“Manasseh is dead!” — the words come to me with a finality, the full measure of which I do not comprehend. When we spoke on the phone just last week, he sounded like himself. Today, he is no more. I would accept it if I knew the weight of his demise.

Our two older sisters, Maria and Gimbia, are long gone. Me and your mother are the only ones left. As we get older, our time together cannot be wasted on things that do not matter, her selfishness included. She has been this way since we were girls. She is not a bad person.