Writers 
โA letter to my father's concubine
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โHey Natasha, I am the last daughter of the Mwapes, the child who learnt to count absence before she learnt to count stars.
โMy father was a visitor in my story, a name that lived in photographs more than in memories.
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โAnd somehow, your name echoed through our house more than his ever did. I visited your page. Not out of jealousy, but curiosity.
โWanting to know what was so special that it could pull a father away from his children.
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โWhat I found was a woman collecting attention like trophies on a shelf. But attention is not love, and borrowed affection is not a victory.
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โ You took my father's time, not his loyalty. There's a difference. My mother cried in silence, yet carried her dignity like a crown. And me? I learnt that some women are remembered for what they built, while others are remembered for what they helped break.
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โSo, Natasha, I hope one day when the applause fades and the attention grows old, you find something deeper to hold on to.
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โYour sincerely.
โThe daughter who deserved her father's presence.
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