By mid-morning, the house had begun to settle into its own rhythm. At around 10 a.m., Paul took my mother back to her home. She had insisted on staying behind to help me adjust, but I knew she was relieved to return to her own space. Her silence throughout the drive last night had said more than words ever could. Now, it was just me, Tabby, my niece who had been with us for the past two weeks, and the children.
By the time Paul returned the car, I had already prepared lunch, a modest meal of rice and stew, simple but filling. The smell of the simmering meat filled the kitchen, mingling with the distant laughter of the kids who were watching Akili Kids. It had been a while since I had cooked a full meal on my own, but I threw myself into the task with the enthusiasm of a new employee eager to prove themselves. There was something oddly satisfying about it, measuring the ingredients, tasting the broth, ensuring it was just right.
For now, I was managing. I knew the real challenges lay ahead, but in these first few hours, I clung to small victories.
It had been almost ten hours since Mary’s last message: “We’ve boarded.” Her words had played on repeat in my head, a bittersweet melody that both comforted and unnerved me. She was miles above the ground, hurtling across continents in a giant metal bird, and there was nothing I could do but wait.
Then, my phone buzzed. I grabbed it quickly, my heart leaping as I read the new WhatsApp message: “We are now at Frankfurt.” A flood of relief washed over me. I stared at the words, rereading them as if to absorb the reality of her journey. She was safe. She was on track.
The tension in my chest eased, if only slightly. I replied with a quick, “Thank God! Keep me updated,” and then set the phone down, already calculating the remaining hours of her flight. There were still long stretches of sky to cross, but this little update felt like a lifeline, a reminder that we were both navigating uncharted territory, even from opposite ends of the world.
Tabby peeked into the kitchen, her cheerful voice breaking my thoughts. “Uncle, the kids are hungry.”
I nodded, pulling myself back into the present. The children’s laughter drifted in from the living room, their carefree world so different from the one I was building for us now. I handed Tabby the plates, watching her move easily, her lightness a reminder that change didn’t have to be heavy.
As we sat down to eat, I caught myself smiling faintly. Yes, it was just the first day. Yes, there was a mountain of challenges ahead. But for now, we had rice, stew, and laughter. For now, it was enough.
By the time Paul returned the car, I had already prepared lunch, a modest meal of rice and stew, simple but filling. The smell of the simmering meat filled the kitchen, mingling with the distant laughter of the kids who were watching Akili Kids. It had been a while since I had cooked a full meal on my own, but I threw myself into the task with the enthusiasm of a new employee eager to prove themselves. There was something oddly satisfying about it, measuring the ingredients, tasting the broth, ensuring it was just right.
For now, I was managing. I knew the real challenges lay ahead, but in these first few hours, I clung to small victories.
It had been almost ten hours since Mary’s last message: “We’ve boarded.” Her words had played on repeat in my head, a bittersweet melody that both comforted and unnerved me. She was miles above the ground, hurtling across continents in a giant metal bird, and there was nothing I could do but wait.
Then, my phone buzzed. I grabbed it quickly, my heart leaping as I read the new WhatsApp message: “We are now at Frankfurt.” A flood of relief washed over me. I stared at the words, rereading them as if to absorb the reality of her journey. She was safe. She was on track.
The tension in my chest eased, if only slightly. I replied with a quick, “Thank God! Keep me updated,” and then set the phone down, already calculating the remaining hours of her flight. There were still long stretches of sky to cross, but this little update felt like a lifeline, a reminder that we were both navigating uncharted territory, even from opposite ends of the world.
Tabby peeked into the kitchen, her cheerful voice breaking my thoughts. “Uncle, the kids are hungry.”
I nodded, pulling myself back into the present. The children’s laughter drifted in from the living room, their carefree world so different from the one I was building for us now. I handed Tabby the plates, watching her move easily, her lightness a reminder that change didn’t have to be heavy.
As we sat down to eat, I caught myself smiling faintly. Yes, it was just the first day. Yes, there was a mountain of challenges ahead. But for now, we had rice, stew, and laughter. For now, it was enough.
