FERT

  As narrated by the Mother: “When I was young, my mother was a lover of children, not just her own, but everyone’s. Other mothers in our community would bring their little ones to her door. They knew she would cook for them, tend to them, scold them when needed, and love them as fiercely as if they had sprung from her own womb. And I? I walked tall. I was proud to be mothered by such a woman. But pride, like peace, can shatter in a single night. I remember one evening when a woman came rushing to our home, clutching her limp, lifeless infant. Her eyes were wild, not with grief, but with accusation. She pointed a trembling finger at my mother. “You poisoned my child!” Then, without another word, she abandoned the baby with us and vanished into the dark. My mother panicked. She gathered the child in her arms, woke my younger brother and me, and hurried through the night to her elder brother—a renowned herbalist, a man whose hands knew secrets the living had forgotten. My uncle took ...