“Your ancestors—the people like you from long ago. There was a war, and…”
Storms. How did you explain slavery to a seven-year-old?
“He saw it in her eyes. The anguish, the frustration. The terrible nothing that clawed inside and sought to smother her. She knew. It was there, inside. She had been broken.
Then she smiled. Oh, storms. She smiled anyway.
It was the single most beautiful thing he’d seen in his entire life.”