“No. And I haven’t asked her. She can stay with me as long as she wants.” She’s aware of Tahera’s eyes boring into her, but she can’t resist the taunt, like with the chicken neck earlier.

The room feels charged again. My mother returns to what she knows will calm her—placing her palms on the shell of her body around me and taking deep breaths. She slides her palms slowly along the dome of her belly, naming parts of me she thinks she recognizes—elbows, knees, skull. There’s security in the promise of me. But Tahera’s anger is growing palpable. “What?” Seema says, without looking up.

“I’ve read her case reports,” Tahera says. “She shouldn’t have come.”

Seema puts a finger on her lips to remind Tahera of their mother sleeping in the next room, but the gesture infuriates Tahera further. She stands up, face clenched and lips quivering. “It was very selfish of you to ask her here. What happens if she suddenly becomes worse? Will you be able to take care of her?”

Seema struggles to rise. “Why are you upset with me? I didn’t ask Ammi here. I tried to convince her not to come. She wanted to.” She pushes herself off her chair with a jerk. “I didn’t ask you to come either.”

It happens in a flash—she stumbles, the chair totters. She’s falling backward, and for a moment it seems that the world is swiveling out of control. She throws her hands out, seeking purchase on the tabletop, but it’s smooth. In her panic, she’s sure there’s to be no reprieve for her. Ishraaq, she calls out to me in her mind, as though she can warn me to safety.

Who or what saves us that first night? It’s Tahera flinging herself across the table and grabbing Seema by the arms. The momentum brings their heads together with a crash that resounds in the kitchen. Seema sits down with a gasp. The world slowly rocks back into place.

“I’m sorry,” Tahera says. She hurries over to Seema’s side. A bruise is already beginning to show on Seema’s forehead, but she turns away as Tahera reaches for the spot. “Let me see,” Tahera persists.

She bends down, blowing on the bruise, much as she would on her daughter Amina’s.

For the second time that day, Seema pushes her away. “Let’s see about setting up the futon. Ammi is sharing the bed with me. I’ll get you pillows and a blanket.”