Nour, Bread
Her hand finds the doorframe before her feet decide to move — old wood, still solid, the one thing that hasn’t changed shape this year. She doesn’t let her sons see her hand shake against it. There will be time for her hands to shake later, alone, after they’re asleep.
Tonight there is bread enough for two, and her children will eat.
Discover more from MeanderingPassage
Subscribe to get the latest posts sent to your email.