When it arrives, I slip through the sliding doors and find my way to a seat. I stay on the train as it passes my stop. My mind does not wander. I am locked into this moment as I descend the steps and navigate the side streets to make my way back to Shair’s building.

I press the button next to his name. Nabi. I hold it down, my fingertip blanching.

A voice crackles over the intercom, a greeting I can’t make out. It doesn’t matter.

“Send Shair Nabi downstairs,” I shout.

Chapter 48

There is silence. My breathing is shallow and rapid. I dig my fingernails into the palms of my hands. I press the button again, a series of staccato buzzes.

There is noise over the intercom. I take a step back and brush my hair from my face. I stare at the elevator, expecting Shair to come charging out of it. I expect to face off against a soldier or a criminal, but when the doors open, the figure ambling toward me in the lobby is neither.

I look away so that I do not watch the struggle in his step.

He opens the glass door and joins me in the atrium. He squares off and meets my eyes—but only for a beat.

“Not here,” he says, then pushes open the outside door and steps onto the sidewalk. I hesitate, not wanting to follow a single command. I feel a hand on my elbow and jump back.

“What are you trying to do to him? Why didn’t you say who you were?” Shair’s daughter shrieks in Dari. Her eyes are puffy, as if she’s been crying. Behind her, standing in the elevator, is her mother. Tahera has grown round, heavy. The elevator door starts to close, and she lifts one hand to stop it, never turning her eyes from me.

She says nothing, just looks at me with the same hollow expression she had the night Shair deposited me in her care.

“This has nothing to do with you,” I tell his daughter in English, wresting my arm from her grip. I remember the moment I saw her wearing the clothes I’d outgrown, and my resentment bubbles up. She follows me out the door until she sees Shair standing with his hands on his hips.

“Go inside,” he tells his daughter.

“But, Padar—” she protests, shooting me a daggered look.

“Go, bachem. It’s me she needs, not you. Go be with your mother and your children. I didn’t finish feeding Elias.”

She slaps her arms against her sides, like a bird deciding whether to rise or retreat. Shair is right. I don’t need her. I turn back in time to watch him make a left at the end of the block.