Walking past the TV room, I saw Anwar Ibrahim in the chair opposite Dad, the latest in the line of visitors. Downstairs I found his wife, Deputy Prime Minister Dr Wan Azizah (Wan Ismail), dressed in a light grey pantsuit and her customary hijab, about to leave in her official car, smiling as usual. She had already had her turn with Dad and did not look particularly worried.

Having received my urgent message, my brother Mokhzani was the first to arrive.

Standing by the front door, I quickly told him what had happened. As we talked, trying to make sense of events, Anwar came down the stairs and joined us. “I tried,” he said, a wan smile on his face. He put his head on my brother’s shoulder. I noticed his shoulders shook a bit. Then he straightened himself, his face dry-eyed, bid farewell and...