"She has a child," he said instead.
His mother didn't react immediately.
She stood there for a moment, her hand still resting lightly on the back of the chair as if she had forgotten what she meant to do next. The room held the words, let them settle, let them find their place in the air before anything else moved. Dayo watched her carefully, not because he didn't know what was coming, but because he did. He knew the weight of silence in her. He had grown up learning it.
She exhaled slowly, then sat down across from him, adjusting her wrapper in a small, controlled motion that looked almost ritualistic. When she finally looked up at him, her eyes were sharper than before, clearer, as if the information had already begun arranging itself into meaning.
"She has a child," she repeated, quieter this time, like she was testing the shape of it. "Luna."
Dayo nodded once.
