LOGINI stare at David’s name on my screen. My heart rate spikes. My throat tightens.
Amon notices incontinently. “ Everything okay? ”
“ It’s my partner. He keeps calling from different numbers. ”
Amon’s expression darkens. Not with jealousy. With concern. “ That’s not okay, Sarah. Is he draining you? ”
“ No. I mean, not really. He just wants to talk. Says Zainab broke up with him and he made a mistake. ”
I declined the call. It incontinently rings again.
“ Do you want to talk to him? ”
Amon asks it precisely. No judgment. Just a genuine question.
I look at him. This man who sees me. Who doesn't try to control me? Who asks rather than assumes?
“ No. I really, really don't. ”
I answer anyway. Put it on a speaker, so Amon can hear. So I have a substantiation. So I’m not alone.
“ What, David ”
“ Sarah, thank God. Hear, we need to meet. In person. I’m outside your apartment right now. I’ve been staying — ”
My blood runs cold. “ You’re WHERE? ”
“ I’m at your structure. I need to see you. We need to talk in person. These phone calls aren't enough. I can explain everything if you just — ”
“ Don't you dare come to my home unasked. ” My voice is shaking. “ We're disassociated, David. Disassociated. That means you don't get to show up whenever you feel like it. ”
People at nearby tables are starting to look. I do n’t care.
“ I’m trying to fix this! Why are you being so delicate? Is someone there with you? Is that why — ”
“ This discussion is over. However, I’m calling the police if you don't leave my building in the next ten minutes. ”
I hang up. My hands are shaking. I looked at Amon, eyes wide with wrathfulness and fear mixed.
“ I'd have to go home. I've to make sure he actually leaves. ”
“ I’m coming with you. ”
“ You don't have to — ”
“ Sarah. I’m coming with you. You’re not facing him alone. ”
I want to argue. Want to prove I can handle this myself. But the truth is, I don't n't want to be alone. I’m tired of being alone.
“ Okay. ”
We leave the café quickly. My coffee untouched. The white rose forgotten on the table.
The boda- boda lift to my apartment feels eternal. I sit rigid behind the motorist, Amon on another bike following. My mind races with scripts. What if David’s still there? What if he makes a scene? What if —
He’s still there.
Standing by his sleek black Mercedes. Arms crossed. Looking tone-righteous and wounded.
I climb off the boda- boda. Amon arrives seconds later, immediately at my side.
David’s expression shifts when he sees Amon. Surprise. Also wrathfulness.
“ So this is why you won't talk to me? You’re already f*ck*ng someone new? ”
The words are designed to hurt. To shame. To make me small.
They don't work presently.
“ That’s none of your business. You need to leave. ”
“ We were married for three years, Sarah. That gives me the right to — ”
“ It gives you nothing! ” My voice rises. I’m apprehensive of neighbors on sundecks now. Mrs. Nabunjo from upstairs was watching with concern. I don't care. “ You gave up all rights when you cheated. When you prevaricated. When you made me feel crazy for noticing. Leave. Now. ”
David's way toward me. Amon immediately moves between us. Not aggressive. Just present. A physical boundary.
“ She asked you to leave. ”
David’s hands gripped into fists. For a moment, I suppose he might actually swing. Also, Mrs. Nabunjo calls down from her deck.
“ Sarah? Oli bulungi? Should I call the police? ”
David realizes he has an audience. His mask of wounded ex-husband slips. The real David underneath — petty, vengeful, small.
“ Fine. FINE. But don't come for to me when this fantasy falls piecemeal. You’re making a huge mistake, Sarah. ”
He gets in his auto. Peels out too fast. Tires howl. Dust rises.
Silence settles.
I stand firmed . Adrenaline still pumping. My hands shake.
Amon doesn't touch me. Just stands near. Present. Patient.
“ You okay? ”
I nod, Also shake my head. Also laugh. It comes out slightly hysterical.
“ I do n’t know. That was — I can n’t believe he just — ”
“ You were inconceivable. ” Amon’s voice is firm. “ You set boundaries. You stood up for yourself. That took real courage. ”
“ I was alarmed. ”
“ Brave people are always alarmed. That’s what makes them brave. ”
I look at him. This man who showed up. Who stood between me and my partner without being asked? Who’s still here?
“ Thank you. For coming with me. For — for everything. ”
“ Always. ”
We stand in the emulsion. The afternoon sun beating down. The normality of the neighborhood continues around us.
I should go outside. Should reuse this. Should be alone with my thoughts.
“ Do you want to come up?” The words escape before I can stop them. “ I need — I don't want to be alone right now. ”
Amon studies my face. Making sure I mean it. Making sure I’m not just replying.
“ Are you sure? ”
“ I’m sure. ”
We go outside. My apartment feels different with him in it. Lower empty. Less like a prison.
I sat on the couch. He sits beside me. Near but not touching.
“ That was your re-husband. ”
“ That was David. Yes. ”
“ He’s an *ssh*l*. ”
I laugh. “ He really is. ”
“ You earn better. ”
“ I’m starting to believe that. ”
We sit in comfortable silence. The adrenaline slowly draining. My heart rate returning to normal.
“ Sarah? ”
“ Yeah? ”
“ Can I hold you? Not in a romantic way. Just you’re shaking and I want to help. ”
I nod. Ca n’t speak.
He pulls me against his chest. His arms come around me. Solid, safe-deposit box. Asking nothing.
I let myself be held.
For the first time in years, I let someone hold me without expectation. Without a docket.
