"Meet my daughter," Amira said. Her voice was not the voice Amara remembered, it was quieter, stripped of its old polish. "Her name is Hope."
The child stirred at the sound of her name. Turned her face. Blinked at the light with the slow, undefended confusion of the recently woken, then resettled against Amira's shoulder and looked at Amara with large, curious light blue eyes.
Something moved in Amara's chest.
She kept her face still.
"I know what I did," Amira said. She was not crying yet, but the words were carrying the weight of what was behind them, dense, pressurised, like water behind glass.
"I know how many times I did it. I know there is no amount of, I wouldn't have come back here. I want you to know that. I would not have come to this house if it were just me." She paused. Swallowed. "But it isn't just me."
She pressed her lips together for a moment.
