A family of six lost children lives quietly in a small apartment among strangers in this northern Iraqi city. The "man of the house," an 18-year-old, heads out each morning looking for day labor jobs to pay the rent. His 12-year-old sister acts as the mother, cooking meals, cleaning and caring for her young siblings.

Their home village is less than an hour's drive away, but they can't go back — Shiite militiamen burned down their house because their father belonged to the Islamic State group. And they fear retaliation by their former neighbors, so deep is the anger at the militants who once ruled this area.

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In this April 15, 2018 photo, Dawoud Suleiman plays with a doll as his sisters Dawlat, left, and Omaima, sit with him in their tent at Dakuk Camp, near Kirkuk, Iraq. Traumatized by a series of tragedies suffered during three years of fighting in Iraq, the children live under an additional burden: Their father and other family members belonged to the Islamic State group. (AP PhotoMaya Alleruzzo)

A family of six lost children lives quietly in a small apartment among strangers in this northern Iraqi city. The "man of the house," an 18-year-old, heads out each morning looking for day labor jobs to pay the rent. His 12-year-old sister acts as the mother, cooking meals, cleaning and caring for her young siblings.
In this April 15, 2018 file photo, Saleh Suleiman Ismail, left, directs his youngest brother as they pose for a family portrait at Dakuk Camp, near Kirkuk, Iraq. The 18-year-old is now the man of the house, caring for five siblings. While he knows his father is alive, he does not know whether he has been sentenced by the country's counterterrorism court. (AP PhotoMaya Alleruzzo, File)

"I am tired," said the 12-year-old, Dawlat, a slim girl whose face is almost unshakably solemn. "My mother visits me in my dreams. I get scared when the power is out at night. I would love my father and mother to be here next to me."
FILE - In this April 15, 2018 file photo, Saleh Suleiman Ismail talks to The Associated Press about the detention of his father, at Dakuk Camp, near Kirkuk, Iraq. The teen is left with the responsibility of supporting his household in a strange place. He goes out each day looking for work. He speaks firmly, decisively, as if projecting that he's up to the task. But he admits: "I'm often close to tears. I'm exhausted. I feel like I'm 30 after everything I've gone through." (AP PhotoMaya Alleruzzo, File)

It inflicted a radical version of Shariah law on fellow Sunnis, killing many who violated it. Some Iraqi Sunnis joined the group, either out of conviction or because of the economic benefits membership brought. Many more were its victims. Informants turned in neighbors, leading to punishments ranging from lashings to a bullet in the head in a public square.
In this Aug. 28, 2018, photo, Dawlat Suleiman, poses for a portrait in her family's tent at Dakuk Camp, near Kirkuk, Iraq. At 12 years old, Dawlat has lost her childhood. With her parents gone, she must serve as a replacement mother caring for five of her siblings, a family of kids fending for themselves amid the destruction of post-war Iraq. (AP PhotoMaya Alleruzzo)

Thousands of Iraqis are in prison over suspected IS ties and an unknown number of Daesh members were killed in the war. That leaves potentially tens of thousands of children without male heads of households and often without female ones.
In this Aug. 28, 2018, photo, Dawoud Suleiman, 4, poses for a portrait in his family's tent at Dakuk Camp, near Kirkuk, Iraq. He and his siblings have not seen their father since Iraqi security forces arrested him last year for Islamic State membership. They had already lost their mother to cancer several years earlier. After the militants' defeat, Shiite militiamen burned down the family house because of the father's IS links, and they can't return to their home town, fearing neighbors will denounce them over the family ties to the militant group. (AP PhotoMaya Alleruzzo)

Most children of Iraqi IS members live mingled among the hundreds of thousands still languishing in camps for those displaced by the three years of fighting that brought down IS. More than 1,000 live with incarcerated mothers in overcrowded jails or juvenile detention facilities.
In this Aug. 28, 2018 photo, Umaimah Suleiman, 6, poses for a portrait in her family tent at Dakuk Camp, near Kirkuk, Iraq. She and her siblings have not seen their father since Iraqi security forces arrested him last year for Islamic State membership. They had already lost their mother to cancer several years earlier. After the militants' defeat, Shiite militiamen burned down the family house because of the father's IS links, and they can't return to their home town, fearing neighbors will denounce them over the family ties to the militant group. (AP PhotoMaya Alleruzzo)

