Chapter 35

Zahra picked up her daughter from school at the usual time. At the usual place. And asked the usual question.

“What did you learn today, sweetie?”

Yasmin was in the back seat in her booster, looking out the window, as their car inched forward in the long line to the campus

exit.

“Did you know the longest one-syllable word in the English language is ‘strengthed’?”

Zahra caught her daughter’s eye in the rearview mirror. “That doesn’t even sound like an actual word. Can you use it in a

sentence?”

“I just did.”

Zahra thought about it, and then they shared a laugh. Laughing almost made her want to cry. “You’re such a clever little girl.”

The drive home was neither the time nor the place to break the bad news to Yasmin. Zahra tried her best to act as if nothing

was wrong, which was impossible.

Her immediate reaction to the judge’s ruling had been shock and disbelief. Her mind and body had gone completely numb. Only

in the last couple of hours had she become functional enough to process actual thoughts, none of which were pretty. She was

angry at Farid, but even angrier at herself for losing to him. She was angry at the so-called justice system, but mostly angry

at herself for having put her faith in it. She was angry at Iran, at the US State Department, at the judge, at Jack—but it

all came back to angry at herself. The result was a car ride in complete silence and rumination, which was anything but normal.

“Are you okay, Mommy?”

“Uh—yes, sweetheart. I just have a lot on my mind.”

Zahra parked in the driveway. They went inside and dropped their shoes near the door. In a hurry to get out of her school

clothes, Yasmin ran to her bedroom. Zahra went to the kitchen. It was Friday, which meant Jumu’ah, but attendance at the mosque

was optional for women, especially for mothers with childcare obligations. Zahra assumed that went double for a mother planning

her last meal ever with her daughter.

“Yasmin, what do you want for dinner tonight?” she asked in a voice loud enough to be heard upstairs. The patter of footsteps

preceded Yasmin’s quick entry to the kitchen.

“ Toot ,” she said as she climbed onto the stool at the counter.

Toot was a popular Iranian sweet made with almond powder and sugar, then shaped into colorful bite-size pieces that resembled

mulberries. Yasmin had once declared it “better than cookie dough.”

“Okay, we have dessert covered. What do you want for dinner?”

“What are my choices?”

“You can have anything you want.”

“Really? Anything?”

“Yes.”

“More toot !”

Zahra smiled, but it pained her to think how much she was going to miss Yasmin. She sent her to the pantry to gather the ingredients

while she cleared their workspace on the counter. Yasmin returned with almost everything.

“You forgot the rosewater,” said Zahra.

Yasmin crinkled her nose. “Rosewater doesn’t taste like roses.”

“How do roses taste?”

“They should definitely taste like chocolate.”

Zahra loaded the slivered almonds into the food processor. “Yes, they should. We’ll just use a little rosewater, for fragrance.”

Zahra loved cooking with Yasmin, and Yasmin loved being her helper. Zahra wasn’t ready to let go. She didn’t know how she

would ever let go.

They worked side by side, getting the dough just right, enough for two dozen mulberry-shaped sweets, more than enough for dinner and dessert. Yasmin was adding the final touch, a sliver of almond that was the “stem” for each mulberry, when Zahra’s cell phone rang. The caller ID read, “Dr. Vestry.” Jack had told her to expect the call. Zahra wiped her hands clean of sugary dough, told Yasmin to carry on, and stepped outside to take the call, closing the sliding glass door behind her.

“Do you have a moment to talk?” Dr. Vestry asked.

Zahra glanced through the glass door at Yasmin in the kitchen. “A minute,” she said.

Zahra had met Dr. Vestry only once before, at Jack’s office. Dr. Vestry had laid out the pros and cons of having Yasmin testify.

She’d warned Zahra that even if they decided not to put Yasmin on the witness stand, Judge Carlton might take her into his

chambers and interview the child himself, using the same techniques that Dr. Vestry would use to prepare a child to testify

in court—drawing pictures of her family, playing with dolls, and so on. The doctor had proven quite prophetic.