I do n’t cry. I just breathe. Let his steadiness anchor me.
“ I’ve got you,” he whispers. “ You’re safe. He’s gone. ”
And I believe him.
Fog lifts slowly above the stones where she lies. Time folds into itself near this place. Forty winters passed since Ayana left. We stand quiet by the marker now. Memory hums low beneath our feet.At my age now — sixty-eight — the days feel heavier. Seventy years old, Amon moves slower too. Pain tags along most mornings, never asking permission. What happened long ago sticks clearer than what came last week. Yet here it remains, steady through all of it: our love. Not fading, just deeper.Here every child has come. David, age fifty, arrives alongside his grown kids — four in total — and brings along three little grandkids too. Great-grandmother — that title? It catches me off guard each time. Still does.Forty-eight-year-old Amara sits beside her six kids. Last year marked James’s exit from Mulago Hospital. Now, maps and faraway cities fill their conversations.Forty-two years old, Zara wears scrubs and listens to heartbeats. A mother of three, she walks hospital halls much like James
Fifteen years old, that’s when Emmanuel meets her — his first girlfriend walks into his life like a quiet morning light.Now there's a woman named Sarah. She goes by that name everywhere she turns up.That name again, I think, as he makes the introduction.“I know. Weird, right?”“Very weird.”She has this calm kindness that feels rare. What stands out most is how her presence shifts something in him — his face softens without trying, like joy just spills over.She walks away. Then it hits me. That look you gave her says more than words ever could.“She’s okay.”“You like her a lot.”“Mom, stop.”“I’m just saying - ”“Please stop.”One moment he tied his shoes without help. Now here he stands, older, quieter, figuring out how someone else feels. That boy. The youngest of mine. Stepping into nights I cannot see. Growing up moves fast when you’re not looking.“Where does the time go?” I asked Amon.“I’ve stopped asking. It just goes.”Failing tests isn’t about brains — Emmanuel has pl
Fifty-two years old, then there are fifteen grandchildren already around.Fifteen.A fresh page helps when listing things out. Tracking details gets easier that way.David and Grace have four children: Lily nine, Peter seven Hannah five and newborn Joshua, Amara and James have five, Maya eight, Sofia six, Clara, four and one-year---old twins Naomi and Nathan Zara and Marcus have a six-month-old daughter Emma Kiya and Samuel are still in South Africa waiting for their first childFifteen,” says Amon again, his eyes on the sketch of names I made.“Soon to be sixteen.”“I’m too old for this.”“You’re fifty-one. Not old.”“I feel ancient.”These days, the kids come through our door like trains on a schedule.Fridays roll in, then David takes the kids somewhere while Grace waits at home. Nights stretch quiet once the house empties out. Dinner gets warmed on low heat. Laughter returns when they talk without interruptions.When James stays at work past dark, Amara shows up on her own.Freq
Fifty-six months after her last classroom exam, Grace walks out of a doctor's office. Her stethoscope rested heavy around her neck that morning.Years pass before the last page gets written, kids underfoot. Then one morning, it just ends.There I am, tucked into a seat beside Amon, Emmanuel — eleven now — and David’s children. Tears don’t stop once during the event. From start to finish, they just keep coming.When Grace steps onto the stage, Peter yells out, “That’s Mama!”Quiet now, says David through tears, his own voice breaking the silence he tries to keep.Falling into her chair, Grace looks tired yet glowing at the dinner. Still, a quiet energy moves through her.“I did it,” she keeps repeating. “I actually did it.”“We feel a lot of pride,” I say to her.“I couldn’t have done it without you. Watching the kids, supporting David, being there when I was stressed.”“That’s what family does.”“No. That’s what extraordinary families do. You could have resented me for going back to s
Kiya turns eighteen just before saying what she plans to do.Midway through Sunday dinner — the house now packed with twenty-five souls, grandkids spilling into corners — she rose.“I have something to tell everyone.”A hush falls across the space. When it's Kiya speaking, no one knows what comes next.“Samuel and I are moving to South Africa. He got accepted to architecture school in Cape Town. And I got into their art program.”Silence.Then chaos.“South Africa?” My breath catches.“That’s so far,” Amon says.“When?” David asks.“In three months.”Voices pile up, loud, tangled. People shout without waiting. Answers get lost before they start.After everyone else is gone, only we remain. That’s when I moved close to Kiya.“South Africa? Really?”“Mom, it’s an incredible opportunity. Their art program is one of the best in Africa.”“But you’ll be so far away.”“Amara lived in London for two years.”“That was different.”“How?”“Because —” The words won’t form. Something shifted. That
Zara marries Marcus in a beautiful outdoor ceremony.She’s twenty-one. Marcus is twenty-three. Young but ready.“Are you sure about this?” I asked her while helping her get ready.“More sure than I’ve ever been about anything.”“You’re so young.”“You were twenty-six when you married Dad. In modern terms, that’s practically the same.”“Smartass.”“I learned from the best.”The ceremony was in a botanical garden—Zara’s choice. She wanted something natural, beautiful, full of life.All of our family is there. David and Grace with their three kids. Amara and James with their three daughters. Kiya, Joy, Emmanuel. Plus extended family and friends.“We need a smaller family,” Amon mutters while trying to find seats for everyone.“Too late for that.”The ceremony was beautiful. Zara walks down the aisle in a simple white dress, and Marcus cries the moment he sees her.“You’re so beautiful,” he mouths.Their vows a