The children at the center of this resentment are often profoundly traumatized, whether from their lives with the Islamic State group or from the war itself.
In this Aug. 28, 2018 photo, Adam Suleiman, 8, poses for a portrait in his family's tent at Dakuk Camp, near Kirkuk, Iraq. He and his siblings have not seen their father since Iraqi security forces arrested him last year for Islamic State membership. They had already lost their mother to cancer several years earlier. After the militants' defeat, Shiite militiamen burned down the family house because of the father's IS links, and they can't return to their home town, fearing neighbors will denounce them over the family ties to the militant group .(AP PhotoMaya Alleruzzo)

The girl, whose name means "waves" in Arabic, looked haunted, her eyes wandering and often near tears, her voice barely audible. In the orphanage, she takes care of her three surviving brothers, 10-year-old Mohammed and Hashem and Tahrir, both younger than her.
In this Aug. 28, 2018 photo, Abdullah Suleiman, 16, poses for a portrait in his family's tent in Dakuk Camp, near Kirkuk, Iraq. He and his siblings have not seen their father since Iraqi security forces arrested him last year for Islamic State membership. They had already lost their mother to cancer several years earlier. After the militants' defeat, Shiite militiamen burned down the family house because of the father's IS links, and they can't return to their home town, fearing neighbors will denounce them over the family ties to the militant group. (AP PhotoMaya Alleruzzo)

They suffered at the hands of Daesh, at the hands of Daesh's enemies and at the hands of their own father.
In this Aug. 28, 2018 photo, Saleh Suleiman, 18, poses for a portrait in his family's tent at Dakuk Camp, near Kirkuk, Iraq. "I'm often close to tears," he says of the responsibility of caring for his siblings while their father is in prison for Islamic State ties. "I'm exhausted. I feel like I'm 30 after everything I've gone through." (AP PhotoMaya Alleruzzo)

In retaliation, Saleh said, the father turned him in to Daesh for selling cigarettes, which were banned under IS. The militants flogged Saleh.
In this Aug. 16, 2018 photo, a worker comforts a toddler at Salhiya Orphanage, which now hosts foreign and Iraqi children of Islamic State militants, in Baghdad, Iraq. The war to drive out Islamic State militants left tens of thousands of orphans, a generation that Iraq is struggling to care for. (AP PhotoMaya Alleruzzo)

Meanwhile, Daesh found a new wife for their father, forcing a Shiite woman to marry him. The woman, whose own husband had been killed, brought her own four children with her.
In this Aug. 15, 2018 photo, baby girls stand up in their cribs at Salhiya Orphanage, which now hosts foreign and Iraqi children of Islamic State militants, in Baghdad, Iraq. The war to drive out Islamic State militants left tens of thousands of orphans, a generation that Iraq is struggling to care for. (AP PhotoMaya Alleruzzo)

The kids were shunted into a camp for the displaced, where they lived for nearly a year. Finally, the husband of another of their sisters arranged an apartment for them in an impoverished Kurdish neighborhood of Kirkuk.
In this Aug. 19, 2018 photo, children gather around Sukaina Mohammed Ali, a top official of the local Mosul government, at an orphanage in Mosul, Iraq. Nearly 60 children are kept in two orphanages in Mosul, Iraq's second largest city that was captured by the Islamic State group in 2014 and liberated by U.S.-backed security forces last year after a nearly year-long battle. The older of the two orphanages was founded in 2017 by Ali, who says she begged and prayed for donations to feed and clothe the children before government funds were made available. (AP PhotoMaya Alleruzzo)

Dawlat's childhood has been stripped away. At their apartment in Kirkuk, she cooks three meals a day; while the younger children are at school, she cleans the house, makes the bed, washes dishes and does laundry. She boasts she can now cook lentils and potatoes and chicken, though she admits she doesn't always get the rice right.
In this Aug. 16, 2018 photo, a child peeks out from her crib at Salhiya Orphanage, which now hosts foreign and Iraqi children of Islamic State militants, in Baghdad, Iraq. The war to drive out Islamic State militants left tens of thousands of orphans, a generation that Iraq is struggling to care for. (AP PhotoMaya Alleruzzo)

But then she reverts to the little girl she is — longing to play, regretting her burdens and, despite everything, missing her father.
In this Aug. 15, 2018, photo, a boy eats a sandwich in the hallway at Salhiya Orphanage, which now hosts foreign and Iraqi children of Islamic State militants, in Baghdad, Iraq. The war to drive out Islamic State militants left tens of thousands of orphans, a generation that Iraq is struggling to care for. (AP PhotoMaya Alleruzzo)

In this Aug. 15, 2018, photo, a boy eats a sandwich in the hallway at Salhiya Orphanage, which now hosts foreign and Iraqi children of Islamic State militants, in Baghdad, Iraq. The war to drive out Islamic State militants left tens of thousands of orphans, a generation that Iraq is struggling to care for. (AP PhotoMaya Alleruzzo)
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In this April 15, 2018 photo, Dawoud Suleiman plays with a doll as his sisters Dawlat, left, and Omaima, sit with him in their tent at Dakuk Camp, near Kirkuk, Iraq. Traumatized by a series of tragedies suffered during three years of fighting in Iraq, the children live under an additional burden: Their father and other family members belonged to the Islamic State group. (AP PhotoMaya Alleruzzo)

A family of six lost children lives quietly in a small apartment among strangers in this northern Iraqi city. The "man of the house," an 18-year-old, heads out each morning looking for day labor jobs to pay the rent. His 12-year-old sister acts as the mother, cooking meals, cleaning and caring for her young siblings.