“I understand that this is a very difficult time for you,” said Dr. Vestry. “I’m sorry for that.”

Difficult didn’t begin to describe it. “Thank you.”

“Jack told me that the exchange is scheduled to take place tomorrow at his office.”

It bothered Zahra the way everyone kept calling it an “exchange.” She was the only one giving. There was nothing in return.

“Yes. Two o’clock.”

“Jack suggested that I meet with you and Yasmin before that happens, if you would like.”

“That would probably be helpful,” said Zahra.

“After the exchange, I would like to make myself available to meet with you. Probably a series of visits.”

“You mean therapy?”

“Don’t worry about the cost. Jack feels terrible about what has happened, and he is covering it.”

“It’s not really the cost. What kind of therapy?”

“All situations are different, but I’ve had many patients in your situation—mothers who have lost custody of a child. I’ve

found that the most effective form of psychotherapy combines elements of mindfulness practices and cognitive behavioral therapy.

Specifically, ACT. Acceptance and commitment therapy.”

The word acceptance hit Zahra like a punch to the gut. “Wait. What is the goal of this therapy?”

“Generally, ACT involves learning to accept unpleasant thoughts, emotions, or experiences without viewing them as problems.”

“How is losing my daughter not a problem?”

“It’s a terrible problem, of course. The idea is to gain some detachment from the pain without trying to hide from it or pretend

that it’s not there. ACT will help you accept certain aspects of your life without judgment. It’s about accepting realities,

especially painful ones.”

Acceptance. Detachment. Those were the farthest things from Zahra’s mind.

“Can we talk about this later?” she asked.

“Of course. But as for tomorrow, would noon in Jack’s office be a good time to meet with you and Yasmin?”

“Yes. That’s fine.”

The call ended, but Zahra’s emotions continued to roil. The anger was returning, but it felt different. It was more like rage,

and it was no longer directed at herself. She stepped farther away from the closed sliding glass door, putting more distance

between herself and Yasmin in the kitchen, and dialed Jack’s cell. It went straight to his voicemail, and at the beep, her

words just flowed.

“Acceptance?” she said into the phone, hissing with anger. “Is that what you and Dr. Vestry want from me? Well, let me tell

you something, Mr. Swyteck. I’m not accepting this. I’m not a bad mother. I’m a good mother who hired a bad lawyer! You’re the one to blame, not me! I’m going to sue you

for malpractice!”

She ended the call. It was her first release of steam since the judge’s ruling, and it left her breathless. She took a minute

to gather her composure and then went back inside.

“Look!” Yasmin said.

The toot was finished. Yasmin practically had her nose in the serving platter, inhaling the fragrance.

“I changed my mind,” said Yasmin. “I like rosewater. It smells good. We should put it everywhere. It makes everything better.”

It took all of Zahra’s strength to stop the tears from flowing. “Yes,” she said. “Almost everything.”

Jack put Righley to bed at eight o’clock. Andie was in the master bath, getting ready to go out. The babysitter was in the

family room watching television. Jack closed the door to Righley’s bedroom and stared down the hall. Only then did he notice

that he had a voicemail message. It was from Zahra.

He put the phone to his ear and listened. It stopped him in his tracks.

Jack couldn’t count the number of chilling messages he’d received from clients. Many of them had come from death row. None

had hit him the way Zahra’s had. But he didn’t feel an urge to respond. Far from it.

He turned, walked back to Righley’s room, and went inside. The lamp was off, but the Barbie nightlight was glowing. Righley

was under the covers. Jack walked toward the bed and sat on the edge of the mattress. Righley stirred a bit, not quite asleep,

but drifting off. Jack lay beside her. She scooted over a few inches, and Jack rolled onto his side, slipping one arm beneath

her and the other over her shoulder.

“Too tight,” Righley groaned. “You’re smooshing me.”

Her little voice touched his heart like never before.

He went right on smooshing her.