The next morning felt different.
Quieter.
Calmer.
As if the air itself knew a difficult decision had been made the night before.
Rebecca was feeding Olerato when I walked into the kitchen.
She didn’t look up.
“About yesterday…” she said, her voice soft but steady.
I didn’t interrupt.
I wanted her to speak her truth fully.
“I’ve been thinking,” she continued.
“I’m not ready to pretend everything is okay…
but I also don’t want Olerato to grow up carrying a war that never belonged to her.”
I felt my chest loosen.
“So,” Rebecca sighed,
“you can tell your mother she can come…
but I need to see how she behaves around my child.
One wrong move — just one — and I’m done.”
I nodded, taking her hand gently.
“No one will ever hurt you or our daughter again,” I promised.
Rebecca fina
