"I'm honestly not sure how Noor will feel when I leave," she says.
She has thought about the possibility of taking Noor with her, if they are able to overcome immigration hurdles. But that may prove to be difficult.
"She is closer than my own soul," Zainab says. "I'm more than a mother to her."
Noor's grandfather worries, too. He is 65 and fears he will die soon. He clutches his prayer beads and watches his granddaughter put Zainab's black flats on her hands and crawl on two limbs inside the house -- it is too much to maneuver a wheelchair in a house not made for one.
Fatima thinks the hardest part will be for Noor to watch her cousins get married and start their own families. That's what's expected of all women in Noor's circle.
But no one in Iraq will marry Noor, Fatima says. She will die alone.
Holding onto hope
Noor is still young, but Fatima and Zainab are certain she understands life way beyond her years.
At times, she asks her family: "Why did you bring me back from America?"
It was the trip of a lifetime for Noor and one that taught her family to hope.
Haider knows now, after his brief visit to Atlanta, what life might have been for his daughter. And what it is destined to be in Baghdad.
Zainab and others in the family hold onto a belief, however false, that if only Noor can return to America, she will be able to walk again. That she has a chance to be normal.
If nothing else, they hope someone in America will reach out to them again.
She needs a place of stability, Haider says. "Here, you live in constant fear in your heart and you don't know what to expect."
Haider's father, Khalaf, says he is grateful for everything the Americans did for Noor. He says Noor still needs their help.
He fires off a series of questions: Why didn't anyone from Childspring keep in touch with them? Why doesn't the group connect the family with good doctors or send them catheters or a new wheelchair? Who will pay for Noor's brain scans or surgery if she needs it?
What if his granddaughter -- as Dr. Saad Nasser said during their last visit to his clinic -- dies?
I sense desperation in his voice. It reminds me of the frustration I've heard from other Iraqis who feel the United States abandoned them when it withdrew all its troops in 2011.
It becomes increasingly clear that Noor and her family see me as the arrival of help from America. In their predicament, in this war-torn country, they have nowhere else to place their hope.
Zainab tells me Noor's demeanor has been different since she learned I would be visiting.
I explain to Haider's father that I am here to tell Noor's story. I can take their message back to America, but I am not the bearer of miracles.
A parting gift
"What do you want to be when you grow up?" I ask Noor.
"A woman," she says. Her aunts giggle.
"And a doctor," she says. "I want to treat people so they don't die."