KURT CROSSED THE AIRY hall, bypassing several floor-to-ceiling windows and polished white walls adorned with paintings and photographs.
He spied Mummy Diola in an African print shift dress lingering in a corner of the room and gazing up at a photo. He walked to her side.
She didn’t look at him but smiled and said, “Hello, darling.”
“Hi, mom.”
Diola shunted her head to one side, her stare flowing over the photograph. It was a black-and-white, of a mother, a baby on her back, with one hand clutching the small hand of another child. The expression on her face held a mixture of weariness and bewilderment.
“I don’t know if I like this photo.” Diola murmured, frowning slightly. “Her face... it’s as if she’s wondering why she’s there, at the moment... as if she’s pondering the life choices s
