UM BURAQ IS in a wheelchair now. We arrive at the bathhouse as usual and I push her to the front desk. Our friendly attendant is there. She takes the money and hands us the receipt, but there is something else with it. An envelope. She looks around and whispers, “Someone dropped this off and told me to give it to you. As you can see, it’s unopened.”

I thank her and wheel Um Buraq into the changing room. “Open it!” Um Buraq demands.

It is a typed story letter, like a children’s fairy tale. It’s strange and makes no sense. “Let me see.” Um Buraq takes it from me.

As she grabs it, something occurs to me, and I snatch it back from her, quickly wheeling her into a private steam room. I rummage frantically in my purse for a pen. I can only find an eyeliner, but it’ll do. My heart begins to race as I lay a towel on the bench and spread the paper on it. I circle the first word. Um Buraq has no idea what is happening, but she knows not to ask. I count nine words and circle the ninth. I count four words and circle the fourth. I start over: 1-9-4, 1-9-4, until the letter runs out. I put the eyeliner down and read what I’ve circled.

But I can barely make out the words through the steam, and the paper is already wet. Fumbling, I manage to turn off the mister and I open the window.

my … darling … wife … I … have … spent … these … years … trying … to … make … my … way … back … to … you … if … you … will … have … me … I … will … come … to … you … there … is … a … tree … in … the … valley … where … you … go … and … sit … tomorrow … I … will … leave … a … letter … under … a … rock … there … enshallah … we … will … meet … again … my … love.

I crumple on the bench, sweat and tears pouring down my face. I am overwhelmed by the possibility of seeing Bilal, electrified by the thought of him.

Bilal is alive. Israel knew it all along. They’ve been trying to find him all these years. It’s why they made me their special prisoner. Why I got the Cube. Why they displayed me to the world. I was the bait then, and I still am.

Um Buraq watches me knowingly. “It’s him, isn’t it?” she asks, but she can see the answer on my face.

She struggles to get out of her chair, and I help her sit next to me. “Turn that steam back on and close the window,” she says. “Keep it normal.”

I put my arm around her to whisper in her ear, even though we’re alone in total privacy. “He survived,” I say. “We survived them all.”