When it was nearing three, about two hours since he’d begun unpacking and a two bookshelves full later, James decided to take a break. He put the knife back into the kitchen to prevent any hazards like stepping on it when he returned or Dolly injuring herself and then stepped outside. He dropped into the rocking chair and pulled out his phone, opening an eBook to read.

Several minutes into it, he heard the sound of a door from across the street. He glanced up to be sure it wasn’t Janine. He was definitely not staying outside if it was, even if he preferred it over being cooped indoors.

To his relief, it wasn’t her. Jâsim was coming toward him with a foil container. “Have you forgiven me for whatever sin I’ve committed this time?” he asked him as the boy crossed his yard to the porch.

Jâsim didn’t reply. He walked up the steps and held out the package. “This is to thank you for giving back what Janine stole from us, even if Mâmâ doesn’t want to admit that’s what she did.”

James bit back a smile. He was sure Sumayyah had not been counting on her son saying such a thing to him. “What is it?” he asked instead, raising an eyebrow.

“The date balls, except, you know, we’re giving them willingly this time,” Jâsim told him. “But if you don’t want them, that’s fine, too. I’ll just eat them myself.”

Somehow, James kept himself from laughing at that last comment. The boy’s mother probably would have thought it rude. But James was rather enjoying Jâsim’s blunt manner of speech. There wasn’t much guile in him. He’d never met someone so brutally honest.

“And you don’t have to worry about Mâmâ having designs on you. She won’t. She’s not like Janine. There’s the whole you’re not Muslim thing; but even if you were, she wouldn’t want you either.”

That was the opportunity to clear the misunderstanding about his beliefs, but James was too shocked to say a word. He hadn’t been expecting that. In a way, the words hurt; but he knew Jâsim didn’t mean them personally. Neither he nor Sumayyah actually knew James to decide how they felt about him.

Jâsim’s words hadn’t stopped. “She tried the whole marriage thing with Bâbâ already, and she says it was the biggest mistake she ever made. She won’t be doing it again. I already asked her.” Then words buried deep within his shattered heart seemed to come out of their own accord, “Bâbâ thinks we’re the mistake, Mâmâ and me. But we’re fine.” His voice cracked. “We don’t need him. I don’t need him, or anyone. We’re fine just like we are. We don’t—”

James hadn’t thought he could dislike Fareed Muhammad more than he already did. The man had sexually harassed his sister, after all. But at that moment, he absolutely hated him. He’d done a number on his own child. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know the result on Sumayyah.

James looked up at Jâsim, and when he stared into those pain-filled dark eyes, he saw himself—the boy who had wanted his father to love him, for his father to be there; the boy who had wanted to know he’d mattered. So he said the words he wished someone had said to him. “You’re not a mistake.” Somehow, he kept his tone calm and composed, though a storm brewed within the shattered heart that had never healed. He placed a hand on Jâsim’s shoulder. “You’re not a mistake, Jâsim. You could never be a mistake.”

Tears filled Jâsim’s eyes and rolled down his cheeks as he stared down at James.

“Sit down,” James said kindly, gesturing to one of the chairs at the table.

Jâsim sank down in the nearest chair, still gripping the foil container. He set it on his lap and wiped his tears.

“You are not a mistake,” James repeated as he watched him. “And your mother is not a mistake either. Without her, you would not be here, and I can see she raised a fine young man.”

“How would you know?” Jâsim asked with a sniffle, glancing toward him. “You barely know me.”

No, but I was just like you.