“I hate him,” I said, though these words were inadequate.

“I understand that completely. But he got you out of the palace, and he may be able to help us get you out of the country.”

“No!” I cried. “I will not go with him!”

“Of course not! I would not do that to you,” Antonia said, crouching before me, pleading with me to trust her. Her hair fell forward, framing her face. “I only want him to help us get the birth certificate from your home. I think he can do that this week, on the night of the Oklahoma! performance.”

Tilly began humming, her eyes half closed.

“We’ve invited people from the other embassies, from the colleges, and from the new government. It’s a bizarre time for a show, but I’m hopeful we can use it to our advantage.”

I’d found the script for Oklahoma! before I realized Antonia was leading a production here in Kabul. I found it odd that people from the embassy would spend their free time singing and dancing on a stage for all the Foreign Service officers and Afghan notables to see. I could not imagine my father or his colleagues doing any such thing and most especially not in the wake of a coup. Americans were not fazed by much, I gathered.

“Tell us your plan, Nia,” Tilly sang out. She held out the vest and admired her handiwork. “We’ve got to be in on it to make it work.”

Antonia kept her eyes on me, even as Tilly slipped into the vest and buttoned it up. She moved side to side, the suede fringes swinging.

“I’m going to schedule another meeting with the minister. If the same soldier—Shair—is on guard duty again, I’m going to press him to get the birth certificate for us the night of the show. That’s the night the general won’t be there. He’s already confirmed he’s coming to the show.”

I glared at Antonia.

“I know you don’t want him in your home, but you saw what happened last time,” Antonia said plainly. “There’s no other way. Now tell me exactly where the birth certificate might be.”

I told her about my mother’s nightstand and the hidden drawer, the thin compartment between the top drawer and the top of the nightstand. She handed me a yellow notepad and asked me to draw a map of our home. My first attempt was a mess of lines. It looked nothing like a home. The second attempt was worse. I crumpled the paper and pressed the tip of the pen to a fresh page, biting my lip as I tried to stop my hand from shaking.

Antonia watched over my shoulder.