![]() ![]() ![]() Now I remembered what a courtroom was: I'd seen one on television, in a show Haifa and I used to watch at the neighbors' house. \"Nujood,\" she whispered, \"if no one will listen to you, you must just go straight to court.\" \"To what?\" \"To court!\" To court-but of course! In a flash, I saw images of judges in turbans, lawyers always in a hurry, men in white zannas and veiled women coming to complain about complicated family problems, thefts, squabbles over inheritances. Handing it to me, she leaned over and looked into my eyes. She thought quietly for a moment, busying herself at the stove, then poured me some boiling tea in the only glass Yahya had not yet broken. Frowning, she listened to my story, which seemed to affect her deeply. \"I've so much to tell you,\" I replied, and then I poured out my heart. I felt I could trust her, and knew I need hide nothing from her. She, on whom life had not smiled, had always shown compassion for those even less well off than she was. My marriage, but no one had bothered to listen to her. ![]()
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