Please, Mr Trump, help me find justice for my husband

Sometimes, whenever I smell cigar smoke wafting in the air, it reminds me of him, and for a brief moment, I can believe he is still alive. Grief has a funny way of sneaking up on you, but sometimes it slaps you in the face.

- HANAN EL-ATR KHASHOGGI

I want the world to know that Jamal was more than a journalist. He was my loving husband, a proud father of four, and a doting grandfather of three. Family meant the world to him, and that is what attracted me to him when we first met in 2009. We kept in touch over the years and constantly spoke about family and current events in the Arab world.

After he invited me to his 59th birthday party in March 2018, he professed his love for me. Surrounded by 20 of his closest friends, we celebrated at a restaurant in the Washington, DC area. When he asked me to marry him, it was an easy decision. We had a beautiful June wedding ceremony in Alexandria, Virginia, and settled in at our home in Tyson’s Corner, Virginia.

We were happy living in the United States, but also discussed living in Istanbul, Turkey, closer to our families and where Jamal intended to purchase an apartment for us. He explained that he could easily obtain Turkish citizenship if he purchased property there, and in light of his expiring Saudi passport, this would provide him the needed travel documents, personal security and health insurance he so desperately needed.