A Thousand Splendid Suns

"He was only visiting," Mariam said.
"Shut up, you," Rasheed snapped, raising a finger. He turned back to
Laila. "Well, what do you know? Laili and Majnoon reunited. Just like old
times." His face turned stony. "So you let him in. Here. In my house. You
let him in. He was in here with my son."
"You duped me. You lied to me," Laila said, gritting her teeth. "You had
that man sit across from me and… You knew I would leave if I thought he
was alive."
"AND YOU DIDN'T LIE TO ME?" Rasheed roared. "You think I didn't
figure it out? About your haramil You take me for a fool, you whore?"
* * *
The more Tariq talked, the more Laila dreaded the moment when he
would stop. The silence that would follow, the signal that it was her turn
to give account, to provide the why and how and when, to make official
what he surely already knew. She felt a faint nausea whenever he
paused. She averted his eyes. She looked down at his hands, at the
coarse, dark hairs that had sprouted on the back of them in the
intervening years.
Tariq wouldn't say much about his years in prison save that he'd
learned to speak Urdu there. When Laila asked, he gave an impatient
shake of his head. In this gesture, Laila saw rusty bars and unwashed
bodies, violent men and crowded halls, and ceilings rotting with moldy
deposits. She read in his face that it had been a place of abasement, of
degradation and despair.