Saturday morning felt different at Aunt Naomi's house without my parents. I woke up to find Aunt Naomi was already awake. A cup of tea and a bowl of granola mix cereal were ready for me in the small kitchen.

"Are you feeling any better?" she asked.

I took a bite of cereal and nodded in silence. I didn't feel any different than yesterday. Dull, maybe.

"You want to talk about what happened?"

"Um." I swallowed down the sweet mix. "I might've catfished a guy, and my mom found out." Aunt Naomi only blinked rapidly in response, mouth agape. "Okay, it sounds horrible when I say it like that," I added, my face heating up. "I mean, it is terrible, but I really like him, Aunt Naomi, so I got an account for a video game he plays from my friend to spend time with him. And I was going to tell him it was me behind the account, but then I found out that he might've asked me to prom but didn't because I said I wouldn't go for religious reasons...and I thought if I stay anonymous on the game instead of telling him it was me, well, he wouldn't avoid me there, either."

"I see," Aunt Naomi said, bringing her mug of tea to her lips. "He's the boy in the picture."

I nodded. "Things got personal. I found out that he's half-Bengali, just like me! I wouldn't have ever known that if I didn't play online with him. He even asked me if we could spend prom playing together," I confessed, staring into my cereal bowl. "And that's why I got into the fight with my mom. She found out about the whole thing. Then I logged in yesterday even after she told me to stop—I felt like I had to log in again, Aunt Naomi. He really likes me. My character, I mean. And that's why I'm so scared to tell him the truth. I'm afraid of how he'll react. And I don't know what to do."

My aunt put down her mug. "Inaya, thanks for telling me. I can tell you've thought a lot about this, and I think you're ready to talk this over with your parents now."

"Really?" I looked up, eyebrows raised.

"Yeah. I know you'll do the right thing when the moment comes. You mom knows that, too. So, don't let the mistakes, yours and your mama's, get in the way of that."

"All right."

"So," Aunt Naomi let out a loud breath. "Your dad told me he's going to show up around noon to have a talk with you. But don't worry! I'll still be in the house, just not in the room when you talk. You think you can handle that?"

My shoulders relaxed, and I nodded.

"Perfect. Do you want me to show you some cool fossils while you wait for him? They're going to be a part of the final exam for my students."

"Sure!"

In the living room, it was apparent Aunt Naomi had slept on the old gray couch that night, moving all her fossils on top and below the low table. I munched on my breakfast while Aunt Naomi showed me fossilized leaf impressions, pyritic ammonite shells, shark teeth, and a clay fragment dating back to Caesar's time. It was a good half-hour distraction.

When the doorbell rang, I felt my stomach flip. Aunt Naomi must have sensed it because she gave me an encouraging pat on the back before opening the door. At least I had a light breakfast to avoid losing any of it.

Baba's eyes locked onto mine the moment he stepped in. I looked away, focusing on the tie-dye artwork hanging on the wall. Aunt Naomi closed the door behind him and retreated to the kitchen.

My dad was quiet as he made his way to sit beside me on the sofa. He left some space between us and breathed in deeply a few times. I swallowed hard and hugged my knees, but I waited attentively for what he had to say first.

"Inaya," he finally began, "No matter what happens, please don't leave the house like that. It's not safe."

"Okay. I won't."

Baba sighed. "Your mama told me why you guys fought...about what's going on with you and that boy you know from school and how you've been interacting with him online."

"Mama didn't even give me a chance to speak," I complained, and Baba leaned closer. This time, I knew I wouldn't cry. "I hadn't played for a while, but Valentino was so sad I wasn't playing anymore. I felt bad seeing him so sad in school like that. I had to log in. That's why I did last night. I wanted to explain to him first that I wouldn't play anymore rather than just leave him cold turkey." I stopped, and my voice dropped. "Baba, I know it was wrong, lying to him and all that, but I thought if the relationship were online, it wouldn't be haram or hurt anyone. I really like him."

