Nyla kneels now, feeling the weight of that memory pressing down on her. Her fingers graze the dirt floor, tracing the worn boards that have somehow endured all these years.
Etta's voice was steady but her heart was pounding like thunder. 'Ain't nobody coming here at this hour.' But her friend warned her of a brewing anger, reminding her that they can't outrun it.
Nyla's hands tremble as she prises up the same boards. The smell of earth hits her first - rich, damp and ancient.
For a moment, she freezes. This is it. This is where Mama hid. Where Grandma buried her fear.
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