Baba and Uncle Ham talked, the smoke from their cigarettes braiding with the steam from their coffee.
“It will save her honor,” Uncle Ham said.
My honor was all anyone had talked about since the incident. Büyük Mahamad had been escorted to jail, his handcuffs loose, the officer’s arm on his shoulder as if to say Don’t worry, this will all be taken care of. I’d been taken to my room, where I’d stayed while the men decided my fate.
Baba was less sure. He stared into the blackness of his cup.
“It’s the only way I tell you,” Uncle Ham continued. “He gets out of jail, she gets her reputation back, and you’ve got one less mouth to feed.”
“She’s only fourteen. The legal age is sixteen.”
“A simple matter to fix.” Uncle Ham waved a hand. “Give me her birth certificate and I change that.”
To read more about the inspiration for this possibly mystifying story, read I was a Turkish child bride. We need to be protected from rapists, not married to them