Alex Jr. was five years old now, and he asked questions about everything.
The bright, curious boy with his father’s striking emerald-green eyes and his mother’s gentle smile had become a whirlwind of energy and wonder. He loved stories, football in the small courtyard, and asking “Why?” at least fifty times a day. Claire cherished these years — the sticky hugs, the endless drawings, the way he would climb into her lap and demand another tale about the “brave wolf prince.”
But some questions were harder than others.
It happened one quiet Sunday evening. They were sitting on the small balcony of their Lagos apartment, watching the sunset paint the sky in vibrant oranges and pinks. Alex Jr. was curled against her side, his head resting on her shoulder as she read him a bedtime story. The c
