She’d cried for days when he left, wondering how she’d survive – just her, the boy, and the nanny-goat.
She started to sell tea with goat milk. People talked of the odd delicious beverage and her samosas, the tastiest for miles.
She made enough to repair the roof. Rain didn’t come in any more. Her place looked smart finally.
Somehow he heard of her success and returned. Drunk as usual.
Her son filled the doorway, sickle in hand. ‘Show some respect, stranger.’
Nothing more needed to be said.
She wasn’t scared of him any more.
Finally her son understood.