. Then Bilal would take his shift at the bakery. Later all of us might gather at our house, or we’d go hiking and spend time with the flock (Bilal had eventually gone back to visiting with Jandal’s animals and their new shepherd). Fridays were sacred.

The house phone rang. I ignored it because Bilal liked to answer. Instead, he turned to me. “Aren’t you going to answer?”

How odd, I thought. It was Jehad!

“Habibi, little brother! I miss you so much! Hearing your voice is the perfect way to start this Friday!”

“I miss you, too, Sis … but sit down. I have some bad news.”

I steadied myself. “What?”

“Our grandmother passed away,” he said somberly. “She died peacefully in her sleep.”