At dinner, she avoided eye contact with him. When friends visited, she felt embarrassed by his worn clothes and shaky movements. Sometimes she caught neighbors whispering.
“The old man has become a burden.”
And little by little, she started believing it too.
Then came the night everything changed.
Malik returned home unusually late, his face pale.
“The company closed,” he said quietly.
Amina stared at him.
“What?”
“They’re bankrupt. Everyone lost their jobs.”
The room fell silent.
Without Malik’s salary, they had almost nothing. Rent was overdue. Bills piled up on the table. Their son’s school fees remained unpaid.
For the first time, fear entered the house like a living thing.
Days became heavier.
Amina sold jewelry to buy food. Malik searched desperately for work, but every interview ended with rejection.
One evening, after another failed attempt, Malik exploded in frustration.
“I’m trying!” he shouted, slamming his fist against the wall.
Amina burst into tears.
And in the corner of the room, Baba Suleiman listened quietly without speaking.
The next morning, before sunrise, the old man disappeared.
Hours passed.
Amina worried he had wandered off or collapsed somewhere in the streets.
But just before sunset, he returned carrying an old metal box covered in dust.
Without saying a word, he placed it on the dining table.
