The sun starts to set. I hear Rostam urge the guards to continue digging. One sets his shovel down and states that it’s time for him to go home. The others, despite having unearthed nothing but stones, pick up where he left off. Mom sits with her back to a tree, watching the trench widen. A new guard appears with oil lamps and a thermos heavy with tea. They take turns drinking from a single cup. The sky darkens, steeped in night.

“Thank you,” I tell the people around me. “Thank you for doing this. No matter what happens, I’ll always remember I wasn’t alone here.”

I want to say so much more but choke up trying to find the words.

“Sister, we’ve all spent more energy on lesser tasks. No need to thank us,” one says. I cannot make out his face in the dark. I turn and look at Rostam, whose eyes glisten in the lamplight. He turns his back and plunges a shovel into the ground.

Two hours after we should have given up, a shout cuts through the rhythmic toiling. The shovel falls from my hand and lands on the rutted earth with a clunk. Mom is at my side, and I lean my head on her shoulder as a circle of people gather around. Despite how I’ve longed for this moment, I am suddenly petrified to face it.

“My God,” I hear Clay exclaim. He is at my side in a flash. Rostam follows, his face rough with sorrow. I look at him.

“Give them some time,” Rostam advises. He leads me to a nearby tree, where I sit with my head resting on Mom’s shoulder. The work resumes, shovels exchanged for brushes and hands. An unfurled sheet prepares to receive the unburied bones. Under a night sky twinkling with mythical creatures and parables, I do the same.

What will this change? I wonder. If I’m no less alone than I was yesterday, what is the difference? Will I feel released from this knotted grief? Will my dreams soften? Will I still be me?

I close my eyes and breathe in the scents of this night—mint on my mother’s hands, the spice of my father’s cologne, and Faheem’s milky breath. It does not stop there. I sense my mother’s spirit first, as if she’s floated over and taken a seat beside me. I can almost feel her caress my head. My father comes next, smiling as if he were expecting me. His steps are slower because he’s carrying my brother. Faheem’s small arms are wrapped around my father’s neck, his eyes bright with an eternal love.

I feel foolish then that I ever thought they might have resented me for surviving that night.