One year later it was raining again.

Not the angry rain from November. This was the soft kind that came in April and made Lagos smell like wet earth and roasting corn. I was sitting on the floor of my apartment with my back against the wall, watching the water run down the window. Kemi had twelve leaves now. I had stopped counting after three and just let her grow.

The yellow curtains were still up. They had faded a little in the sun, but I liked them better that way. Less bright. More mine.

A year ago I thought an epilogue would feel like an ending. It did not....