The telephone number was unfamiliar.
He almost ignored it.
Then he answered.
“Mr. Mahmoud?”
“Yes.”
“This is Officer Kareem. I’m calling about your daughter.”
Mahmoud’s heart began to race.
Over the years, he had received several calls about possible sightings and unidentified personal belongings.
Each had raised his hopes.
Each had ended in disappointment.
He gripped the phone.
“What about her?”
“We believe we’ve found Layan.”
The room seemed to tilt.
Mahmoud sat down.
“Found what?”
“We’ve found your daughter. She’s alive.”
For several seconds, he could not speak.
Then he began shaking his head.
“No.”
“Mr. Mahmoud—”
“No. You need to be sure.”
“We have confirmed her identity through the information available to us. She’s receiving medical care.”
Mahmoud pressed a hand against his chest.
“She’s alive?”
“Yes.”
“Can she speak?”
“Yes.”
“Does she remember me?”
The officer paused.
“She asked about you.”
Mahmoud began to cry.
He had imagined this moment thousands of times.
