As if in a dream, Shaygha raised enthralled, indebted eyes to me. Then they registered shock and concern. In that moment of overwhelming joy, it had not occurred to her to ask how I had known she would return early. And how had I purchased those expensive gifts, after she had been the one who spent all the money to clothe and feed me? Her features froze in sudden alarm. She broke out in a flushed sweat at the thought that I might have appropriated the fruits of her labors, all the money she had been saving up over the years. She leapt up, turned the mattress over, and thrust her hand inside to pull her treasure out of its hiding place in a hole on the bottom. When she found it there, wrapped in newspaper inside a plastic bag, she burst into a flood of tears. Overwhelmed by joy and gratitude, she began kissing my hands and begging forgiveness for having doubted my honesty, even for a second. All those emotions were a lot for her small body. I lifted her up and embraced her. Then, overcome by a blinding desire, I entered her, feeling how soft and wet she was. With a convulsing spasm, she arched her back before collapsing on the bed. She asked for a moment to compose herself in the bathroom before we went out.

I opened her purse and put all her money inside. I didn’t inform her of my resolution to remove her from her life. I didn’t inform her that I had been planning everything for more than a week. I had decided upon that day and was waiting for her to come home from work to run away with her, and it was pure chance that she had returned before the usual hour. I had purchased suitable clothes for her and had secretly made arrangements with a taxi driver to bring us to the restaurant next to my building. I had already picked out some of her things and packed them in the trunk of his car. She didn’t have much: work clothes that were not appropriate to wear during the day; daytime clothes, which were largely just for sleeping; and her life’s earnings, which she feared she had just lost. Likewise, I didn’t inform her that I was undertaking something so bold as to “kidnap” her. I knew that would terrify her, and she would refuse, saying, “No one escapes from Mr. Joe. No one!” as she always used to repeat. “Yes, they do!” I silently insisted. “You will escape. I will make up for everything. I will protect you, despite him and despite yourself, because you returned my soul to me.”