The angel of the orphan

he Scar That

uds hung heavy, grey and brooding, casting long shadows over the orphanage yard. The air w

her like that-so small, so undone. The woman who had carried children through famines and floods, who had spoken hope into orph

window, drawing circles on the glass with her finger. The older children tried to keep the younger ones distracted-reading, sweeping, fetching wat

ly one who dared t

iscus tea, her fingers trembling. "Mama," she whi

d on the ground, red and raw from crying.

And waited. The silence stretched between th

voice barely a thread. "I tried to keep them safe.

since the villagers

erous confrontation. Sarafina had hidden her, educated her, called her "daughter." But Sauda's uncle had found h

Sauda away screaming while Sarafina stood between them and the gate, beaten

ad happened. And not a single

," Sarafina w

No. You fought for her when no one else would. You gav

eplied, her voice breaking. "She needed prot

alling into the dust, two women

stood up in the middle of the sitting room and said,

dishes, cooked nshima and pumpkin leaves. They laid a plate at the table

tly, each one holding a candle. In the center of the room was a small mat

little Ireen said. "

, but with the unbearable love that filled the room

k, on the same list where she kept every child who had passed through her doors. Some were in high school now, others had children of their own. Some

e region. A local journalist heard about it and published a piece in The Z

market women. People who had read the story and felt compelled to do something. A lawyer from Lusaka even o

pty corner where Sauda used to sleep, her heart sank. Every time s

she kep

every Sunday, she placed a flower on the mat in the middle of the room, now permanently Sauda's spa

Mirriam and said, "I want to start a center for girls. A safehouse. Not just for the

s glistening. "We'll

aling, because some wounds don't heal-but from purpose. From the stubbo