The angel of the orphan

to your shoes and refused to let go. Mama Sarafina sat on the edge of her bed that morning, her hands folded tightly in h

asn't addressed to anyone. The handwriting was familiar.

then I probably never had the c

art po

ago. She said nothing then, just wrapped her arms around her. Maybe that was the nigh

read

. I still hear your voice in my head when I want to disappear: 'You matter, Mirriam.

iam to say those words aloud, but here they were, carved

nt was enough to melt years of quiet pain. Sometimes, love wasn't l

ounger ones with their spoons and napkins. She moved with such tenderness. She had grown

Mama Sara

ed up, sligh

ater today? Ju

in her eyes, a hesit

avocado tree behind the kitchen hut

sn't looking for an

scanning the cover. Her breath ca

threw it away,"

ething in you wanted m

lid down her cheek. "I didn't

ama Sarafina said

else. The breeze danced betwe

iam leaned into her. Not because she was lost,