Tonight, I discovered that every single member of my family has killed someone at least once.
I stood behind my grandmother as she opened the bedroom door, revealing the naked corpse of that bastard.
Of course, I suspected no one but Grandma—not just because she's the only one in the family who owns a gun and has been an expert shot sincIgnoring my wishes.
I wanted to scold my grandmother for breaking her own code about killing scoundrels—but the look in the eyes of the police officer standing behind us, casually holding a lemon in his hand, stopped the words before they could leave my mouth.e her youth, and not just because we all know she killed her former husband.
No, it was because the moment she saw the body, she gently patted me on the back and met my horrified stare with the warmest smile, as if to say:
"The corpse of this scoundrel is my gift to celebrate your high school graduation, Issa. Be happy!"
I wasn't happy.
I'd specifically told them not to kill him without me. No one but me had the right to put a bullet in him. But apparently, while I was away at Qasr El Nil Police Station, they indulged in the family habit they loved most:
