Àwọn Àmì-ìwé Tí A Fẹ̀

The next morning, Samuel returns. He does not go inside. He does not confront her. He stands ten feet from the motel door, holding a bag of bread and fruit. She comes out in a silk robe, her arms crossed, her face hard. She tries to push him away with her words. But he does not move. He is not angry. He is not judging. He is waiting.