Mansoor raised his arms above his head and frantically waved at them, and her heart lifted. She pulled Ashif by the wrist and ran to him. Mansoor reached first for his son.

“Look at you!” Mansoor kneeled down, his eyes moist with tears. “You’re such a big boy!”

“Mummy!” Ashif screamed and locked his arms around his mother’s knees.

Mansoor pried his son away from her, despite his kicks and screams, and pressed him tightly to his chest. “Pappa is so happy to see you!” He only returned him to Layla when people in the waiting area shot him dirty looks.

“He just needs some time to get used to things,” Layla said, though she needed time, too. She barely recognized him, either.

“You’re right,” he said and put his arm around her. “Come, let’s go.”

He then told her he’d made all the arrangements for their new life. They were booked on the first flight to Montreal tomorrow morning. They were moving to Canada. He never asked her how she had coped alone in London, and when she tried to ask him about his final days in Uganda and the camp in Austria, he just shook his head. “What’s the use of talking about the past, Layla?”

That night, they stayed at a small inn near the airport. When they made love, she could feel the bones of his rib cage.

Chapter 8

FROM HER KITCHEN WINDOW, Layla watches children scatter as a limousine winds its way through the inner road of the townhouse complex. Pedestrians stop, trying to make out who’s behind the tinted windows. “He’s here!” she shouts. She peels off her apron and tosses it on the kitchen counter. Underneath, an A-shaped dress patterned with tiny roses that she bought this morning. A new lipstick, too.

At his desk in the living room, Mansoor stands up to face the window. A driver with a chauffeur’s hat jumps out of a limousine and rushes to pull open the back door. An arm holding a briefcase extends, but then the prairie sun escapes from behind a cloud and turns the window into a mirror. Now all Mansoor can see is an image of himself.

Ashif walks up the front steps with a massive heart-shaped balloon attached to a bouquet of red roses. Inside, he’s hidden his mother’s spa certificate. He doesn’t want his father to know.

At the front door, Layla taps her hair to make sure it’s in place and checks her lipstick.

“Aye, Layla, he’s not a guest. This is the boy’s home.” Mansoor throws open the front door. Sunshine pours into the house. Tucked under his arm, two copies of his business plan, and a new set of loan forms he drew up with Ashif as a silent partner.

Layla starts crying the minute she sees him.

Ashif sets his briefcase down and takes her in his arms. “Hi, Mummy.”

“You’re going to ruin your makeup,” Mansoor says.

Ashif gently pushes her back. “But she still looks beautiful.” He gives her the roses.