Efsa woke up every night.
He didn't need anyone to tell him what was going on. He knew. He had listened quietly, again and again, through the walls of their small home.
And every night, he slipped out of bed to check on their mother. She never noticed.
She sat inside her room, back against the wall, crying as quietly as she could. Her hand covered her mouth to muffle the sobs, but they still reached Efsa.
He thought maybe it would stop. Maybe one day she would cry a little less. But she didn't.
In fact, she cried more as the days passed. As the time approached.
And one night, it was different.
Instead of Efsa getting up to see her, she came into their room. Her footsteps were slow, like every step dragged her deeper into something she couldn't return from.
She sat beside Asef's bed to pet his head with a trembling hand, silent tears falling onto the blanket.
Then, softly, she whispered: "I'm sorry."
After she left, Efsa, already awake, sat up in bed.
He didn't need to ask.
