The news did not explode.
It travelled.
Slowly.
Like smoke finding its way through small openings.
By Monday morning, three different aunties had called my mother.
Not to ask directly.
Just to “check on her.”
That was how it started.
“Ah, I just remembered you,” one of them said loudly over speakerphone while I sat at the dining table pretending not to listen.
“How is everybody? How is Lina?”
My mother answered calmly.
“She is fine.”
“Fine fine? Or fine?”
“I said she is fine.”
Silence on the other end.
Then a small laugh.
“These children of nowadays…”
My mother ended the call before the sentence finished.
She did not shout.
She did not complain.
She simply placed the phone down and exhaled.
“It has started,” Maya muttered.
And she was right.
By Wednesday, our neighbo
