Before I could react, Rahmia reached out and brushed my cheek, so lightly I barely felt it. “If you were not feeling safe, you could tell me.”

Why did my eyes well with tears whenever anyone said anything nice to me? “I am safe. Brady’s in jail, the reporters are gone, there’s a policeman right out front.”

“Sometimes the danger isn’t outside the house.” Her hands twisted and untwisted the hem of her hijab. “You could go somewhere better for you. Better, safer, for Grace.”

“Michael wouldn’t hurt me. Really.” And then I remembered Rahmia’s work with the women’s shelter. “I promise, Rahmia. I’m safe at home. I’m safe with Michael.”

“But you have other family too. Maybe this is a good time for you to visit your mother or your sisters.”

“I can’t leave, not now.” All the reasons I’d told my own mother on the phone rose again in my mind: Michael needs me. The police won’t let me leave. But Rahmia’s words had awakened a childlike longing to be with my parents, familiar and loving, where I was always safe.

She nodded, studying my face as if she could read my mixed emotions in it, until a squawk from Grace startled us both.

“Would you like tea?” I asked, but she scooped the gift back up.

“No, no, don’t bother. Your princess is calling me.” Rahmia went to find Grace, then dropped to her knees beside the play mat.

“You are a princess,” she cooed. “Just the most beautiful girl. So much bigger than last time.” She reached into the bag and pulled out a small floppy bunny, shaking it to make it rattle. Grace smiled at her, and Rahmia crooned back in a mix of baby talk and Bengali. Grace squirmed as though her joy were too great for her body, and I laughed, almost surprised that I still could.

Rahmia looked back over her shoulder at me. “We should take this princess on a parade. She deserves a little fresh air, and so does her mama.”

I hesitated, and she patted Grace’s plump little leg. “There is no one out there now. I walked from my door to yours and saw nobody, not a single nosy neighbor or newshound. Is that the word? Put on a sun hat and your glasses, and we’ll walk, just for a bit. I won’t let anything happen to this sweetheart.”

And despite how little Rahmia looked, how round and friendly and no more threatening than Bibi, I believed that she would protect us, that she could.

The next thing I knew, we were stepping out the front door. The sky was the gorgeous cerulean of an Impressionist masterpiece. The shine of light on the trees and the warmth of the sun seemed like a thin screen over the horrible things that could happen behind closed doors.