Baba held my hand. "Inaya, I grew up pretty different than your mama did, so believe me, I'm not exactly upset at you for wanting to talk with that boy. But I can't condone the lying, even if I understand." I hung my head at his words. "This goes beyond personal opinions. A matter of faith...." Baba sighed. "I know I'm not one to talk, but I wouldn't want you to make the same mistakes I do. And please forgive your mama... And well, actually, that's kind of the real reason I'm here."

I straightened in my seat, and my brain went blank. "What?"

"I know you and your mama will make up for your fight. It's only normal that you'd argue. But something's happened, and you need to know about it. It's about your mama," he said.

I didn't relax. "Mama?" I repeated, hoping my voice didn't show how terrified I was.

"Yeah. And her family." He exhaled loudly and ran a hand through his dark hair.

It was getting thick again, and that it was beginning to show off his curls. I waited for my dad to speak again, knowing how little I knew of Mama's family.

"You know how your mama's been through a lot," he said.

"I know," I frowned lightly. "It's why she gets sad all the time."

"Yeah, but..." Baba exhaled loudly again. "Inaya, we never told you the whole truth. No, I decided you shouldn't grow up knowing about it."

"Is...is Mama sick?" I whispered. My eyes stung at the sudden idea of my mom having some illness with a finite amount of time to live.

"What? Oh, no. She's healthy. But, um," he swore silently. "How do I even start this?" He swore under his breath again.

I thought it was best not to remind him of the no-swearing policy of our house.

"There was a...shooting that happened fourteen years ago," he started again.

My mind raced through a number of mass shootings that made headlines. Nothing stuck out to me.

"The one in Texas. At a mosque."

My skin prickled. "Oh."

That one. Someone had opened fire at a crowded Jummah prayer. Eighteen had died, and over thirty were wounded. Even though it happened so long ago, Muslim activists did annual reminders about it for awareness on a political and spiritual level.

"Your mama wanted a break. She just started working again after having the baby, and she left you and your little sister with your grandfather."

My eyes widened at the mention of 'little sister' and 'grandfather.' I could feel the world around me begin to constrict as Baba continued.

"Your grandfather went to the mosque with you both that day, and that's the day they were murdered alongside sixteen others."

My mouth opened, but nothing came out. My eyes stung. Innalilahi wa inailaihi rajioon. To God, we belong, and to Him, we will return.

"When the police arrived, they said your grandfather took three bullets to the back. One shielded you, the second killed him, and the third bullet partially hit your sister. But she was just so little. She didn't make it."

Baba's voice went stern. "It's insane how your mama's family and community turned on her when it happened. They said everything was her fault. They said the shooter wouldn't have opened fire if a baby hadn't cried to annoy him. They said if your mama were a better mother, she wouldn't have left her kids like that—the baby wouldn't have died. Your mama couldn't handle it. I couldn't handle it. We couldn't raise you there."

I began to shiver, and Baba shifted closer to hold me, and I crumpled into his embrace, missing the sound of Aunt Naomi sniffling from the kitchen.

"We moved here so my parents could look after you, and I could look after your mama. Your Aunt Naomi quit her job and moved with us. We even changed your last name so people wouldn't follow us. That was the last time we spoke with anyone from your mama's family."

"Wow," was all I managed to say as tears blurred my vision. I furrowed my brows and blinked furiously in thought. "If your parents were supportive back then, why...why don't I see more of them now?"

Baba took a deep breath and let it out before he answered. "While your mama and I did our best to get better, my parents started offering ways to raise you, and their way didn't really work well with ours."

A fresh set of tears rolled down my cheeks, and a bitter onslaught of emotion overwhelmed me. The shooting and my grandparents' decision not to be involved in our lives were rooted in the fact that we were Muslims.

Baba pulled back and wiped the tears from my face. The touch was tender. He seemed to understand my thoughts.

"Yeah, unfortunately, not everyone will accept us. At the end of the day, it's okay. We can't please everyone. It's not the best thing in the world, I know, but the feeling you get every time you read the Qur'an or sit a little longer in prayer makes life worthwhile when yours is falling apart.