In this April 15, 2018 file photo, Saleh Suleiman Ismail, left, directs his youngest brother as they pose for a family portrait at Dakuk Camp, near Kirkuk, Iraq. The 18-year-old is now the man of the house, caring for five siblings. While he knows his father is alive, he does not know whether he has been sentenced by the country's counterterrorism court. (AP PhotoMaya Alleruzzo, File)

"I am tired," said the 12-year-old, Dawlat, a slim girl whose face is almost unshakably solemn. "My mother visits me in my dreams. I get scared when the power is out at night. I would love my father and mother to be here next to me."

FILE - In this April 15, 2018 file photo, Saleh Suleiman Ismail talks to The Associated Press about the detention of his father, at Dakuk Camp, near Kirkuk, Iraq. The teen is left with the responsibility of supporting his household in a strange place. He goes out each day looking for work. He speaks firmly, decisively, as if projecting that he's up to the task. But he admits: "I'm often close to tears. I'm exhausted. I feel like I'm 30 after everything I've gone through." (AP PhotoMaya Alleruzzo, File)

It inflicted a radical version of Shariah law on fellow Sunnis, killing many who violated it. Some Iraqi Sunnis joined the group, either out of conviction or because of the economic benefits membership brought. Many more were its victims. Informants turned in neighbors, leading to punishments ranging from lashings to a bullet in the head in a public square.

In this Aug. 28, 2018, photo, Dawlat Suleiman, poses for a portrait in her family's tent at Dakuk Camp, near Kirkuk, Iraq. At 12 years old, Dawlat has lost her childhood. With her parents gone, she must serve as a replacement mother caring for five of her siblings, a family of kids fending for themselves amid the destruction of post-war Iraq. (AP PhotoMaya Alleruzzo)

Thousands of Iraqis are in prison over suspected IS ties and an unknown number of Daesh members were killed in the war. That leaves potentially tens of thousands of children without male heads of households and often without female ones.

In this Aug. 28, 2018, photo, Dawoud Suleiman, 4, poses for a portrait in his family's tent at Dakuk Camp, near Kirkuk, Iraq. He and his siblings have not seen their father since Iraqi security forces arrested him last year for Islamic State membership. They had already lost their mother to cancer several years earlier. After the militants' defeat, Shiite militiamen burned down the family house because of the father's IS links, and they can't return to their home town, fearing neighbors will denounce them over the family ties to the militant group. (AP PhotoMaya Alleruzzo)

Most children of Iraqi IS members live mingled among the hundreds of thousands still languishing in camps for those displaced by the three years of fighting that brought down IS. More than 1,000 live with incarcerated mothers in overcrowded jails or juvenile detention facilities.

In this Aug. 28, 2018 photo, Umaimah Suleiman, 6, poses for a portrait in her family tent at Dakuk Camp, near Kirkuk, Iraq. She and her siblings have not seen their father since Iraqi security forces arrested him last year for Islamic State membership. They had already lost their mother to cancer several years earlier. After the militants' defeat, Shiite militiamen burned down the family house because of the father's IS links, and they can't return to their home town, fearing neighbors will denounce them over the family ties to the militant group. (AP PhotoMaya Alleruzzo)

The children at the center of this resentment are often profoundly traumatized, whether from their lives with the Islamic State group or from the war itself.

In this Aug. 28, 2018 photo, Adam Suleiman, 8, poses for a portrait in his family's tent at Dakuk Camp, near Kirkuk, Iraq. He and his siblings have not seen their father since Iraqi security forces arrested him last year for Islamic State membership. They had already lost their mother to cancer several years earlier. After the militants' defeat, Shiite militiamen burned down the family house because of the father's IS links, and they can't return to their home town, fearing neighbors will denounce them over the family ties to the militant group .(AP PhotoMaya Alleruzzo)

The girl, whose name means "waves" in Arabic, looked haunted, her eyes wandering and often near tears, her voice barely audible. In the orphanage, she takes care of her three surviving brothers, 10-year-old Mohammed and Hashem and Tahrir, both younger than her.

