Nawal (Mouna Hawa) is a loving wife, doting mother, and devout Muslim living in a gritty precinct of Amman, Jordan. She works as a nurse, spending long hours tending to the Alzheimer’s-ridden aunt of a wealthy Christian family of Arab descent. Her husband Adnan (Mohammad Ghassan) is employed at a printing plant. Their daughter Nora (Seleena Rababah) knows how to get herself ready for elementary school, but not how to tie her shoes. That’s dad’s job.

Within the first few minutes of “Inshallah A Boy,” the debut feature from Jordanian filmmaker Amjad Al Rasheed, we learn that Nawal and Adnan are intent on having another child, but that there have been difficulties in conceiving. On the night in question, Nawal tells Adnan that the time is right to make another attempt, but he begs off, claiming fatigue. There’s always tomorrow.

Or maybe not. The next morning, Nawal and Nora attempt to rouse Adnan from bed, only to discover that he’s died. The scene shifts abruptly to a gathering of family, friends, and neighbors — all women, each clad in black. Nawal is told that the death of a husband isn’t only the loss of a lover and partner, but “everything in her life.” As “Inshallah A Boy” progresses, we learn just how rigid a notion “everything” is within Nawal’s immediate community and in Jordanian society as a whole.

If the loss of her husband wasn’t enough to bear, Nawal has to endure the increased pressure put on her by brother-in-law Rifqi (Haitham Omari). Having barely proffered his condolences, Rifqi mentions a debt incurred by his brother: Adnan owes him a substantial amount of money. The audience is clued into Rifqi’s self-serving ministrations before Nawal begins to comprehend the depth of his venality. Given the circumstances, a degree of patience would seem appropriate. But Rifki needs the money now.

Rifki explains that under the law, he and his family can make a claim on Nawal’s apartment and assets. Nawal explains that the apartment was funded, in significant part, by her dowry. When the deed for the apartment is unearthed, all and sundry discover that Adnan never put his signature to the documents citing Nawal’s part-ownership. Nawal is left at sea. Rifki sees an opportunity to gain what he wants, including Nora.

Nawal discovers other things about her late husband, but not, alas, the passcode to his cellphone, which tends to ring at odd hours. When Nawal does manage to pick it up, the caller invariably hangs up. Mourning, frustration, confusion, and exhaustion lead to a vision: The view outside her bedroom window abruptly turns to an anomalous golden light from midnight black; night descends again with a crashing immediacy. Was this a dream or, perhaps, a premonition?

There’s more afoot in “Inshallah A Boy,” much more. The plot accrues complexities with a logic that is as tense as it is inexorable. The screenplay by Mr. Rasheed, written in collaboration with Rula Nasser and Delphine Agut, is a model of understatement, of point-and-counterpoint set out with clarity and concision. Even when the story threatens to take a convenient curve, “Inshallah A Boy” rights itself with impressive nuance. And when a sizable victory is embodied within the stuttering gears of a pickup truck, you know you’re in the hands of a consummate filmmaker. “Inshallah A Boy” is a great film.