The walk home was slow. Not because the road was long, but because Emma's soul was dragging behind her body.
Her confrontation with Mr. Muli had left her shaken. She felt exposed. Vulnerable. The kind of tired that doesn't just settle in your bones, but in your spirit.
She had passed the stage without even noticing, barely aware of the shouts of hawkers and the rattling of worn-out matatus. Her feet moved on instinct. Her mind was miles away.
The door creaked as she pushed it open, revealing the little bedsitter she and Lia called home. It smelled faintly of cooking oil and soap. Lia was asleep on the mattress, curled up like a leaf, her tiny hand tucked under her cheek.
Emma knelt beside her, brushing a soft curl away from the girl's forehead. "My sweet girl," she whispered. "You deserve more than this. I promise... one day, you'll get it."
A light knock interrupted her whisper.
Knock knock knock.
Not the neighbor's kind of knock. Not Ruth's. This was heavier. Familiar.
She stood slowly and opened the door.
There he was — the landlord.
A heavyset man with too much breath for his lungs and too little patience for grace. His shirt, too tight for his belly, was half-tucked, and his belt looked like it had seen better years. His face wore that practiced expression — not angry, not kind. Just business.
"Emma."
She nodded once. "Good evening."
"No need for pleasantries. It's the 5th. Rent was due on the 1st."
"I know."
"You always know. Every month, you know."
She tried to speak, but nothing came. Her tongue felt like stone.
"You think I don't understand struggles?" he went on. "I see what's happening. That kid. That job. That tired look you always have. But knowing won't pay my mortgage."
Emma swallowed hard.
"I'll give you until Saturday," he said, crossing his arms. "But this time, no games. If you don't have the rent, you'll need to move."
He turned and walked off like the words were weightless, but they hit Emma like stones.
As she closed the door slowly, Lia stirred on the mattress and called out groggily, "Mama?"
Emma forced a smile as she knelt beside her. "I'm here, baby."
She held her close, kissed her temple, and stared at the cracked ceiling. She was unraveling slowly. Piece by piece. The world kept testing her limits, and she kept pretending she still had more to give.
Just then — a knock again.
Softer.
Emma froze.
She opened the door a second time.
It was Ruth, holding a paper bag and her scarf against the breeze.
"You didn't think I'd let you go home alone today, did you?"
Emma blinked fast. "How did you—"
"I know how you get after days like this," Ruth said, slipping inside like she'd always belonged.
She placed the paper bag on the counter. Bread. A small pack of milk. A packet of juice for Lia.
Emma didn't say thank you. She didn't know how to.
But her eyes, red and tired, said everything.
And Ruth understood.
To be continued...