In this Aug. 28, 2018 photo, Abdullah Suleiman, 16, poses for a portrait in his family's tent in Dakuk Camp, near Kirkuk, Iraq. He and his siblings have not seen their father since Iraqi security forces arrested him last year for Islamic State membership. They had already lost their mother to cancer several years earlier. After the militants' defeat, Shiite militiamen burned down the family house because of the father's IS links, and they can't return to their home town, fearing neighbors will denounce them over the family ties to the militant group. (AP PhotoMaya Alleruzzo)

They suffered at the hands of Daesh, at the hands of Daesh's enemies and at the hands of their own father.

In this Aug. 28, 2018 photo, Saleh Suleiman, 18, poses for a portrait in his family's tent at Dakuk Camp, near Kirkuk, Iraq. "I'm often close to tears," he says of the responsibility of caring for his siblings while their father is in prison for Islamic State ties. "I'm exhausted. I feel like I'm 30 after everything I've gone through." (AP PhotoMaya Alleruzzo)

In retaliation, Saleh said, the father turned him in to Daesh for selling cigarettes, which were banned under IS. The militants flogged Saleh.

In this Aug. 16, 2018 photo, a worker comforts a toddler at Salhiya Orphanage, which now hosts foreign and Iraqi children of Islamic State militants, in Baghdad, Iraq. The war to drive out Islamic State militants left tens of thousands of orphans, a generation that Iraq is struggling to care for. (AP PhotoMaya Alleruzzo)

Meanwhile, Daesh found a new wife for their father, forcing a Shiite woman to marry him. The woman, whose own husband had been killed, brought her own four children with her.

In this Aug. 15, 2018 photo, baby girls stand up in their cribs at Salhiya Orphanage, which now hosts foreign and Iraqi children of Islamic State militants, in Baghdad, Iraq. The war to drive out Islamic State militants left tens of thousands of orphans, a generation that Iraq is struggling to care for. (AP PhotoMaya Alleruzzo)

The kids were shunted into a camp for the displaced, where they lived for nearly a year. Finally, the husband of another of their sisters arranged an apartment for them in an impoverished Kurdish neighborhood of Kirkuk.

In this Aug. 19, 2018 photo, children gather around Sukaina Mohammed Ali, a top official of the local Mosul government, at an orphanage in Mosul, Iraq. Nearly 60 children are kept in two orphanages in Mosul, Iraq's second largest city that was captured by the Islamic State group in 2014 and liberated by U.S.-backed security forces last year after a nearly year-long battle. The older of the two orphanages was founded in 2017 by Ali, who says she begged and prayed for donations to feed and clothe the children before government funds were made available. (AP PhotoMaya Alleruzzo)

Dawlat's childhood has been stripped away. At their apartment in Kirkuk, she cooks three meals a day; while the younger children are at school, she cleans the house, makes the bed, washes dishes and does laundry. She boasts she can now cook lentils and potatoes and chicken, though she admits she doesn't always get the rice right.

In this Aug. 16, 2018 photo, a child peeks out from her crib at Salhiya Orphanage, which now hosts foreign and Iraqi children of Islamic State militants, in Baghdad, Iraq. The war to drive out Islamic State militants left tens of thousands of orphans, a generation that Iraq is struggling to care for. (AP PhotoMaya Alleruzzo)

But then she reverts to the little girl she is — longing to play, regretting her burdens and, despite everything, missing her father.

In this Aug. 15, 2018, photo, a boy eats a sandwich in the hallway at Salhiya Orphanage, which now hosts foreign and Iraqi children of Islamic State militants, in Baghdad, Iraq. The war to drive out Islamic State militants left tens of thousands of orphans, a generation that Iraq is struggling to care for. (AP PhotoMaya Alleruzzo)

In this Aug. 15, 2018, photo, a boy eats a sandwich in the hallway at Salhiya Orphanage, which now hosts foreign and Iraqi children of Islamic State militants, in Baghdad, Iraq. The war to drive out Islamic State militants left tens of thousands of orphans, a generation that Iraq is struggling to care for. (AP PhotoMaya Alleruzzo)

So the Suleiman children are left to fend for themselves. Their father is in prison. Their mother died years ago. They are traumatized by deaths of loved ones in the war and by their own family turmoil. In their temporary home, they lie low, worried their new neighbors will learn of their family's IS connection.

