The last words get lost in a fit of crying. Her shoulders sag and she looks down at her bare feet. Placing my forefinger under her chin, I tilt her head up until our eyes meet.
“What do you want?” I ask.
She blinks at me, and two tears slide down her cheeks.
“Do you want them dead?”
There is a sharp intake of breath, but she doesn’t reply. I reformulate my question into a statement.
“You want them dead.”
Squeezing her lips tightly together, she nods.
“They will die,” I say. “What else do you want?”
No reply.
“You don’t want your family to see you like this.”
Another nod.
“I’ll never be the person I was before,” she whispers.
“No. You won’t.” I lightly pinch her chin. “And that’s okay. They’ll love you just the same. What happened to you, changed you, Asya. It would
