For a child under five, I think they feel the change in the stitching more than the tear. The pattern of the house shifts—who holds you, whose lap is absent. They sense the cold patch in the quilt of the family. In our joint home, when my uncle and aunt fought, I did not understand words, but I clung to my father’s worn shirt more tightly. Their loud voices made the colours of my rag-ball seem dull. So, it is not the divorce they feel, shona, but the sudden silence where there was once a steady hum.
#parenting#school
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