Page 31 of Rescuing You

The whole thing had terrified Leila.

Her friend had given up her dreams, choosing to please her father rather than fight for what she wanted. While Leila had tried to support Heba’s choices, she’d known she would never follow in her footsteps.

If she married, it would be to a man of her choice. A man who did not rule her.

She recognized Mostafa’s home, the largest one in this tiny town.

They reached the front door, and Leila lifted her hand to knock.

Jasmine grabbed her arm and whispered, “I do not think this is a good idea. The compound we were in belonged to Heba’s family. What if they are looking for us?”

Leila’s gaze flicked behind them as if enemies lurked beyond the low wall that surrounded the yard. This property wasn’t nearly as large as the one they’d just left, but it was newer. Tidier. There was glass in the windows, and a low hum told her an air conditioner ran somewhere. Shrubs grew near the front door and along the walls. The sweet scent of jasmine filled the air.

“Heba and Mostafa helped me escape. They are friends. We can trust them.”

“Things have changed, sister.” But Jasmine’s words faded as she bent at the waist, her arm pressing against her stomach.

“You need to rest.”

“I’ll rest when we’re out of this country.” Her voice was strained. “We must go.”

“Heba will help us.” Leila pulled her arm out of her sister’s grip and knocked.

The sound was startlingly loud in the silent night.

A moment later, a light flicked on through the windows.

And the door swung open.

A man looked down at them from his perch a step higher, eyes narrowed beneath bushy brows. His beard was thick and covered more than half his face. He looked fierce.

“Mostafa?”

He blinked, his gaze flicking from Leila to Jasmine and back. “Nawra?”

“Can we come in, please? Yasamin is ill.”

He stepped aside, and Leila helped her sister into the small living area.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” Leila said. “I know it’s late.”

“Please, sit.” He indicated a sofa. “I will wake Heba.”

After he went up a staircase, Leila took in the space, different in many ways from the last time she’d seen it. Toys filled a chest and overflowed onto the floor. A few framed photos showed smiling children, three of them, at various ages.

When Mostafa returned, his wife was behind him.

Heba’s head was uncovered, though she’d thrown on an abaya—probably over pajamas. The loose fabric didn’t hide her swelling belly. When she saw her visitors, she rushed across the tile, arms open. “Nawra!”

Leila stood to embrace her old friend. Yes, coming here had been the right decision.

After greeting Jasmine, Heba excused herself into the kitchen, and Leila and Mostafa exchanged small talk. Finally, Heba returned with tea and served it, along with cookies and figs, as if it made perfect sense to entertain at three o’clock in the morning.

There were some things about Middle Eastern culture that Leila missed, and the hospitality was one of them. She tried to imagine how a German neighbor might have greeted her in the middle of the night. Probably not with open arms. Probably not with refreshments and chit-chat.

It wasn’t until after they’d finished their tea that Mostafa’s mild expression shifted to concern. “What are you doing back in Iraq? Why are you here?”

His questions confirmed what she’d already guessed—that Mostafa had no idea what was going on at his family’s home.