I had imagined someone in our kitchen, perhaps Mom putting the kettle on, perhaps Dad pretending to examine a loose hinge because he did not know what to say.

The picture was so clear that I had answered with it instead of the facts.

“You want me to wait until you are inside?” Hassan asked.

“No.

They will be there.”

“All right.”

Troy had not sent another message.

I put the phone face down on my knee.