Tina pushed the thought aside, forcing herself to sit up, to keep her voice even. “I just thought… maybe this morning could be ours.”

Bette turned at that, her expression softening. She leaned down, pressing a kiss to Tina’s temple. “We’ll have tonight,” she promised. “I won’t be late.”

Tina wanted to believe her, wanted to hold onto that, but as Bette pulled on her boots and ran a hand through her messy curls, all she could feel was the empty space she left behind.

Outside, the guinea fowls had quieted, the world fully awake. And just like that, the fleeting moment in the early morning was gone.

***

The morning sun had fully risen by the time Tina settled into her routine, the sting of Bette’s early departure lingering but pushed aside by the demands of the day.

She adjusted the vibrant shúkà, the traditional Maasai cloth wrapped securely around her body, holding Angelica snug against her back. The fabric—a gift from the nearby village when they had heard of her pregnancy—was a striking mix of deep red, indigo, and gold, patterned with intricate geometric shapes. It smelled faintly of sun-dried cotton and the smoky scent of many shared fires, a reminder of the hands that had woven it with care.

Angelica, now drowsy from the gentle sway of her mother’s movements, let out a small, contented sigh, her chubby fingers resting against Tina’s side. The little girl’s head lolled slightly, cushioned against the curve of Tina’s shoulder, her soft curls catching in the morning light.

Tina moved through the lodge grounds with ease, the weight of her daughter a familiar comfort against her back. The knot of the shúkà was firm, tied high across her chest just as the Maasai women had shown her, allowing Angelica to rest securely while keeping Tina’s hands free for the day’s work.

One of the older women from the village had once told her that carrying a baby this way kept their heartbeat close to the mother’s, steady and strong, a reassurance that they were safe. Tina smiled, brushing her fingers over Angelica’s tiny foot peeking from the folds of the cloth.

The lodge was alive with the restless energy of its wild residents, each one with a story, each one adding to the strange, chaotic harmony of this place.