“Wait for me,” she said.
They nodded.
For the first time in years, she walked into the city carrying more than her own survival.
She carried five lives.
And somewhere deep inside her, a fear she did not yet name whispered the truth: loving them would cost her everything.
By the third day, the room no longer felt like a shelter. It felt like a challenge.
Kadiatu woke before the boys, careful not to disturb the fragile order that had settled overnight. Five bodies lay on the floor in uneven lines, backs turned instinctively, feet touching, guarding one another even in sleep.
Outside at the communal tap, women’s voices dipped when they saw her.
“Did you hear?” one whispered. “She brought street boys into her room. Five of them.”
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