Jane

Amira stayed with me as I trained, sitting on a bench and watching every move with those worried eyes. She kept offering me water, telling me to be careful, fussing over me like a mother hen.

“Baby girl, take it easy,” she said gently when I started getting too aggressive with the punching bag. “I don’t want you hurting yourself. You’re already going through so much.”

“I won’t, honey,” I replied. I drank the water she offered, letting her care soothe some of the rough ...