I know this is all a lot to take in, but your mama and I look at you sometimes, and it's started making us feel guilty about how little you know about your own family...about hiding this from you. I'm sorry. We're sorry."

For several moments, I tried to formulate a sentence in response to this bombshell of news, but my throat came up empty.

At last, I could only say, "I can't believe I had a younger sister."

Baba's lips twitched. "Yeah, kiddo."

"So, no one in Mama's family speaks to her because they blame her?"

Baba stopped rubbing my back. His eyes were slightly narrowed, too.

"Yeah."

"Even now?"

Baba scoffed. "Your mama's older siblings said she shouldn't be working at all. They said it was haram, and she deserved what happened because they didn't listen to her about not working."

"That's...that's..." I couldn't find the words to describe the blatant inhumanity of such a statement. "How could anyone say that?"

"Your mama had some siblings who didn't feel the same way, but your nanu and uncle forced them to cut ties with her. They got new phone numbers and removed social media to punish her."

Baba glanced in my direction as I brushed my nose with the back of my hand. He offered me a tissue from his pocket. I took it and blew my nose.

"Fourteen years, Inaya," he went on, curling his right hand into a fist over his knee. "For fourteen years, they've been punishing her by acting like she doesn't exist. We are not going to your nanu's funeral."

"Huh?" I tilted my head back.

"Your mama's mother. She died last night." There was no emotion in his voice.

My first thought was, Innalilahi wa inailaihi rajioon. My second was my grandmother had been alive all this time?

"Last night, I wished I was close with my nanu because my friend Ameena is close with hers," I started, "and also how nice it would be to have siblings because my other friend Salaah has so many." I sighed and covered my face with my hands. More tears streamed down my cheeks before I could prevent them, and my voice started to break. "And now I suddenly found out I did have them. But now they're all dead."

Baba answered me with a heavy, frustrated sigh. "Yeah. I'm sorry we kept this from you for so long." His voice was breaking, too. "There's never a right time to tell someone something like this."

"Um." I sniffled. "Does Mama want to see Nanu?"

"We're not going," he repeated.

"Do you think maybe she felt bad at some point?" I whispered.

What my nanu did to Mama was unthinkable and cruel. But fourteen years should have also been enough time for her to realize she was wrong. No one had the right to say a hardship was punishment except God.

"No."

"Well, let's think about Mama. If she wants to go, we shouldn't stop her. I could stay with Aunt Naomi while you guys go."

"Inaya," Baba warned.

"Mama told me that doing the right thing always makes you feel good, even if it's not immediate. I don't want Mama to regret not saying goodbye," I pressed.

"Inaya, enough!" Baba's stern words felt like lightning struck my soul, and I flinched. His voice softened, seeing the hurt in my eyes. "Inaya, you don't understand how your nanu hurt her...hurt me...."

I furrowed my brows, some anger mingling with my sadness. Everything made so much sense now. The tragedy and its aftermath caused Mama's depressive moods and Baba's addiction. It was the reason why our house was empty. Lonely.

"You're right, I don't. I don't understand why you and Mama would hide this for so long and not get help for going through this. She should be going to a psychiatrist, and you shouldn't rely on drugs to pretend you're not hurting, too."

"Inaya," Baba's angry eyes glinted with guilt. "Don't make this harder."

I turned away from him, letting out a heavy, frustrated sigh, and was surprised at how much I sounded just like Baba when I did that.

"Baba, is it okay if I don't go home today? I don't want to pressure Mama into dealing with me when she should be dealing with her mom's death." I knew my own issue needed some looking into, but now wasn't the time.

My dad watched me for a moment. "I'll let your mama know."

I followed Baba with my eyes as he stood and leaned over to brush his lips on my head. He whispered goodbye and walked out of Aunt Naomi's front door. After hearing the car drive off, I fell sideways onto the sofa.

Aunt Naomi rushed over to my side, but I couldn't see her through a fresh set of tears. I used to have everything I wanted—grandparents, a bigger family, parents who weren't so fractured—and I couldn't stop myself from letting out a sob that I wouldn't ever have it again. Not in this lifetime.