On the fifth of the third month, a human storm blasted into the nursery.
"My nephew!"
Zarfa, bringing even more gifts than before, burst into the nursery like Jade, even though she was twenty years older than my two-year-old bird. Son. She didn't care, throwing her arms in the air, running in with sparkling eyes and cheeks flushed from both cold and excitement.
Haa...how could I scold her if she looked that happy about my child?
Thankfully, Shwa was a calm and gentle boy; he didn't cry from loud noises, although he would throw a tantrum if we didn't feed him on time. This greedy little boy.
Or perhaps he realized that his blanket, the neatly arranged toys, the clothes he wore, and the storybooks lining up on the shelf were from this one sugar aunty.
"I was right! It's a boy!" Zarfa slid onto the floor, clasping her cheeks as she stared at the baby in my arms.
