Prologue
Nine months ago

There is a peculiar ache that comes with knowing you will leave before the people you love are ready.

It settles quietly into your bones. It changes the way you watch ordinary moments. A spilled cup of tea becomes something to cherish. Laughter echoing through the hallway becomes a melody you wish you could bottle forever.

From the bedroom window, Shade Mofolawe watched her daughters.

Gbemisola was in the garden again, reminding everyone what needed to be done, as though the world would fall apart if she stopped carrying it on her shoulders.

Derinsola laughed loudly at something Ireoluwa had said, only to chase her around the compound a moment later over a missing pair of slippers.

Irawo sat beneath the mango tree with a notebook resting on her knees, writing about a world no one else seemed to notice.

They were different. Wonderfully different. Yet she feared one thing. That they would stop loving each other.
The doctors had become gentler with their words. Their smiles lingered a little longer than necessary. Visitors prayed harder. Her husband cried only in places where no one could see him.

One evening, as the girls slept upstairs, she reached for her husband's hand. "Promise me something." Chief Mofolawe looked at her, his eyes already wet. "Anything."
"If I go before you..."

She paused, gathering the strength the sentence demanded. "...teach them how to love." He lowered his head into their joined hands. "I will." She smiled. Silence filled the room. The silence of a promise taking root.  

CHAPTER ONE

The Spill on the Table

"Homes are not broken by one loud argument but by many quiet wounds left unattended."

Morning always arrived gently at the Mofolawe residence.

Sunlight filtered through the cream curtains, painting soft golden streaks across the polished floors. The aroma of fried plantains drifted from the kitchen, mingling with the rich scent of brewing tea. Somewhere outside, birds sang as though they had gathered for a choir rehearsal.

Inside the house, however, everyone had their own rhythm.

Gbemisola stood in the kitchen, tying her apron as she flipped plantains in a frying pan. Every few seconds, she glanced at the wall clock.

"Ire!" she called. No response.
"Ireoluwa!"
"I'm coming!" a voice echoed from upstairs, followed by the unmistakable sound of someone singing at the top of her lungs.
Gbemi sighed, shaking her head with a smile. "That girl..."

Across the hallway, Derinsola sat at her desk, carefully adding the finishing touches to a presentation she had spent the last three nights preparing.

Her eyes were tired. The coffee beside her had long gone cold. She stretched her aching shoulders before smiling to herself. "Finally," she whispered. "Done." She gathered the neatly arranged pages and placed them carefully on the table beside her bed.

Just one more glance before submitting it later that day. Satisfied, she left her room to grab breakfast. Downstairs, Irawo sat quietly by the window with a notebook resting on her lap. She wasn't writing. She was watching. Watching the mango tree sway, watching sunlight dance across the leaves, watching life.

Then she smiled and wrote a single sentence. "Some mornings feel like peace before a storm." Just then, footsteps thundered down the staircase. "I'M HUNGRY!"

Ireoluwa appeared with one shoe on, her backpack hanging from one shoulder and a piece of toast hanging from her mouth.

Gbemi stared. "You've not even packed your lunch."
"I know."
"You've not polished your shoes."
"I know."
Gbemi folded her arms. "So... what exactly have you been doing?"

Ire grinned. "Breathing."
Gbemi laughed despite herself. "Go and get your lunchbox."
"As you command.