“She stepped inside, and I followed her and my mother up the stairs. My mother had carried me up those stairs as a child. She'd taught me how to walk on them when I'd been a child. I'd swept those stairs as soon as I could hold a broom. Now I climbed them feeling as if my life was ending.
In the living room, Safia was watching cartoons and rocking back and forth on the sofa with her thumb in her mouth. Safia still hadn't spoken a word. For this, my mother saw her as a dream. She showered affection on Safia in a way she'd never done with me. My mother told me I'd been difficult. I'd cried and cried as a baby and never been happy. I'd never been her favorite, even when it was just me.”
―
Bushra Rehman,
Roses, in the Mouth of a Lion
