Kinuthia sat at the edge of the bed, one leg bouncing restlessly as the dim bedside lamp cast a mellow glow across the room. His phone lay in his palm, screen still lit from the last check-no new messages. No calls. Nothing.
He sighed and leaned forward, elbows on his knees, fingers interlaced in silent frustration. The silence was gnawing at him, more than he cared to admit. Sophie hadn't replied to his last three texts. No update about Asta. No "We're okay," not even a simple, "Goodnight."
It was unlike her. The Sophie he knew would flood his phone with check-ins, casual messages laced with concern. "Where are you?" or "Have you eaten?"-those small tokens of attention that once made her feel so near, so constant. Now, only distance filled the void.
His mind whirred with unease. Was she alright? Was Asta worse than they feared? Or...was it something else?
Kinuthia stood and began pacing the room, the unsettling quiet pressing against his ribs. Something had shifted. And he wasn't sure if he was prepared to know what.
Kinuthia's fingers hovered over the call icon beside Annette's name. The soft glow of the phone screen reflected in his eyes, but he didn't press it.
Something held him back.
It wasn't fear-at least, not the kind he was used to. It was something deeper, more complex. A quiet intimidation, maybe. Annette wasn't the same girl who once waited up for his calls, who tried to hold their fractured world together with stitched hopes and trembling patience.
She had changed.
She walked differently now, not just with heels but with purpose. Her voice was steady. Her silence louder. She had become...unreachable, not in distance, but in stature. She had risen-somehow, despite the odds, despite him.
And now, she was the one taking care of his son.
"She said she'll take care of them..."he reminded himself, swallowing the guilt pressing on his chest. There was no need to disrupt the fragile balance. No need to stir waters already beginning to settle.
Still, his thumb lingered over her name. Not calling felt cowardly. Calling felt...inadequate.
He turned off the screen and tossed the phone beside him. The silence returned, stretching long and heavy.
And Kinuthia sat still, caught in the shadow of the man he used to be-and the woman he no longer recognized.
As the last bite was swallowed and the room fell into a gentle hum of post-dinner calm, Wamary appeared from the hallway, her warm yet authoritative presence diffusing through the dining space. She moved with graceful efficiency, her leso swaying at her waist as she began collecting the plates and empty glasses.
Sophie instinctively rose to her feet, reaching out to gather the remaining utensils, but Wamary gently intercepted her hands.
"Don't, madam," she said softly yet firmly, her voice laced with care. "You've had a long, draining day, and little Asta needs his rest-as the doctor emphasized. Please, just
head to bed. Leave this to me."
Sophie hesitated, her fingers curling slightly as if reluctant to release the plates. Her eyes flicked over the table, as though double-checking for unfinished duties. But finally, with a subdued nod and a faint, polite smile, she relented.
Annette pushed back her chair, standing with quiet composure. Her face unreadable, her tone clipped in measured warmth, she said, "Goodnight, Sophie. Goodnight, Asta."
Asta, curled gently in Sophie's arms with heavy eyelids, turned his head and mumbled, "Goodnight, Auntie."
That single word-auntie-landed heavily in Annette's chest like an unexpected blow. It sliced through the layers of poise she wore so well. But she was swift to recover, forcing a smile that stretched wide but never reached her eyes. She dared not betray the tightness twisting in her heart.
"Sleep well, little man," she replied, her voice carefully neutral.
Sophie offered a brief smile, her tone soft. "Goodnight, Annette. And thank you...for everything."
Annette gave a slight nod before turning toward the hallway, her posture tall but her shadow flickering with the echoes of emotions too tangled to name.
As Wamary guided Sophie and Asta toward the guest wing, silence followed Annette's retreat-save for the faint rustle of the leso and the quiet thud of cutlery being cleared.
As Sophie stepped quietly into the guest room, the soft click of the door closing behind her was followed by the glow of her phone screen lighting up-several messages from Kinuthia.
