I'm at home, having coffee. For a moment I thought she was in my neighbourhood, perhaps just outside. But her voice was broken, strange. Then she was sobbing. I heard her say my husband's name. Eliza, I'll be right over, she said, her voice choking as she repeated to me. Salman, it's about Salman. He's been he is hurt.
I rushed upstairs to dress. My body moved but my mind had lost all coherence. Where is my husband? What kind of hurt? Something medical? A car accident? A shooting? By the time I reached the top of the stairs, my mobile phone was ablaze with message alerts.
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