“That’s what is so incredible. He refused me because he thinks she needs to choose her own life. ‘If I have true love for her, which I must in order to marry her, I must allow her to be free. This is why I refuse you.’ Imagine a man telling a father what to do with his own daughter.” My father is silent as he drains the bottle of beer and sets it on the table. “And then I think, was I like this once too? So in love that I was willing to let go of the woman I adored in order that she be happy? It seems a century ago. And really, Abu Mustafa, I’m afraid that I was the opposite: I wanted her so much that I would sell everything to have her, but I did not love her enough to keep her alive.”

“May God give you strength, Abu Jalal. Her death was God’s will, and, as to the other, such is the way of our children today. You know as well as I that everyone is facing similar difficulties, though by no means am I trying to suggest that your problems are minor. It is almost as if there were a divide between the generations. Your children are all grown and you have done the best by them that you can, so now you must live your life as you wish and enjoy the last few years that God has given you on this earth of His.”

A fat silence sits between the two men.

At some point the talking starts again, but relief has already sent me into a sweet and peaceful sleep.

I am not surprised when my father and I find ourselves alone together the next day, though this is something that has happened only a couple of times during my entire visit. Fortunately, we are in the car and provided with visual distractions to lighten the severity behind his words.

We are going outside the city to visit a cousin and pick up some sheep. Normally he would take Jalal, or one of the workers, but it is a short drive and only two sheep, so I go instead. We have not been driving in the shiny Toyota pickup—my father’s “work” car—for five minutes when he says, with his eyes glued to the road in front of him, “I have been thinking.”

“About what?” I ask with a twisty feeling in my stomach.

“I’ve been thinking about your situation.”

My hands are clammy, though I am sure what his words will be.

“I think maybe you should wait to get married. I think you should go back to Hamdi and his Red, White, and Blue Wife and finish your schooling.”

I have no words to offer.

“I am proud of you. It seems you are a very good girl.”

“What made you decide all of this?” I ask him.