Menelya felt her lungs give an involuntary spasm as she hurried back to her own room. She nearly broke into a run. Her tearstained face would create much talk among the ladies if they saw her. Finally reaching her room, she flung open the door, dashed in, and closed it soundly. Menelya leaned on the door for a second, collecting the thoughts that rebounded off all corners of her brain. She replayed the scene in her head.
Nana,” Anwenelme asked as she reached the point where she finally made her way toward the door when she left, “You will not tell others, will you?”
“No,” Menelya said immediately, without thought. She could not tell the others, even if she wanted to hurt Anwenelme further. That was, in fact, the furthest thing from her mind now. Even the reaction of the other women and the shame revealing Anwenelme’s condition would cause her was a very distant thought. Menelya felt an odd sense of affection for her daughter. She was not used to such a feeling towards anyone. The sensation of Anwenelme’s grasp around her was still strong. The girl held onto her as thought she was frightened that Menelya would leave her in her condition.
Menelya sat down in a chair heavily. It was time to think. She had to be a mother now; she had to be there in case Anwenelme needed her advice. But what advice would she give? She certainly did not live her life the way she had wanted to originally. Menelya put her head in her hands and began to cry again. It felt good to cry again. She could not remember the last time she let herself do so. Menelya wept openly both for her daughter’s future and her own past, letting the sorrow finally escape from her heavy chest.
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