The first night after the birth is the last unbroken sleep Amara is granted. The savage rhythm of the baby’s nights drags her to a state of exhaustion beyond any she could have imagined. Rufina’s screaming wakes them hourly, and by the third night, when Philos yet again hands her the baby to feed, Amara sobs and tries to hide her head under the blanket.

Philos is also hollowed out by exhaustion, no longer light on his feet, but staggering clumsily to dress himself as he struggles from the house at dawn, working solidly until nightfall, when their torment begins again.

The days of celebration and family visits that would follow the birth of a child if Amara were married, or rich, are instead a strange state of seclusion. Britannica waits on her, even learning how to wash and swaddle Rufina, ensuring Amara has nothing to do other than feed the baby or sleep. Julia, too, makes Amara feel less alone. Her landlady visits every morning, bringing Amara gifts of food or toys, and a few days after the birth, Julia insists Amara join her in the garden.

They sit together, heaped in blankets, the baby sleeping peacefully on her mother in cruel contrast to her wakeful nights.

“You must decide who you will invite to the naming ceremony,” Julia says, reaching out to sip the sweet wine on the table beside her.

“I wasn’t sure it would be appropriate for me to hold one.”

“Nonsense!” Julia waves her glass for emphasis, the dark liquid splashing against the side. “If you are worried about the size of the flat, I am happy to host it.” Julia is too polite to mention that Amara might also be afraid of the cost.

“You are so kind, but you’ve done too much for me already.”

“Amara, you are going to have to learn to be more like my mother. Never turn down a gift. It’s hard enough bringing an illegitimate child into the world, without standing on pride.”

Rufina sighs deeply in Amara’s arms, a contented, snuffling breath. Julia watches, an unusually soft look in her eyes, as Amara settles her.

“What was she like, your mother?”

“Ah.” Julia gazes across the garden, as if picturing another figure standing there, and although she smiles, her expression is shaded with melancholy. “She was the best and the worst person you can imagine. But it’s fair to say she taught me everything I know, and not a day passes when I am not grateful to her.”

“Did your father always support her?”