A Thousand Splendid Suns

Laila began to protest, then to yell, and he had to summon the help of
two more men to have her dragged out of his office.
Mariam's interview lasted only a few minutes. When she came out, she
looked shaken.
"He asked so many questions," she said. "I'm sorry, Laila jo. I am not
smart like you. He asked so many questions, I didn't know the answers.
I'm sorry."
"It's not your fault, Mariam," Laila said weakly. "It's mine. It's all my
fault. Everything is my fault."
* * *
It was past six o'clock when the police car pulled up in front of the
house. Laila and Mariam were made to wait in the backseat, guarded by
a Mujahid soldier in the passenger seat. The driver was the one who got
out of the car, who knocked on the door, who spoke to Rasheed. It was
he who motioned for them to come.
"Welcome home," the man in the front seat said, lighting a cigarette.
* * *
"You," he said to Mariam. "You wait here."
Mariam quietly took a seat on the couch.
"You two, upstairs."
Rasheed grabbed Laila by the elbow and pushed her up the steps. He
was still wearing the shoes he wore to work, hadn't yet changed to his
flip-flops, taken off his watch, hadn't even shed his coat yet. Laila
pictured him as he must have been an hour, or maybe minutes, earlier,
rushing from one room to another, slamming doors, furious and
incredulous, cursing under his breath.
At the top of the stairs, Laila turned to him.
"She didn't want to do it," she said. "I made her do it. She didn't want