Sabrina walked home, Samuel fell back. She glanced casually behind her, but couldn't see him. Once she neared her house, her steps slowed. The house was painted turquoise with the shutters a beautiful purple to compliment the roof, the circular stairs in front a bright pink. She loved this house. It reminded her of the best times of her childhood. During the times her parents split up, and they stayed with her Ouma, they'd bake koeksisters and milktart and make bobotie and all the other wonderful dishes her Ouma knew by heart. There'd be no fighting, only Ouma singing off key in the kitchen and her workroom. After the old quilting frame and needles and spindle Sabrina had inherited from Ouma, the handwritten cookbook she gave her was her most treasured possession. Handed down from mother t
