Morning light spilled softly into the guest room, casting golden stripes across the bed. As Sophie stirred awake, her hand instinctively reached for the warm little body usually nestled beside her-but found only empty sheets. Her eyes snapped open.
The bed was half empty. Asta was gone.
Startled, she sat up and glanced toward the door. It stood slightly ajar, a silent clue. She sighed in relief, guessing he had woken and and wandered downstairs. Still, her motherly instincts flickered with worry.
She turned to check her phone resting on the nightstand and blinked at the time-10:03 AM. Her brows shot up. She had never woken this late. Not even on weekends. For as long as she remembered, she rose every morning at exactly 6:30 AM-not just by the phone alarm, but by a deeper, mental one engraved in her rhythm. That was the time she always rose to prepare Kinuthia for work, and Asta for daycare. Today, her body had betrayed that clock.
With a quick breath, she rose from the bed, slipped her feet into her slippers, and moved toward the sink. After a brisk face wash and brushing her teeth, she changed into a fresh pair of comfortable clothes and tended to her hair, running the comb gently through the long strands until they fell neatly.
A quiet moment of morning grooming, a ritual that helped her feel a bit more in control-even in someone else's house.
Still, something gnawed at her-a sense that this day was already different.
Sophie descended the staircase quietly, her bare feet making no sound on the polished wooden steps. The house was unusually silent, save for the faint chirping of birds beyond the windows and the occasional creak of the house settling. As she reached the dining room, she was met by a warm and thoughtful sight-a covered plate set neatly on the table, like a gift waiting to be unwrapped. Next to it was a thermos and a delicately folded napkin, all arranged on a wide, hand-woven rattan placemat that looked almost like a breakfast basket.
She glanced around. No one.
Curious, she stepped toward the window that offered a view of the front garden. There, beneath the soft morning sun, she spotted Wamary and Asta crouched by the flower bed. Asta was holding a tiny yellow watering can, grinning as he doused a row of marigolds while Wamary encouraged him, her waist still wrapped in a vibrant leso, head covered with a neatly tied kitambaa.
Wamary looked up and noticed Sophie at the window.
"Aki, Mama Asta! Don't be shy-breakfast is waiting for you right there!" she called out cheerfully.
Sophie smiled warmly and replied," Asanti, Wamary."
She returned to the table and uncovered the plate. Her senses were instantly embraced by the delightful aroma of a well-prepared breakfast: fluffy scrambled eggs garnished with finely chopped parsley, two perfectly browned slices of toast glistening with a brush of butter, and a few neatly cut avocado wedges on the side, drizzled lightly with lemon juice. A handful of sweet, ripe berries sat in a small ceramic bowl beside it-strawberries, blueberries, and a single slice of mango like a sunburst.
Opening the thermos, she gently poured the beverage into a ceramic mug. A stream of warm, creamy milk flowed in, releasing a subtle aroma that took her back to childhood mornings.
She sat, took a bite of the toast, and murmured to herself with a small smile, "Mmh... this is delicious." She chewed thoughtfully savoring the balance of flavor and nutrition. "Annette is lucky to have someone as experienced as Wamary. I hope Asta enjoyed it too...it's just his liking."
As the peaceful morning embraced her, Sophie realized that-despite everything-there was something comforting in this new space.
After finishing the last bite of her breakfast, Sophie dabbed her lips gently with the napkin and rose from the chair. Though Wamary had insisted on handling the cleanup, a sense of domestic instinct tugged at her. She gathered the plate, mug, and utensils and headed toward the kitchen.
Upon entering, she paused for a moment-taken aback by the pristine order of the space. The kitchen was a harmonious blend of soft cream and walnut hues, with glossy marble countertops that gleamed under the filtered morning light. Polished cabinets with gold-accented handles stood like a gallery of elegance, each perfectly aligned, their surfaces unblemished. Everything was immaculately organized-the spice jars neatly labeled, the cutlery gleaming in its drawer, and the air infused with a subtle scent of lavender and something warm, almost cinnamon-like.
Sophie washed the utensils quietly, the warm water cascading gently over her hands as she glanced around, noting the care and precision that had shaped every detail of this home.
