I waited four years after her birth, crossing each day off my mind’s almanac and when the women trooped in, that familiar look on each face, I knew for certain, it was today.
Mama came for Chinazam but my grip stiffened. I burst through the door, with the child on my back, bereft of regret. I would not have her imprisoned in the claws of those barbaric women, each taking turns to rid her entirely of luscious desires.
Her purity is not consequential to profuse screeching in a puddle of blood. Neither was mine then, but I had no choice.