Badru
With my bowl in hand of lamb fattah, a layered dish of toasted pitta bread, vegetable broth, rice, meat and garlic sauce, I sat at our childhood dining table that we had eaten at more times than I could ever count. There were so many happy memories with both my parents at this table and now I was planning on breaking into one of their computers to find proof that one had done the unthinkable or someone close had done the unthinkable to all of us.
In my other hand, I held my phone, ready to dial my father’s cell in hopes he had it on him, that he would take it out and leave it out and that he would leave it behind when Astennu caused the distraction. I chose my seat, right next to the one my dad habitually took, my family right behind me in taking up their seats. My father carried t