Curious and still barefoot, she stepped outside into the garden where a chorus of birdsong welcomed her. The sun had climbed a little higher now, bathing the flowers in golden warmth. She spotted Wamary crouched beside the flowerbed, but what truly caught her eye was Asta-mud-splattered, cheeks flushed, and hair sticking to his forehead. His clothes were damp and speckled with flecks of earth as he clutched the now-empty watering can like a victorious soldier returning from battle.
Sophie gasped and placed a hand over her heart. "Oh, my poor Asta! Not even a full day of rest and you've already thrown yourself beyond measure-if it were me, I'd still be curled up in bed nursing my exhaustion," she said with affectionate.
Wamary chuckled heartily, adjusting her headscarf. "Indeed, he's little warrior-just like his mother. Annette has the same fire. She pushes herself relentlessly...even when she clearly unwell. I've seen it with my own eyes-those days she walks with a smile, yet I know she's burning up inside, refusing to rest, refusing to break."
Sophie turned her gaze toward the house momentarily, her expression softening with conflicted wonder. "So much strength hidden in silence," she murmured, almost to herself.
Asta ran toward her then, laughing, arms open-muddy and carefree.
Asta bounded over to Sophie, his small feet squishing against the damp grass, arms outstretched with boyish glee. Reaching her, he tugged at her shirt and pressed his muddy palms gently against her cheeks in playful affection, giggling as he smeared a trace of earth on her skin.
Sophie let out a soft chuckle, her eyes twinkling as she gently tapped his cheeks. "Naughty boy," she murmured with warmth, her fingers caressing his plump cheeks still flushed from all the activity.
After tickling him back into laughter, she reached for a nearby jerrican resting beside the flowerbed. Bending down, she began to carefully pour water over the flower stems, watching the soil absorb it thirstily. The sun now glistened off the dew-kissed petals, and for a moment, it felt like a perfect, serene morning.
Then, a thought struck her. She straightened up and looked toward the house, a slight crease forming between her brows. "By the way, Wamary," she asked casually, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear, "I haven't seen Annette all morning. Is she still upstairs?"
Wamary, still crouched over a row of marigolds, looked up and shook her head. "No, she left at seven sharp. Didn't even touch her breakfast. She mentioned she has a heavier workload today-making up for the time she took off yesterday."
Sophie blinked in surprise. "That's early?"
Before Wamary could respond further, Asta now crouched beside a cluster of dahlias, perked up. "Mummy...chuchu...where's Auntie Annette?" he asked, titling his head innocently.
Sophie turned to respond , but her phone buzzed sharply in her pocket. Pulling it out, her breath caught slightly when she saw the name on the screen: Kinuthia.
Sophie stared at the screen for a moment longer before finally sliding her thumb across to answer.
"Hello," she said, her voice low, cautious.
"Finally," Kinuthia exhaled sharply on the other end, a mix of frustration and relief bleeding through his voice. "You've picked up after ignoring all my texts."
Sophie, shifting her gaze away from Wamary and Asta, walked a few steps from the flowerbed. "When you texted...we were at the dining table," she said softly. "I left my phone upstairs in the bedroom."
Kinuthia's tone sharpened slightly, "Why couldn't you carry the phone with you?"
Silence.
Sophie didn't respond. Her lips parted slightly but no words formed. She stood frozen, fingers tightening around the phone.
Noticing the tense pause on the line, Kinuthia sighed deeply, the edge in his tone giving way to restraint. "How's Asta?" he asked more calmly this time.
Sophie blinked, grounding herself herself. "He's...doing a bit better," she replied. "He took his medicine on time, ate without much fuss...he's been lively, playing outside."
Kinuthia's voice softened , touched by emotion. "That's my little soldier."
A pause hung in the air again, but then Kinuthia, almost without thinking, asked, "And...how's Annette?"
Sophie flinched, blinking rapidly at the name. "Surprisingly...what?" she muttered, her voice edged with disbelief.
On the other side, Kinuthia immediately realized the weight of his words. He had asked his wife about the well-being of another woman-his ex-the mother of his child. His silence was now guilt-laden, his breath caught in his throat.
Sophie didn't need to say anything. Her silence thundered louder than any rebuke. She stood there in the golden morning light. phone pressed to her ear, eyes lowered-but her mind stormed with emotions.
The line between past and presence was blurring...and Kinuthia had just scratched it raw.