Third-Person POV
The sun dipped lower as evening shadows stretched across the quiet street.
A soft wind danced along the gutters, rustling wrappers and leaves, carrying with it the scent of pepper stew and kerosene smoke.
Across from Mannie’s small house, Zarah stepped out of the neighbor’s compound wearing a silk cream dress that shimmered under the amber light. Her gold heels clicked softly against the pavement as she adjusted the strap of her designer handbag.
She didn't belong here, and she knew it.
Her makeup was flawless, her perfume expensive.
The women from the community group who had always looked down on her, now grovel at her feet for her scraps.
Standing in front of the gate, she turned back to speak with the woman she had just met inside—Auntie Remi, the neighborhood's
