The days leading up to Amina’s visit moved with a quiet steadiness that still felt new. The house on Maple Lane had settled into a rhythm that no longer carried the sharp edge of secrecy. Elias and I woke up without the old tension in our chests. We made coffee together, talked about small things over breakfast, and went about our days with the knowledge that the people who mattered most now knew the truth.
Amina had confirmed she would arrive on Friday afternoon and stay until Monday morning. “Just us,” she had written. “I have some more questions, but I also just want normal time on the porch. No pressure. I miss you both.”
Elias read the message while we were folding laundry on the couch. He smiled — the soft, real smile that appeared more often these days.
“She’s coming for a long w
