At that moment, the entire palace rocked once more. I fell onto my side, and a yelp escaped my throat. Thankfully, the soldiers had shouted even louder, and in a flash they ushered one another back up the stairs.

A second boom rattled the walls. I tucked my head between my knees believing the entire palace was about to come crashing down on me.

I crawled out of the alcove once more. The soldiers were gone. The radio was gone. The unfurled carpet was covered in plaster and bits of paint.

A year before, on my birthday, our house had rattled with the force of an earthquake. I had been half awake when my mother grabbed me by the hand, Faheem on her hip, and pulled us out of the house.

Outside is safer, she’d hollered.

Madar-jan. From the night of the coup on, I would forever wonder if the look in her eyes in that final moment had been love or fear.

I heard crashing overhead and imagined pots, chairs, and chandeliers falling to the floor. A tower of stacked boxes in the basement toppled over, glass broke somewhere. My hands flew to my head instinctively.

This was not an earthquake. Earthquakes did not smell of gunpowder, sweat, and blood. This would not cease until the entire palace was destroyed.

The will to live is strongest in those who have a reason to live, something to save. I should have had none, and yet I refused to go quietly. I can only imagine it was because my parents had insisted that their every hope for the future lived in me.

I climbed the stairs, the air growing thicker with smoke as I neared the door. I opened it slowly and a sliver of hazy light fell on my face. Hearing no voices in the kitchen, I entered. I looked over at the stairs that led to the upper level and felt my throat tighten again. The floor was littered with upturned pots and broken plates. A light fixture dangled precariously overhead.

I took one step and a sharp pain made me pull my foot back. I balanced with one hand on a wall and lifted my foot. A triangle of glass poked out of my sole like a shark fin.

Leaning against the wall, I shut my eyes tight and pulled the shard out with one swift motion. Hearing shouts nearby, I pressed on. I hobbled into the long hallway and looked from one apocalypse to another as I passed each room. A shattered Chinese vase. Toppled dining chairs. A jagged, zipperlike crack on the ceiling. A parlor door dangling on a hinge. The badly splintered door to the president’s office with three gaping holes in it.