“I have never wanted children. I did not know how to tell you, and I did not want to tell you to get rid of it, you know?” “WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU, STEVE?” I yelled into the phone as every emotion that had been pooling up in me broke the banks of my reserve.“I am sorry,” he said, like that was supposed to fix anything. Like he could feel sorry for the pregnancy away or my pain away or the fact that he had left me for months. Months! “Where are you, Steve? Where were you? Where have you been…?” I cried into the phone. I was still crying hours after he hung up. I tried the number again. It was off. He was gone.

“Masikonde may be changing his mind. I don’t want him to change his mind,” She added quickly, like a caveat to show she had nothing to do with it. And she spoke in length. About his sudden change of attitude, and mood. Their conversation last night. “I did not know who else to talk to, so I came here.”

By the time she reached him, she was weeping loudly. She fell on his chest, only stopping when Saitoti started crying loudly. “Sorry... Sorry. I just feel so bad because I have not come to see you for so long. I am sorry...” She ran her newly soft fingers across his face and noticed his eyes straining to focus on them. She pulled them away and folded her palms into fists.

For the two hours Terian spent in the ward, Moraa paced up and down the reception area as she talked to herself. She still could not come up with a plausible explanation as to why Terian had been put under her care. Who was she? Surely she could not be of romantic interest to her boss? She, more than anyone, knew Masikonde and his taste of women.

Shifting in the driver’s seat, he studied the new arrival. She was tall; he guessed five feet, maybe nine inches. She bordered between slim and skinny. Even scrawny, if he could be brutally honest. Her long neck stuck out of her tee shirt; a less graceful person would have looked stoopy with that neck.She walked in carrying two clear buckets on each of her slender arms, and a tattered rucksack of indefinite colour strapped on her back. She placed the buckets near her feet. He could clearly see githeri in one, and ugali in the other.

Cut off from supply lines, the fighters chewed bitter wild roots that left their mouths numb. They drank from cold streams thick with silt. Each night, their stomachs clenched with hunger, their bodies curled against each other for warmth beneath canopies that dripped rain like tears. Yet even in exhaustion, they stared into the darkness and saw freedom shimmering—close enough to feel, yet still beyond reach.