"So, like, all of this drama unfolded just yesterday," Hazel quipped, popping a spoonful of cookies and cream ice cream into her mouth.
"Haz, it was wild," I replied, scooping some salted caramel into a cup.
"Sa ta dwe travay la dyab," Hazel mused, shooting me a look.
"Li travay di tankou tout tan," I giggled in response.
"Well, my mom's always says 'Dyab la travay di men, Senyè a travay pi di,' so don't stress, this mess probably has a legit reason," Hazel shrugged, plopping down on the couch.
"Your mom's like a wise guru lol". Let's hope she's onto something," I said, a touch of worry creeping in as trouble seemed to be on the horizon.
Two hours drifted by, and with Hazel gone, I found myself alone in the quiet embrace of my home
"Mummy, mummy, mummy, mummy!" My daughter's voice pierced through the quiet house.
"Mwen sèmante devan Bondye, if you keep belting out like that, you might lose your tablet privileges," I asserted, ascending the stairs with a mix of irritation and curiosity.
"Yay, you're finally here! Can I pretty please spend the weekend with Aunty Hazel?" The plea danced in her eyes.
"Why didn't you walk downstairs and ask me that, Haven?" I teased, a playful frown on my face
"That's not all, Mum. Could you also be a superhero and rescue me from the evil moster known as homework?" She fluttered her eyelashes, unveiling neatly arranged worksheets on her bed.
"You're so lucky I love you," I conceded, settling onto her bed. As I scanned over her homework, not a single mistake caught my eye. She inherited her father's intelligence; however, I couldn't help but feel he misused his brilliance.
A sigh escaped me. "Is everything okay, Mummy?" Haven asked, concern across her face.
"Why don't you ask about your dad?" I inquired, my gaze fixed on the worksheets.
"Because I don't have to. If he were truly my dad, he'd be here right now, like you are," she responded, embracing me.
"I love you so much, Haven," I confessed as a single tear slipped down my cheek.
"I love you too, Mummy," Haven reassured me, wiping away the tear and planting a kiss on my cheek.
"Alright, everything is correct. What do you want for dinner?" I inquired, eager to exit the room before my daughter witnessed my vulnerability.
"Can you make shrimp and rice, Mummy?" she requested, well aware that her desires often translated into reality.
"Is curry shrimp and rice acceptable, baby?" I proposed, acknowledging her fondness for the dish.
"Yes, please!" she exclaimed, her enthusiasm evident. I sighed; she was just like me at her age.
