The world has forgotten about us, but we could not have lasted in this place without understanding that our existence is dependent on us sharing with each other.

Saba wrapped an arm around Hagos and tickled his waist with her long nails.

Saba dipped her hands into the bucket, scrubbing the dirt out of the father and son’s shirts, as gently as she did to her own skin. The life of clothes had to be extended for as long as possible. The morning sun followed its path in the sky, dispersing heat in its wake. Eyob left his hut barefoot, tucking in his shirt, buttons still undone. Greying hair clustered on his chest. He greeted passers-by and waved at those standing in the distance.

The businessman is smiling at us, some of the children said, applauding, only to flee when Eyob’s whistling drew Tedros out of the hut.

I thought you said whistling was satanic, eh Papa? he laughed.

Parents are contradictory, Eyob said, smiling at his son.

Well, I am happy to see you in a good mood, Tedros said. But what happened to you? You look like a refugee yourself now.

Tedros laughed and sat next to his father. He clicked his fingers. Saba, tea.

Saba, though, didn’t respond to her name wrapped in Tedros’s morning breath. Eyob took the pot that Saba had prepared off the furnace and poured tea for his son.

The father and son talked as if Saba wasn’t there.

My younger self is finding a new life in a refugee camp, said the businessman. It is never too late to be who you truly are. Hagos taught me that.

Saba stopped and pulled her hands out of the bucket. She looked up. Her face met the sun, yet Eyob’s words burnt her inside with the thought that her brother, in Eyob’s eyes, was a source of wisdom, of change, and not a recipient of pity or sympathy.

Tedros’s call woke her from her reverie. No dreaming here, he said.

Saba resumed the washing, her ears opened to the father and son’s conversation.

Eyob and Tedros reminisced about the past. About the time a five-year-old Tedros clung to their maid’s breasts and had to be pulled away. They laughed. My aunt always said you should have married her, said Tedros.

Yes, my dear sister thought of every woman I met as a suitable wife for me.

She wanted you to be happy, Father.

Why do people assume you only find happiness when you are married? Eyob said, raising his voice.

Like my aunt said, Father, you are handsome, well-educated, wealthy. Any beautiful woman would fall at your feet, said Tedros.

Yet, a beautiful woman left me.

Tedros didn’t respond.

I am sorry to remind you of your mother, Eyob said.

I’ve lived a happy life without her, his son replied.

Tedros, please. I want you to understand that your mother had reasons for leaving me.

And leaving her two-year-old child too?

Regardless of what your mother did or didn’t do, she alone is responsible for her actions, not all women.