Prologue
Eighteen-year-old Farah Mohammed Al Otaibi lay bruised and
bloody on the floor beside her bed. The image of her soft
mattress floated in and out of her consciousness, but she
had no strength to drag herself from her current position.
Even the slightest movement brought stabs of excruciating
pain, so she tried to remember to keep her breathing
shallow and her body still.
How long had she been here? Hours, certainly. Days? She
couldn’t be sure. Her father and brother had covered the
windows with heavy, dark cloth, blocking out any light that
might help her keep track of time.
Hunger wasn’t an issue, for who could think of food when
the pain was so intense? But thirst? Oh, how she longed for
just a sip of cool water! Surely her mother would sneak in
soon and bring her some. She had always taken care of her
before—
Before...
The memory was back, though she tried desperately to
block it out. Impossible. She could never forget that
moment in time, for it was the dividing line between the
before and after of her life. Before the tragedy that led
to her brother’s discovery. Before her father had flown
into a rage over what he considered his daughter’s betrayal
and treachery. Before they had threatened to kill her in
order to preserve the family’s honor. Before her mother had
tried to intervene...
Hot tears pricked the back of Farah’s eyelids, as the
vision of her mother’s face before—and
after—swam in front of her eyes. The pain in her
heart at that moment far exceeded anything she felt in her
body. Then suddenly, inexplicably, the meaning of her
name—Farah, joy and cheerfulness—burst into her
consciousness. Despite her agony and sorrow, Farah was
unable to hold back the brief burst of laughter that
exploded from her aching chest. How absurd that her parents
had given her a name that implied happiness, and yet she
now wondered if she had ever truly understood or
experienced any of it in her not quite nineteen years of
life.
But then she had met Isa, and everything—both good
and bad—had changed forever....