I didn’t get to see him grow. I didn’t get to be there for his first day at school. I never got to hold his hand in mine when he was afraid, or sad, or when he was lonely. And now you tell me he is alive, and expect no repercussions. You raised me like a son but treat me like a daughter.

I love you, Baba. But you took away my choice. You took away my freedom. You took my life. And I cannot allow that to happen again.

Your daughter,

Jia Khan

Elyas pressed his hand against his chest. The air felt thin, leaving him unable to breathe. He scanned the letter again, hoping he’d misunderstood. He folded it up and put it in his jacket pocket. His head began to hurt, and he rubbed his temple with his thumb, trying to figure out what to do. He ran through the conversation they’d had in his bedroom a week ago. He hadn’t got it then, but he did now. He finally understood who Jia was. She was Akbar Khan’s daughter and she had had him killed – and possibly betrayed the man she hired to the police. She had planned her father’s death, paid for his execution, and then carried on as if none of it was her doing. That’s what she had been trying to tell him, but he was too blinded by love to listen. Jia Khan was a stone-cold killer, and she was carrying his child.

He walked into the living room and stood by the fireplace. He took a log from the pile and put it on the fire.

‘Are you OK, Dad?’ said Ahad.

‘I’m fine,’ he said, turning round. Behind him the cream corners of the letter curled under the log, disintegrating into the flames.

CHAPTER 48

Jia stepped back into the house. Satisfied with her words, the reporters were moving away from the gates of Pukhtun House. Inside, the Jirga were gathered.

Sanam Khan waited in the hall, in her hands her husband’s favourite chador. She unfolded it and wrapped it around Jia’s shoulders. She could not stop her daughter entering the world of men, but she would make sure she kept her honour. The familiar smell of Akbar Khan’s aftershave mixed with the scent of stale tobacco enveloped Jia, triggering memories of childhood and her father. She pulled the shawl tight around her and walked towards the study.

The men had been called to Pukhtun House to discuss important matters. They had been told about the events of last week and they knew that badal had been exacted. With each man stood his son and representative. Jia Khan walked over to the desk and invited the men to sit. Idris poured her a glass of water and placed it by her right hand. She waited until each man was seated before beginning.