In this April 15, 2018 photo, Dawoud Suleiman plays with a doll as his sisters Dawlat, left, and Omaima, sit with him in their tent at Dakuk Camp, near Kirkuk, Iraq. Traumatized by a series of tragedies suffered during three years of fighting in Iraq, the children live under an additional burden: Their father and other family members belonged to the Islamic State group. (AP PhotoMaya Alleruzzo)

In this April 15, 2018 photo, Dawoud Suleiman plays with a doll as his sisters Dawlat, left, and Omaima, sit with him in their tent at Dakuk Camp, near Kirkuk, Iraq. Traumatized by a series of tragedies suffered during three years of fighting in Iraq, the children live under an additional burden: Their father and other family members belonged to the Islamic State group. (AP PhotoMaya Alleruzzo)

"I am tired," said the 12-year-old, Dawlat, a slim girl whose face is almost unshakably solemn. "My mother visits me in my dreams. I get scared when the power is out at night. I would love my father and mother to be here next to me."

Thousands of children of Islamic State group members, many of them abandoned like Dawlat's family, are the innocent victims of the brutal rise and destructive fall of Daesh, the acronym by which IS is known. The stain they carry points to how thoroughly Iraq's social fabric was torn apart by the militants' nearly 3-year-rule over much of the country's north and west.

When the Sunni Muslim IS took over those territories in a 2014 blitz, it massacred Shiite Muslims, Kurds, Christians, Yazidis and members of the police or military who fell into its hands. And it drove out others, often either destroying or giving away their homes.

In this April 15, 2018 file photo, Saleh Suleiman Ismail, left, directs his youngest brother as they pose for a family portrait at Dakuk Camp, near Kirkuk, Iraq. The 18-year-old is now the man of the house, caring for five siblings. While he knows his father is alive, he does not know whether he has been sentenced by the country's counterterrorism court. (AP PhotoMaya Alleruzzo, File)

In this April 15, 2018 file photo, Saleh Suleiman Ismail, left, directs his youngest brother as they pose for a family portrait at Dakuk Camp, near Kirkuk, Iraq. The 18-year-old is now the man of the house, caring for five siblings. While he knows his father is alive, he does not know whether he has been sentenced by the country's counterterrorism court. (AP PhotoMaya Alleruzzo, File)

It inflicted a radical version of Shariah law on fellow Sunnis, killing many who violated it. Some Iraqi Sunnis joined the group, either out of conviction or because of the economic benefits membership brought. Many more were its victims. Informants turned in neighbors, leading to punishments ranging from lashings to a bullet in the head in a public square.

Now that IS has been driven out of almost all its territory, many of its victims want vengeance.

A senior police officer in the northern province of Nineveh said he knew of at least 100 homes in and around the city of Mosul that have been demolished by tribesmen angry over IS members living there. Daesh-linked families have been shot at and had grenades thrown at their homes, he said. Members of the Yazidi religious minority — whom the militants singled out for some of their worst brutalities, massacres of the men and enslavement of the women — have retaliated by destroying homes in Arab villages in their heartland in the Singar area, he said, speaking on condition of anonymity in line with his agency's regulations.

FILE - In this April 15, 2018 file photo, Saleh Suleiman Ismail talks to The Associated Press about the detention of his father, at Dakuk Camp, near Kirkuk, Iraq. The teen is left with the responsibility of supporting his household in a strange place. He goes out each day looking for work. He speaks firmly, decisively, as if projecting that he's up to the task. But he admits: "I'm often close to tears. I'm exhausted. I feel like I'm 30 after everything I've gone through." (AP PhotoMaya Alleruzzo, File)

FILE - In this April 15, 2018 file photo, Saleh Suleiman Ismail talks to The Associated Press about the detention of his father, at Dakuk Camp, near Kirkuk, Iraq. The teen is left with the responsibility of supporting his household in a strange place. He goes out each day looking for work. He speaks firmly, decisively, as if projecting that he's up to the task. But he admits: "I'm often close to tears. I'm exhausted. I feel like I'm 30 after everything I've gone through." (AP PhotoMaya Alleruzzo, File)

Thousands of Iraqis are in prison over suspected IS ties and an unknown number of Daesh members were killed in the war. That leaves potentially tens of thousands of children without male heads of households and often without female ones.

The stigma against the children is powerful.

Even extended families in some cases refuse to take in abandoned children of IS members, said a relief official with an international agency that has worked to find homes for such children. The relatives may worry about being tainted themselves or come under pressure from their tribes not to accept the kids, she said, speaking on condition of anonymity because she was not authorized to talk about the agency's work.

