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first day of the rest of your life.” Suddenly, whether in hysteria or the sheer contrast between the old affirmation and what she now faced, Brigit wanted to laugh.

Chapter 3
    The trip to the dining hall, the meal, and the walk back were not much more than a blur to Brigit. Fatima held the leash as loosely as possible, but the shame of being treated like a pet burned. Humiliation was high on Brigit’s mind, right along with betrayal, fear, and the knowledge of her foolishness.
    One of her friends had warned her about Middle Eastern men and their view of womanhood, which differed greatly from those of the West. She’d heard the news reports and seen the features on the lack of women’s rights in places like Afghanistan, but she’d ignored all that. Omar hadn’t fit any of the stereotypes. He’d been good to her and fun. They’d gone
drinking
together for Pete’s sake—wasn’t alcohol against their culture?—proving her friend’s fears were unwarranted. He’d seemed different from what everyone described. But he hadn’t been. Now she knew he’d seen her only as a piece of meat, a means to an end.
    Granted, she wouldn’t have wished this joint on his sister or any other woman. But that did
not
give him the right to imprison her.
    All Brigit noticed of the halls and rooms she’d been through showed a starkness that contrasted with the material in Fatima’s attire. There had been a dozen or so women in the dining hall, which resembled nothing more than a gray-walled institutional room with two lines of tables. They sat on benches and were served by a number of other women who scurried between the tables under the watchful gaze of a few guards. The serving women wore muslin shifts, while the women seated at the tables had all been dressed similarly to Fatima, in filmy gowns that hid nothing of their bodies. The exception was another woman who, like her, wore a black sack. No one had spoken, certainly not to her. She’d never seen a room of women so silent.
    The food proved simple but ample, though it tasted like ashes in Brigit’s mouth. All she could think about was her stupidity. She’d been not only dumb, but arrogant. Against good advice, she’d trusted Omar. She’d put him and her desire for adventure above her parents, and she’d ignored the cautionary statements of her own government when she agreed to travel to this godforsaken part of the world. Now she might spend the rest of her life here, unable to make amends.
    When Fatima led her back to their sparse room, a woman stopped them and spoke in a low voice.
    The door closed and locked behind them. “We will be leaving again soon,” Fatima said apologetically. “So I won’t be untying you.”
    Brigit tugged against the restraints. “Where are we going?”
    “One of the others is being punished. We all witness.”
    A niggling of fear ran down Brigit’s spine. “Wh…why? What did she do?”
    “I don’t know. They might announce the reason or they might not.” Fatima leaned toward the mirror and adjusted her earrings. Her movements were casual, but Brigit spied how her fingers trembled.
“Who is it?”
    “Not us,” Fatima replied. “That is all that matters. Do not mistake a friendly word as finding a friend, Brigit. No one here cares for you. It is easiest on your heart to be the same.”
    “But, how can you live without friends? This place would be unbearable to face alone.”
    Fatima placed her hands on Brigit’s shoulders. “It is unbearable no matter what. If I were friends with the woman who is being punished today, how could I handle watching her humiliation and pain and know doing anything would bring the same to myself? We must each take care of ourselves.”
    A feeling of despair enveloped Brigit. Every time she thought she’d reached her lowest point, something happened to prove her wrong. She’d thought if she were miserable, she’d at least have female companions who would understand. “So when you’re no longer my