“Ma, I’m almost eighteen,” I tried to comfort her by saying. “You were married to Da by the time you were eighteen.” “That’s different,” she sobbed. “How?” “Because you’re my baby,” Mam sniffled. “Oh god, my baby is sexually active.” “No, I’m not,” I coaxed, hugging her. “I promise, I am not having sex.” Right now. “I’m not, Ma.”
