Edith saw the tortured look in her daughter’s eyes and wished she could take the pain away. “Maybe you should get out more. You’ve hardly even left the house. You haven’t even been seeing David. And I know your father would love to have you back at the store.”
A flicker of panic went across Sara’s face. “I don’t know. I don’t think I’m ready to face people yet.” Then she met her mother’s gaze and said frankly, “I’m scared, Mom.”“Oh, baby, you don’t have to be afraid any more. You’re home now. Are you afraid something like that is going to happen again?”
Sara shook her head. “No, It’s not that. It’s ... well, I don’t know how to explain it, but I just feel afraid of going out and seeing people. I guess it’s just because I’ve been away from people for so long—for a little over two months the only people I saw was an eighteen year old girl, a ten year old girl, and ...”
“Rashid?” Edith completed the sentence for her.
“Yes, ... Rashid.” said Sara with a sigh.
“Would you like to talk about it? I know that something has hurt you terribly, and though it was awful for you to be kidnapped like you were, I feel there’s something about this whole thing that you haven’t told us. It’s this Rashid, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” Sara replied with a fresh torrent of tears. “Oh Mom, it’s so awful,” she cried.
Edith immediately felt anger for this man who had hurt her baby. What could he have done to cause such pain? “What is it, baby? You can tell me. It will probably make you feel better to let it out... Did he hurt you physically?”
Sara sniffled and blew her nose on yet another Kleenex tissue. “No, nothing like that. It’s just that ... well ... I love him, Mom.” She looked over at her mother woefully.
Edith stared, unbelievingly, at her daughter. She’d never guessed, but now that she thought about it, she had heard, on Donahue or Oprah or somewhere, that it wasn’t unusual for victims of kidnapping to become close to their captors. She was concerned but relieved too.