AUTHOR POV

Clarissa sank into a woven chair. Denzel’s aunt served steaming bowls of chicken soup into their hands—rich broth and white rice, the warmth seeping into Clarissa’s bones.

Tessa sat on the edge of a cushioned bench, spoon hovering. She took a sip. The soup was healing, somehow. She closed her eyes, letting the salty broth nourish her.

Aunt Maria, the old woman, patted Clarissa’s shoulder and then Tessa’s , “No one knows you’re both here. And Denzel already told me everything I needed to know”

Denzel nodded. “And no one will. Auntie will come with us to pick up Clarissa’s daughter and mother in the morning.”

Clarissa’s eyes...