#Hania Diné

[antiquatedsimmer]

"Please excuse her," Lucile said as soon as they were inside, her voice trembling, "She’s not feeling well, and I think the weather has only put more stress on her… She’s not normally like this."

Nia’s eyes softened, "Lucile, I'm old. It takes more than a sharp tone to ruffle my feathers. Besides, I remember how hard it is."

A brief moment of silence stretched between them, before Nia continued.

"Do you have any children, Lucile?"

Embarrassment welled up inside Lucile, the same feeling she had as a child when she felt out of place. Women her age usually had several children by now. She sighed, disappointment coloring her words. "Not of my own."

" From an experienced mother...When I was carrying my youngest, it was difficult to move around. You can ignore my advice if you like, but I don't think straying too far from home is wise. She could end up hurting herself and the baby.""

Lucile nervously steepled her hands, tapping the tips together anxiously. This was something she had always hoped to discuss with her own mother, but with her gone...

"Lucile." Nia’s voice cut through her thoughts, pulling her back to the present. She realized she had spaced out without responding.

"Oh—uh, you're right," she stammered. "We just got caught up in the rain. I'll make sure she rests more."

Nia’s face had hardened into a stony expression, her brow furrowed. The look made Lucile feel like a child about to be scolded. She tried to hide the anxious fidgeting of her fingers.

"Lucile, come here."

Nia's tone was firm as she ushered her toward one of the empty tables. "I’m going to ask you again—what’s wrong?"

"Woman to woman, I can tell something is off. Whatever judgment you might face outside of here, I promise it won't fall on you while it's just us in this room."

"Forgive me, I…" Lucile struggled to maintain the polite tone she had practiced, but exhaustion and stress broke through. Her shoulders slumped. "These past months have been awful…"

What began as a small confession about her and Josephine being alone, struggling to find work and living in the woods, snowballed into a torrent of emotion.

Her parents' deaths, her brother's betrayal, their neglect, and the harsh reality of leaving the home her father had meant for her all poured out in an avalanche of words.

Nia listened patiently, occasionally nodding. At one point, she got up from the table and poured them both glasses of wine. Lucile stared at the purple liquid in Nia's glass, her own glass already empty from stress-drinking it all.

"I know what that feels like, Lucile. You're not alone," Nia said, her voice a soothing balm against the raw edges of Lucile’s despair. She gently rested her chin on her hands.

"You do?" Lucile perked up.

"Of course."

"My people were forced away from their home years ago. We walked for miles, and thousands of my people perished from starvation, disease, abused by the control of US the army."

Lucile's eyes widened in shock. She hadn't heard anything about this, not even in her history classes with her father.

"I-, that’s horrible. I… had no idea. Papa never mentioned anything like that."

"Imagine writing a book about your life. Wouldn't you be tempted to leave out the most unflattering chapters?"

Silas always had a way of painting changes at home in a positive light, even when they served only his own interests. Those memories flitted through Lucile's mind like fleeting ghosts.

Nia’s voice broke through her reverie. "People like us are often seen as mistakes, something to be erased. My point, Lucile, is that I understand the pain of losing family, the toll of disease, the upheaval of moving, and the challenge of starting over...That type of pain, never truly goes away. "

"And raising a child in such harsh circumstances? It's a immense task to take on alone."

A choked cry escaped Lucile's lips. "I don't know what to do. Everything I've done… it's never enough."

"Nizééʼ!" Nia's words cut Lucile's cries short, her words like a lash. "Life will give you plenty to cry about if you don't do what needs to be done."

Lucile squirmed in her seat, straightening her back and doing her best to stifle her sniffles. "Well, wha—what can be—I mean, what can I do?"

"You ask for help."