me, and I suppose I don’t blame you, but I did what I had to do to survive. Perhaps I should hang my head in shame, but I won’t. I’m not proud of what I did, but the past is the past, and it cannot be changed.
Through my modeling, I was introduced to a man who told me he would see that I would be given a means to earn a lot of money. He became my pimp, if you will, and I became a high-paid call girl. That’s how I met your father, Hakeem Assaf. Hakeem was a Middle Eastern oil tycoon who spent a great deal of time in New York. After seeing him for several months, he asked that I give up my life as a call girl and become his mistress. I agreed because I was in love with him. He set me up in a lavish apartment and I lived a grand lifestyle. He treated me with the greatest respect and kindness and showered me with gifts.
Then one day, to my surprise, I learned I was pregnant with you. At first I feared telling Hakeem because I knew he and I could never be married. But I knew I had no choice. When I finally told him the truth, he was ecstatic. I’d never seen him so filled with joy.
The day you came into this world was the happiest day of my life. Hakeem chose your name because Amira means princess, and he said you would always be his darling princess. He was the most attentive father I’ve ever seen and when he held you, he was filled with so much love for you. You look a lot like him, though he said you are exactly like me. You have his eyes. As you grew older, I would see so much of him in you.
When you were two years old, we were in the park one sunny afternoon when a woman struck up a conversation. She told me what a beautiful child you were. After she left, I noticed a note in your stroller. It said there were people who had information about Hakeem and asked me to meet them at a coffee shop.
I was confused, but curious at the same time. I knew the coffee shop and deemed it to be safe, so I went. Sitting at a booth were two men in dark suits. They saw me enter and asked me to take a seat. What they told me turned my world upside down.
They said Hakeem was funneling his money into a large terrorist organization … one that had been responsible for a recent bombing at the World Trade Center. It was the one in 1993. At first I refused to believe them. I ran out in tears. But the CIA pursued me, feeding me more and more information until I couldn’t deny it anymore. The man I’d loved for more than four years was a killer.
The CIA told me I couldn’t leave him. I knew they were right. He would never let me leave because I had you. They said they could help. All I had to do was get them information. A list of contacts. So I did. The CIA taught me how to find what I was looking for. I even transferred his financial records.
But one day I found a file. I copied it and then deleted it off his computer. Even the CIA didn’t know I did that. Maybe I was wrong to do it, I don’t know, but I wanted some kind of insurance for you. They promised me protection in the witness protection program, but I wanted more than that. I wanted something for the future in case anything ever came up.
They held up their end by faking my death, changing our names, and relocating us to Texas. And so we began a new life. Now you know why I was so overprotective of everything you did. I was frightened to death that one day Hakeem’s associates would find us and kill me or even you. They took your father into custody and as far as I know, he remains in prison somewhere. I asked not to be told, because the truth is that even though he did terrible things, I still loved him. And I hated myself for what I’d done. I know it was the right thing to do, but I wish I could’ve talked to him about it and asked him why he killed so many innocent people.
There were so many days I simply went through the motions, but the only thing that made it worthwhile was you. I would gaze at you while you slept and know that I did the right thing. Deep in
Through my modeling, I was introduced to a man who told me he would see that I would be given a means to earn a lot of money. He became my pimp, if you will, and I became a high-paid call girl. That’s how I met your father, Hakeem Assaf. Hakeem was a Middle Eastern oil tycoon who spent a great deal of time in New York. After seeing him for several months, he asked that I give up my life as a call girl and become his mistress. I agreed because I was in love with him. He set me up in a lavish apartment and I lived a grand lifestyle. He treated me with the greatest respect and kindness and showered me with gifts.
Then one day, to my surprise, I learned I was pregnant with you. At first I feared telling Hakeem because I knew he and I could never be married. But I knew I had no choice. When I finally told him the truth, he was ecstatic. I’d never seen him so filled with joy.
The day you came into this world was the happiest day of my life. Hakeem chose your name because Amira means princess, and he said you would always be his darling princess. He was the most attentive father I’ve ever seen and when he held you, he was filled with so much love for you. You look a lot like him, though he said you are exactly like me. You have his eyes. As you grew older, I would see so much of him in you.
When you were two years old, we were in the park one sunny afternoon when a woman struck up a conversation. She told me what a beautiful child you were. After she left, I noticed a note in your stroller. It said there were people who had information about Hakeem and asked me to meet them at a coffee shop.
I was confused, but curious at the same time. I knew the coffee shop and deemed it to be safe, so I went. Sitting at a booth were two men in dark suits. They saw me enter and asked me to take a seat. What they told me turned my world upside down.
They said Hakeem was funneling his money into a large terrorist organization … one that had been responsible for a recent bombing at the World Trade Center. It was the one in 1993. At first I refused to believe them. I ran out in tears. But the CIA pursued me, feeding me more and more information until I couldn’t deny it anymore. The man I’d loved for more than four years was a killer.
The CIA told me I couldn’t leave him. I knew they were right. He would never let me leave because I had you. They said they could help. All I had to do was get them information. A list of contacts. So I did. The CIA taught me how to find what I was looking for. I even transferred his financial records.
But one day I found a file. I copied it and then deleted it off his computer. Even the CIA didn’t know I did that. Maybe I was wrong to do it, I don’t know, but I wanted some kind of insurance for you. They promised me protection in the witness protection program, but I wanted more than that. I wanted something for the future in case anything ever came up.
They held up their end by faking my death, changing our names, and relocating us to Texas. And so we began a new life. Now you know why I was so overprotective of everything you did. I was frightened to death that one day Hakeem’s associates would find us and kill me or even you. They took your father into custody and as far as I know, he remains in prison somewhere. I asked not to be told, because the truth is that even though he did terrible things, I still loved him. And I hated myself for what I’d done. I know it was the right thing to do, but I wish I could’ve talked to him about it and asked him why he killed so many innocent people.
There were so many days I simply went through the motions, but the only thing that made it worthwhile was you. I would gaze at you while you slept and know that I did the right thing. Deep in
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