“Come inside,” I begged.
Amanda shook her head.
“They cry all night. They always need something. I still have time to marry well. I still have time to get the life I deserve.”
“My son Archie just died, Amanda.”
Pain flashed across her face.
Then it vanished.
“I’m not spending my life trapped raising a dead man’s babies.”
She climbed into the taxi.
I waited for her to return.
For a week.
Then a month.
Then until Christmas.
Eventually, waiting became another task folded into the rhythm of ordinary life.
The girls continued growing.
Children do not stop needing breakfast simply because the adults around them are falling apart.
I worked mornings at Mr. Khan’s bakery because he allowed the girls to remain in an unused storage room filled with crayons, books, and little chairs while I worked.
At night, I cleaned office buildings.
I learned how to braid hair by practicing until my hands finally understood.