In this Aug. 28, 2018, photo, Dawlat Suleiman, poses for a portrait in her family's tent at Dakuk Camp, near Kirkuk, Iraq. At 12 years old, Dawlat has lost her childhood. With her parents gone, she must serve as a replacement mother caring for five of her siblings, a family of kids fending for themselves amid the destruction of post-war Iraq. (AP PhotoMaya Alleruzzo)

In this Aug. 28, 2018, photo, Dawlat Suleiman, poses for a portrait in her family's tent at Dakuk Camp, near Kirkuk, Iraq. At 12 years old, Dawlat has lost her childhood. With her parents gone, she must serve as a replacement mother caring for five of her siblings, a family of kids fending for themselves amid the destruction of post-war Iraq. (AP PhotoMaya Alleruzzo)

Most children of Iraqi IS members live mingled among the hundreds of thousands still languishing in camps for those displaced by the three years of fighting that brought down IS. More than 1,000 live with incarcerated mothers in overcrowded jails or juvenile detention facilities.

A few dozen are in orphanages. One, in Baghdad, houses the children of foreign jihadis who came from abroad to join the IS and are now dead or imprisoned.

Police have set up checkpoints on all streets leading to it. There has already been at least one foiled attempt to attack the orphanage.

In this Aug. 28, 2018, photo, Dawoud Suleiman, 4, poses for a portrait in his family's tent at Dakuk Camp, near Kirkuk, Iraq. He and his siblings have not seen their father since Iraqi security forces arrested him last year for Islamic State membership. They had already lost their mother to cancer several years earlier. After the militants' defeat, Shiite militiamen burned down the family house because of the father's IS links, and they can't return to their home town, fearing neighbors will denounce them over the family ties to the militant group. (AP PhotoMaya Alleruzzo)

In this Aug. 28, 2018, photo, Dawoud Suleiman, 4, poses for a portrait in his family's tent at Dakuk Camp, near Kirkuk, Iraq. He and his siblings have not seen their father since Iraqi security forces arrested him last year for Islamic State membership. They had already lost their mother to cancer several years earlier. After the militants' defeat, Shiite militiamen burned down the family house because of the father's IS links, and they can't return to their home town, fearing neighbors will denounce them over the family ties to the militant group. (AP PhotoMaya Alleruzzo)

The children at the center of this resentment are often profoundly traumatized, whether from their lives with the Islamic State group or from the war itself.

At another orphanage, in Mosul, a 9-year-old Iraqi girl named Amwaj said her father was killed fighting for IS. Then her home was hit by shelling, killing her mother and three of her siblings. She watched her mother's body being dug from the rubble.

"Her face was covered with blood," she said, her hands spread over her cheeks to demonstrate.

In this Aug. 28, 2018 photo, Umaimah Suleiman, 6, poses for a portrait in her family tent at Dakuk Camp, near Kirkuk, Iraq. She and her siblings have not seen their father since Iraqi security forces arrested him last year for Islamic State membership. They had already lost their mother to cancer several years earlier. After the militants' defeat, Shiite militiamen burned down the family house because of the father's IS links, and they can't return to their home town, fearing neighbors will denounce them over the family ties to the militant group. (AP PhotoMaya Alleruzzo)

In this Aug. 28, 2018 photo, Umaimah Suleiman, 6, poses for a portrait in her family tent at Dakuk Camp, near Kirkuk, Iraq. She and her siblings have not seen their father since Iraqi security forces arrested him last year for Islamic State membership. They had already lost their mother to cancer several years earlier. After the militants' defeat, Shiite militiamen burned down the family house because of the father's IS links, and they can't return to their home town, fearing neighbors will denounce them over the family ties to the militant group. (AP PhotoMaya Alleruzzo)

The girl, whose name means "waves" in Arabic, looked haunted, her eyes wandering and often near tears, her voice barely audible. In the orphanage, she takes care of her three surviving brothers, 10-year-old Mohammed and Hashem and Tahrir, both younger than her.

She said she remembers her father giving her money to buy chips and soda. She dreams of him coming to the orphanage to take her home. She dreams of her mother brushing her hair.

Dawlat, her 18-year-old brother Saleh and their siblings — Abdullah, 16; 8-year-old Adam; a 6-year-old sister, Umaimah; and 4-year-old Dawoud — carry on their shoulders the multiple tragedies they endured from the time IS took over their hometown, outside the city of Hawija, in 2014.

