The next day, Jeff traveled.
And with him gone, Mabel’s cruelty lost its leash.
When Angela arrived early, she heard shouting inside.
She rushed to Papa James’s room and found Mabel standing over him, hands on her waist, anger loud.
“Every morning you’re calling my name!” Mabel yelled. “Am I your mate? Why can’t you sit in one place?”
Papa James looked small, frightened. “Please don’t shout,” he pleaded weakly. “You are stressing me.”
Angela stood at the doorway, fists tightening.
When Mabel finally left, Angela entered gently.
“Papa, good morning,” she said.
Papa James looked up with tired relief. “My child… thank you. That woman is not good to me.”
Angela sat beside him. “Papa, don’t worry. I’m here.”
He squinted at her. “Your face looks familiar. Have we met before?”
Angela smiled softly. “Yes, Papa. I’m the girl who gave you money that morning.”
Papa James frowned, confused. “I… don’t remember.”
“It’s okay,” Angela said. “Don’t stress yourself.”
After feeding him, Papa James held her hand.
“My child,” he said, “don’t go home tonight. Stay here. Mabel is not good to me.”
Angela’s heart squeezed, but she shook her head.
“Papa, I’m sorry. I have to go. My mother is sick. She needs me.”
