Page 9 of Rescuing You

The men in the courtyard went inside until only one remained. With most of the lights extinguished, she might have believed him gone if not for the glow of his cigarette and the scent of smoke that lifted to her third-floor room.

It was now or never.

If she could be quiet…

Like a mouse, Yasamin would whisper. Little feet, little moves.

Today, Leila’s feet were a lot bigger than they’d been back then, but she’d been studying the stone ledge that ran the length of the main house. It would hold her.

Above it, another ledge could act as a handhold.

She could do this.

It was her only chance.

She made the mistake of poking her head out and looking down.

Her stomach swooped. She fisted her hands to try to quell their trembling.

It was probably good that she couldn’t make out the hard-packed dirt below—or the twenty-plus-foot drop.

What were her choices? Climb out and try to escape or remain a prisoner. Forced to be the wife of a man she despised.

Her life out of her control.

She’d take potential death.

The glow in the courtyard changed colors every few seconds, telling her the man below was scrolling on his phone. Distracted. Now was the time.

She hoisted herself onto the windowsill. She had done something similar a few times when they were children, back at the family compound outside Tikrit. She’d been confined to her room after disobeying Baba. When the sun went down, she’d crawled out her window—second story, not third—and crept along the rough stone to Yasamin’s room next door.

Once, cautious Yasamin had come to her.

Like a mouse.

Facing into the room, Leila stuck her feet out one at a time until her stomach was balanced on the thin sill. She lowered her feet slowly, silently, feeling with her toes and wishing for a pair of tennis shoes.

Where was that ledge? She dared not look, but if she went any farther down and missed it, would she be able to get herself back up?

Breathe, Leila.

She lowered herself a little more.

Her toes caught the edge, and she managed to fit the balls of her feet on the narrow space.

Now, to get her hand from the sill to the upper ledge. She moved one, gripped the ledge, tested her weight. Everything held.

But to move the second hand…

Courage.

Help me, Lord.

She probably should have sought God’s leading before climbing out a third-floor window.

Seeking counsel wasn’t exactly her forte. Or taking it.

She took a breath, shifted her weight to her feet, and released her hold on the sill, reaching for the ledge.