Suad was awake that night, very awake, and was wearing a pink satin, very short nightgown. Something struck him as odd, but he was too tired to put his finger on just what it was.

“Welcome home,” she said with a cup of tea in her hand.

“Welcome home to you,” he said, kissing her on the lips. “Are you all dressed up for me?”

“No, I’ve been entertaining,” she answered, smiling.

He laughed, but didn’t feel quite right. Then he followed her into the kitchen.

“I made stuffed zucchini today,” she said, opening the refrigerator. “I hope you like it.”

“Of course I’ll like it. Didn’t you make it?” He was delighted by her friendliness.

She put the plate she had prepared for him in the microwave. “How was work?”

“Same, same, same.” He didn’t continue the conversation because the microwave bell went off. He could see how thin she still was, not like most girls whose figures transformed completely as soon as they got married.

“Enjoy it,” she had said and put the plate in front of him.

I used to feel so embarrassed for him for the things he told Ma, who would try to tell him in a roundabout way what a woman needed and wanted. That kind of grossed me out, listening to her. So that night he said they made love, unlike most nights when he came home exhausted and she didn’t want to. He would always tell her, “Tomorrow, my dear. Tomorrow I will have more energy and you will be happy.”

And then tomorrow would come and go and if he wasn’t tired, she would be asleep or on her period. She didn’t complain to him about not having sex, which seemed weird to me too.

Then at 5:30 a.m. he was up again, made coffee and was back to open the grocery at 6:00.

I know this city can get to anyone with its ugly sidewalks, even in summer, and everywhere trash that chases you home. There were days when Sameer had difficulties because he was so tired, and it got into him and he couldn’t shake it. He was only fifteen blocks from home, and still he wouldn’t go except at lunchtime and at 10:45 when the day was finally over. He was so predictable. No sneaking, no suspicions.

Then one day—I was at the store that day—he was sweeping out front, when a man came dressed in a tuxedo and carrying a pile of sharp red roses. So out of place in that neighborhood, even though we are in California and weird things happen. The man stood in front of the building next to our store, right under one of the windows, and called out. “Rosaria. Rosaria. Where are you, my love?”