In this Aug. 28, 2018 photo, Adam Suleiman, 8, poses for a portrait in his family's tent at Dakuk Camp, near Kirkuk, Iraq. He and his siblings have not seen their father since Iraqi security forces arrested him last year for Islamic State membership. They had already lost their mother to cancer several years earlier. After the militants' defeat, Shiite militiamen burned down the family house because of the father's IS links, and they can't return to their home town, fearing neighbors will denounce them over the family ties to the militant group .(AP PhotoMaya Alleruzzo)

In this Aug. 28, 2018 photo, Adam Suleiman, 8, poses for a portrait in his family's tent at Dakuk Camp, near Kirkuk, Iraq. He and his siblings have not seen their father since Iraqi security forces arrested him last year for Islamic State membership. They had already lost their mother to cancer several years earlier. After the militants' defeat, Shiite militiamen burned down the family house because of the father's IS links, and they can't return to their home town, fearing neighbors will denounce them over the family ties to the militant group .(AP PhotoMaya Alleruzzo)

They suffered at the hands of Daesh, at the hands of Daesh's enemies and at the hands of their own father.

Their father joined the group and worked repairing generators for the militants. An older brother also joined and was killed fighting for IS. An older sister was killed by a roadside bomb as she tried to flee IS territory.

Family turmoil also tore them apart: It emerged that their father abused one of his daughters. Saleh confronted his father and they lived for months as enemies under one roof. They came to blows several times. Saleh said he even thought of killing his father at night — "but he was awake with his gun next to him."

In this Aug. 28, 2018 photo, Abdullah Suleiman, 16, poses for a portrait in his family's tent in Dakuk Camp, near Kirkuk, Iraq. He and his siblings have not seen their father since Iraqi security forces arrested him last year for Islamic State membership. They had already lost their mother to cancer several years earlier. After the militants' defeat, Shiite militiamen burned down the family house because of the father's IS links, and they can't return to their home town, fearing neighbors will denounce them over the family ties to the militant group. (AP PhotoMaya Alleruzzo)

In this Aug. 28, 2018 photo, Abdullah Suleiman, 16, poses for a portrait in his family's tent in Dakuk Camp, near Kirkuk, Iraq. He and his siblings have not seen their father since Iraqi security forces arrested him last year for Islamic State membership. They had already lost their mother to cancer several years earlier. After the militants' defeat, Shiite militiamen burned down the family house because of the father's IS links, and they can't return to their home town, fearing neighbors will denounce them over the family ties to the militant group. (AP PhotoMaya Alleruzzo)

In retaliation, Saleh said, the father turned him in to Daesh for selling cigarettes, which were banned under IS. The militants flogged Saleh.

The teen fled to Kurdish-held territory in March 2016, only to be held for six months by Kurdish fighters on suspicion he belonged to Daesh. Saleh said they hung him from the ceiling by his hands and beat the soles of his feet with a hose.

The abused sister was married off to an IS fighter, who was later killed; now 14, she is married again, the second wife of a policeman, and living in a displaced camp.

In this Aug. 28, 2018 photo, Saleh Suleiman, 18, poses for a portrait in his family's tent at Dakuk Camp, near Kirkuk, Iraq. "I'm often close to tears," he says of the responsibility of caring for his siblings while their father is in prison for Islamic State ties. "I'm exhausted. I feel like I'm 30 after everything I've gone through." (AP PhotoMaya Alleruzzo)

In this Aug. 28, 2018 photo, Saleh Suleiman, 18, poses for a portrait in his family's tent at Dakuk Camp, near Kirkuk, Iraq. "I'm often close to tears," he says of the responsibility of caring for his siblings while their father is in prison for Islamic State ties. "I'm exhausted. I feel like I'm 30 after everything I've gone through." (AP PhotoMaya Alleruzzo)

Meanwhile, Daesh found a new wife for their father, forcing a Shiite woman to marry him. The woman, whose own husband had been killed, brought her own four children with her.

Two months later, Iraqi forces overran Hawija. The father shaved his beard to shed signs of his IS allegiance and fled with his family, hiding among the tens of thousands of others escaping the city.

But his new wife turned him in, telling Kurdish fighters at a checkpoint that he was Daesh. The fighters beat him, then dragged him away — the last any of his family has seen him. The new wife left with her children. She was with them so briefly and wanted so little to do with the family she was forced into that Dawlat and her siblings don't even know her name.

In this Aug. 16, 2018 photo, a worker comforts a toddler at Salhiya Orphanage, which now hosts foreign and Iraqi children of Islamic State militants, in Baghdad, Iraq. The war to drive out Islamic State militants left tens of thousands of orphans, a generation that Iraq is struggling to care for. (AP PhotoMaya Alleruzzo)

In this Aug. 16, 2018 photo, a worker comforts a toddler at Salhiya Orphanage, which now hosts foreign and Iraqi children of Islamic State militants, in Baghdad, Iraq. The war to drive out Islamic State militants left tens of thousands of orphans, a generation that Iraq is struggling to care for. (AP PhotoMaya Alleruzzo)

The kids were shunted into a camp for the displaced, where they lived for nearly a year. Finally, the husband of another of their sisters arranged an apartment for them in an impoverished Kurdish neighborhood of Kirkuk.

