eserved to be framed. The only photo on the shelf was a small one of baby Raymond, just two weeks old, with a pout that resemb

es forward. Other days, she woke up drenched in the cold sweat of old nightma

mirrors on

why the moon followed their car at night. She didn't know what broke her more: the brill

ing lullabies she sang off-key. It was ordinary, but it was theirs. Her therapis

urled around hers, the ache came back-the dull, pressing loneliness

t messages-first begging, then threatening, then pitiful apologies. She

s and butterflies like they owed him answers. She sat under a tree, sketching him absently in the corner o

, is this

ile and tired eyes. Not tired from stress, but from life.

en shook her head

"That yo

no

my niece. Loud a

doesn't know how t

project about single mothers in Nigeria. "Not to exploit," he said qu

ued her

s in different genders. He was careful with his words, but honest. And for the f

en a routine. Then somet

rying too hard. Some evenings, he'd stop by just to read the boy bedtime

e was

s monster, meets good man, ruins it because she doesn't b

aid one night after dinner. "I'm still

ged. "We

not w

rfect woman, Alero. I'

ows and Raymond snored softly in t

ee naira. She started a puff-puff business the next morning

"Why are you te

e told me it was the first ti

Not from sadness-but from the

idn't let

UV parked across the street. A man in sunglasses stared for a few seco

restraining order. But Alero shook her hea

locks. She prayed more-fierce, guttural praye

came into her room ho

And a tall man with

" he said proudly

for a long time, somethi

addy, is he?"

she wh

d. "But he can

issing his forehead. "O

d

did