For the Love of a Son: One Afghan Woman's Quest for Her Stolen Child

and went into my room.
    Soon Nadia followed me. She sat on the edge
of my bed. ‘Oh my God, Maryam, he still wants you. Even after what
you did. And he is so sweet, a wonderful man. Surely you can give
him one more chance?’
    ‘Nadia! You should hear yourself, sister. You
want me to give him one more chance to break my bones? You want me
to give him one more chance to try and kill me?’ I covered my eyes
with my hands. ‘Don’t be fooled by his act, Nadia.’ I took a ragged
breath. ‘Please, be loyal to me, your sister, not to a man who is a
danger to me.’
    But Nadia ignored my pleas and made it clear
she thought I was being hysterical.
    I was devastated by my sister’s lack of
understanding.
    The guests soon left, and so did Kaiss. He
was wily, now he had detected the weak link in the chain keeping
him out of my life. He called Nadia within an hour of leaving.
‘Nadia, please let me come back. I am so lonesome in this cold
hotel.’
    Over my shrieks Nadia left Papa’s apartment
to go and get Kaiss. They returned within the hour. Papa graciously
gave him his bed. I moved Duran’s cot bed next to my own, knowing
that, if given the chance, Kaiss would steal him away even as we
slept.
    The following day, on Thursday 31 July,
twenty of our friends were having a picnic at Marina Del Ray Park.
We were invited. Kaiss pleaded with Nadia to get him an invitation.
Fear was working its way through my body. I sensed that something
was up, but I didn’t know exactly what he was planning. With so
many people around surely he didn’t believe he could kidnap my
Duran. Last time I had let down my guard, but that would never
happen again. I would never again leave Duran alone with his
father.
    Against their protests, I remained at home
with Duran, refusing to take a chance or to endure yet another
social charade. My son was so precious that day. I felt sad that he
had to miss the picnic, and that our friends would not see how cute
he was in his sweet little blue shirt with white stripes and his
dark blue shorts.
    Papa and Nadia returned from the picnic with
some of our friends. To my despair, Kaiss was now an accepted
family member. Obviously his innocent act had reached perfection.
All were raving about the thug as though he was the winner of the
world’s best husband award. Various family members pulled me aside
to whisper compliments about Kaiss. ‘Such a wonderful man!’ Another
said, ‘He took over the barbecue.’ A third told me, ‘He asked me to
save the liver kabob for you, Maryam. He told us how much he loved
liver, but he wanted it for you.’
    I ignored my relatives, warily watching Kaiss
as he hovered around my sister in the kitchen. Instead, I sat
watching television with Duran, who was drinking a bottle of juice.
Family members continued to discuss Kaiss, speaking just loudly
enough so that I could hear.
    ‘Maryam is a fool to let him go.’
    ‘Yes. I agree. He still loves her. He wants
her back.’
    ‘Even after she had him put in jail.’
    I felt I was in the house of the insane. How
could my family and friends be so bewitched by Kaiss? They knew his
history! On the verge of screaming at them all, I put Duran on the
floor in front of the television and said, ‘Papa, please watch the
baby while I am in the bathroom.’ I glanced into the kitchen to
make certain Kaiss was still occupied with my sister. Satisfied, I
looked at my precious baby and smiled, telling him, ‘Mano is going
to the bathroom. I will be right back.’ My little treasure looked
at me and smiled, waving his little fingers: ‘Bye, Mano.’
    I paused for a long moment, admiring my
beautiful son, knowing that nothing in my life really mattered but
my baby. I turned to run into the bathroom to freshen up, trying to
think how to convince my family of Kaiss’s true character. I must
find a way to convince them of the utter futility of trying to
persuade me to live with a man who was a potential murderer.
    I clutched my face in my hands, thinking over
my situation, considering what words might make my family and our
friends hear me. I was dealing with a misogynistic tradition that
stretched back many generations. Pashtun women never complained,
and never divorced their husbands.
    No one cared that Kaiss had tried to murder
me. No one cared that he had also threatened to murder Papa and
baby Duran as well. I groaned in desperation, stung by the
indifference of those who claimed to love me. It seemed my family
would prefer that I