When the war broke out, and Sa’id became bigger and more unruly, I no longer hated my father. Instead, I began to be afraid for him. I heard terrifying news about kidnappings, killings, and amputations, and I did not trust that I would see my father coming home safe and sound each night before I went to bed and drifted off to sleep. It crushed me that Thurayya never worried about him, and that Sa’id scarcely thought about him at all. I found myself anxious for him on behalf of all three of us. Perhaps this triple concern of mine would protect and save him. Despite the war and its calamities, my father did not change his habits. He continued dedicating his Saturdays to the poor, but he started performing more of his medical work in the clinics, since moving around from one neighborhood to another had become risky, given a rash of kidnappings and murders on the basis of identity. This lasted until that day finally came, the day I had feared, when my father did not come home in the evening. Nor during the night. I did not see him until the first light of dawn, steeped in blood, his face pale, nearly collapsing unconscious where he stood.

Thurayya had sent Sa’id and me off to bed, saying, “Your father will return. Don’t be afraid.” It was the first time she had addressed me as Sa’id’s equal, which made me realize that the situation was grave, and that my father might already count among the number of the dead. “I’ll make a few calls,” she added. “Go to sleep now.”

Sa’id went first, and I followed him to his room, where he stretched out on his bed. “Do you think he’s been kidnapped?” I asked.

Sa’id shot me an annoyed glance. “Oh, shut up! You and your stupid questions.”

He turned off the light, and it was only a few minutes before I noticed his breathing take on the regularity of sleep. I looked at the clock. It was exactly 10:25.

I left his room and entered my own. Sleep came late and treated me badly. Stretched out on my bed, I tried to put out of my mind all the black thoughts that kept stealing in. Much later, sleep overpowered me and dropped me into a world of turbulent, striving nightmares. I hardly escaped one before I entered another. My missing father was the hero in all of them, while I kept trying to reach him, trying and failing. I don’t know what it was that suddenly made me open my eyes, but when I did, I saw him sitting on the chair beside my bed, staring at me without a sound. I sat bolt upright, flooded with anxiety, not knowing whether I saw something real or was still swimming in the delirium of my dreams. Placing his hand over my mouth to keep me quiet, he whispered, “Don’t be afraid! It’s me. I’ve come back. I’m alright.”