The air in Mansa’s spacious, minimalist apartment was a stark contrast to the hospital’s antiseptic chill. It smelled of sandalwood and quiet, a sanctuary carved out of the city’s chaos. Linsy helped Aunt Lydia to a deep, cream-colored sofa, the older woman finally allowing her formidable energy to dissipate into exhausted indignation.

“A son,” Lydia muttered, kicking off her heels with an unladylike force. “What’s the point? All they do is break your heart and your best china. A ...