Surrounded by neighbors belonging to a community persecuted by IS, Saleh fears being found out. At the same time, members of their extended family have warned them it's not safe to return to their home village, where other relatives might support them. The husband of another of their sisters was arrested a month ago after someone recognized him in the streets as a Daesh member.

"I'm often close to tears. I'm exhausted. I feel like I'm 30 after everything I've gone through," Saleh said.

In this Aug. 15, 2018 photo, baby girls stand up in their cribs at Salhiya Orphanage, which now hosts foreign and Iraqi children of Islamic State militants, in Baghdad, Iraq. The war to drive out Islamic State militants left tens of thousands of orphans, a generation that Iraq is struggling to care for. (AP PhotoMaya Alleruzzo)

In this Aug. 15, 2018 photo, baby girls stand up in their cribs at Salhiya Orphanage, which now hosts foreign and Iraqi children of Islamic State militants, in Baghdad, Iraq. The war to drive out Islamic State militants left tens of thousands of orphans, a generation that Iraq is struggling to care for. (AP PhotoMaya Alleruzzo)

Dawlat's childhood has been stripped away. At their apartment in Kirkuk, she cooks three meals a day; while the younger children are at school, she cleans the house, makes the bed, washes dishes and does laundry. She boasts she can now cook lentils and potatoes and chicken, though she admits she doesn't always get the rice right.

There are moments when a smile illuminates Dawlat's face, temporarily sweeping away her perpetual haunted look. She talks of how she once loved school and still hopes to become a doctor or teacher.

More immediately, she hopes to get married. In rural Iraq, marriage of young girls is common. Once married, she said, it would be religiously permitted for her to wear make-up. "I'd like to go to a hairdresser. I have never been to a hair salon," she said. "I like my hair long, but I would like to dye it a different color."

In this Aug. 19, 2018 photo, children gather around Sukaina Mohammed Ali, a top official of the local Mosul government, at an orphanage in Mosul, Iraq. Nearly 60 children are kept in two orphanages in Mosul, Iraq's second largest city that was captured by the Islamic State group in 2014 and liberated by U.S.-backed security forces last year after a nearly year-long battle. The older of the two orphanages was founded in 2017 by Ali, who says she begged and prayed for donations to feed and clothe the children before government funds were made available. (AP PhotoMaya Alleruzzo)

In this Aug. 19, 2018 photo, children gather around Sukaina Mohammed Ali, a top official of the local Mosul government, at an orphanage in Mosul, Iraq. Nearly 60 children are kept in two orphanages in Mosul, Iraq's second largest city that was captured by the Islamic State group in 2014 and liberated by U.S.-backed security forces last year after a nearly year-long battle. The older of the two orphanages was founded in 2017 by Ali, who says she begged and prayed for donations to feed and clothe the children before government funds were made available. (AP PhotoMaya Alleruzzo)

But then she reverts to the little girl she is — longing to play, regretting her burdens and, despite everything, missing her father.

"He is so dear to me. ... I want him back with us," she whispered, so Saleh could not hear.

Associated Press writer Salar Salim in Irbil, Iraq contributed to this report.

In this Aug. 16, 2018 photo, a child peeks out from her crib at Salhiya Orphanage, which now hosts foreign and Iraqi children of Islamic State militants, in Baghdad, Iraq. The war to drive out Islamic State militants left tens of thousands of orphans, a generation that Iraq is struggling to care for. (AP PhotoMaya Alleruzzo)

In this Aug. 16, 2018 photo, a child peeks out from her crib at Salhiya Orphanage, which now hosts foreign and Iraqi children of Islamic State militants, in Baghdad, Iraq. The war to drive out Islamic State militants left tens of thousands of orphans, a generation that Iraq is struggling to care for. (AP PhotoMaya Alleruzzo)

 In this Aug. 15, 2018, photo, a boy eats a sandwich in the hallway at Salhiya Orphanage, which now hosts foreign and Iraqi children of Islamic State militants, in Baghdad, Iraq. The war to drive out Islamic State militants left tens of thousands of orphans, a generation that Iraq is struggling to care for. (AP PhotoMaya Alleruzzo)

In this Aug. 15, 2018, photo, a boy eats a sandwich in the hallway at Salhiya Orphanage, which now hosts foreign and Iraqi children of Islamic State militants, in Baghdad, Iraq. The war to drive out Islamic State militants left tens of thousands of orphans, a generation that Iraq is struggling to care for. (AP PhotoMaya Alleruzzo)