She picked it up, her thumb hovering above the notifications. A flick of her finger revealed his words, tinged with concern and curiosity. "Hope Asta's okay." "Haven't heard from you all day." "Let me know something, please."
She stared at them for a long moment, her expression unreadable. He must have sent these earlier, she thought. Now it's too late to reply. I'll call him in the morning.
She set the phone down on the nightstand with a quiet sigh and turned to Asta, who had fallen asleep still clad in the day's clothes. Careful not to wake him, Sophie gently peeled off the little outfit, replacing it with a soft cotton pajama set from the bag Wamary had laid out. The moonlight slipped in through the sheer curtains, bathing the room in a tranquil silver glow.
Sophie tucked him in, brushing a tender kiss against his forehead, and softly began humming an old lullaby-one her mother used to sing. Her voice was a silken whisper, warm and honeyed, weaving through the still air:
🎵"Sleep, little star, the sky holds your dreams, Rocked by the night on silverly beams, Close your eyes, and drift in peace, The world outside can softly cease..."🎵
Asta shifted slightly, a contented sigh escaping his lips as he nestled deeper into the pillows.
Sophie watched him a moment longer, then slowly leaned against the other side of the bed. She pulled the throw blanket around her and stared up at the ceiling.
But sleep didn't come.
Her eyes remained wide open, and her thoughts began to spiral-entangled in the events of the day, in Kinuthia's silence. The room was warm, safe, even beautiful...yet something unsettled simmered beneath her calm.
Was it guilt? Resentment? Or just fear of the unknown?
She closed her eyes, willing her thoughts to still-but they only ran deeper.
As Sophie lay quietly on the guest bed, the gentle rise and fall of Asta's breathing beside her was the only sound in the room. Yet her mind was anything but silent.
Her gaze drifted toward the ceiling, but her thoughts spiraled upward-beyond the polished finish of the chandelier and into the chambers of uncertainty that now haunted her heart.
Annette...
There was something disarming about her. Poised, articulate, impossibly composed. Her aura was magnetic-elegant without effort. The way she moved, the subtle grace of her voice, the quiet authority she carried...it was a kind of femininity that left no room for pity. No flaw on the surface. No hesitation in her stride.
Why didn't Kinuthia marry her?
The question hovered like a ghost.
She was the kind of woman men dreamed of but dared not approach too casually. From what Sophie had observed today alone, it was clear-Annette was a woman who had built herself into Something solid. Owning two sleek vehicles, residing in an enviable estate, and holding down a prestigious career-these weren't the markings of a broken woman. These were the triumphs of someone deeply intentional, deeply capable.
But the whispers Sophie had once heard painted a different image. An image that now struggled to remain believable.
Sally's voice echoed in her memory-careless and animated. "That Annette? Please. She used to party like the city was hers. Men? Countless. Drinks? Endless. She was wild. No man could settle with that."
And there was Wangari-Kinuthia's sister. A woman Sophie had come to trust during the early days of her marriage. Devout, conservative, with a husband who led a congregation. Surely, a woman of faith wouldn't invent such things.
"I thank God Kinuthia chose you," Wangari had once said with quiet conviction. "That other girl was trouble. No roots, no discipline. What future could he have had with someone like that?"
Back then, it had seemed so comforting. Reassuring. But now, in the silence of this house-this well-curated life Annette lived-the old rumors felt unstable, like paper-thin lies held up to the wind.
Sophie furrowed her brow, turning slightly to look at Asta's peaceful face.
Was it all a fabrication? A narrative conveniently crafted to comfort her, to justify Kinuthia's choice? Or had Annette truly transformed-reborn into a woman few could have predicted she'd become?
She exhaled slowly.
If everything said was true, how did that same woman evolve into the version standing in this house-unapologetically composed, impossibly dignified?
The lines between truth and gossip began to blur, leaving Sophie restless and confused.
In that moment, all she had were fragments-some spoken, some observed-and none of them seemed to fit together quite right.