It seemed contradictory, given the revelation of Ruth’s helping Sarie’s family financially, but it wasn’t. Being a charitable benefactor and being a friend were two totally different things. The first kind of relationship suited Ruth’s view of the world: that black people were dependent on whites to survive. It wasn’t selfless giving; it was a generosity that reinforced Ruth’s belief in her own supremacy. I’d seen it time and again at the various aid organizations I’d worked for across Africa: white saviors who swooped in with the sole intention of saving black people from themselves.

It was the one thing about me that Ma disapproved of. That, despite the teachings of the church and the politics of the time, I didn’t believe in white supremacy or the division of the races. It wasn’t a political statement I was making back then. It was just that Sarie was kind to me and showed me love, and so I naturally returned the consideration and affection.

When I left for the convent, Precious, then seven, was heartbroken. My attention had singled her out and probably made her feel as special as her adoration had made me feel. Sometimes all we need is to be seen in order to blossom. Just be seen, nothing more.

“How did she recognize you after all this time?” Sarie now marveled. “She hasn’t laid eyes on you since you were seventeen.”

“She said I look just like Ma.” I laughed. “She thought I was a ghost.” Considering Ruth had thought I was our dead mother when she first saw me, I supposed there was an uncanny resemblance.

I was surprised when Sarie changed the subject. “Did your friend find you, by the way?”

“What friend?”

“The one who came here just over a month ago looking for you. I told him you hadn’t lived here since you were a girl and that the family was all long gone. He was very disappointed.”

“Did he tell you his name?”

“I don’t think so. I don’t remember.”

“Do you remember what he looked like?”

Sarie shook her head. “That was the week my glasses broke, before I was able to get a new pair. All I know is that he was tall and he spoke English. His hair was white here,” she said, indicating temples that had grayed.

I’d had a fantasy throughout my life that one day I’d open the door to find Daniel standing there, wanting me to be a part of his life and to hell with all the reasons I’d had for leaving him. For a moment, just a moment, I allowed myself to believe that the fantasy had come true, that he’d come in search of me after all those years.