“In theory,” Hanan said.

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing, really.” But she thought of John’s little sister, Katrina, who got pregnant in high school. A senior had basically forced it on her. She was expelled, because the school was one of the best private schools in the city and had a reputation to maintain, but the boy wasn’t even approached. And she knew that when she eventually took Rola to the clinic, there would be a mob of people there, as there always were, carrying signs and yelling violent slogans. A few of them were quiet, and maintained a sort of dignified vigil, handing out leaflets with options for women, but their voices were drowned out by the others. Hanan passed them every once in a while on her way to work—and it was frightening, perhaps almost as frightening as Rola thought confessing to her parents would be.

Rola dutifully sent an email every few weeks. Stanford was wonderful, she reported, and she was settling in well. She had trouble at first with the language, but thanks to long conversations into the night with John and Hanan during the two months that she remained in Philly before her semester began, she was able to pick up the idioms and nuances more quickly than she thought. Hanan smiled when she first saw her cousin’s email signed, “LOL.” Lots of love to you too, she thought.

“How’s your mother?” she asked Hanan in one email. “Please give her a hug for me.”

“Things are better,” Hanan had replied, but declined to give more information than that. She had thought of moving out, and had even found a terrific apartment just half a mile away from her job. It would be a great walk in the mornings and evenings, and she could easily hop the subway in bad weather. But her father had looked at her piteously when she mentioned moving out, and her mother had yelled that it was improper for a young girl to live alone, and dangerous in this city, and besides, didn’t she care about her parents who had spent twenty-six years slaving to raise her in a good home and provide good food?

But Hanan sensed something behind their attitude, as if they could feel it getting worse. There was something going on, a change in Hanan, and they knew it. She could tell that they thought she’d had enough of them, by the way that she barely stayed home on weekends, or the more and more frequent occasions when she missed dinner with them. “I haven’t talked to you in weeks, you stranger,” her father said to her jokingly once, but she knew from his twisted, tight half-smile that it was meant to spark a conversation that she did not feel like having just then. And it had been strange indeed, and unnerving, when the clinic had called Hanan to schedule follow-up exams.

“Why is a clinic calling you?” her mother had asked suspiciously. “What is going on?” Hanan had shrugged it off and told Mama not to worry, but of course that did not go over too well. Mama enlisted her father, who came to Hanan one evening after dinner, while her mother had conveniently gone for a walk. “I just wanted to check in with you to see how things are,” he said, reaching out as if to pat her hair, but then pulling his arm back as an afterthought. “Is everything OK?”