A poor, overweight orphan girl is forced into marriage with a homeless man; a few days later, he arrives in a Rolls-Royce.

After that, there were only the cold lights of the hospital, the whispers of loved ones, and a white sheet covering two motionless bodies. Her parents hadn’t been rich, but they were warm. Their home was modest, but it echoed with laughter. Once they were laid to rest, that laughter seemed to follow them to the grave. Her aunt, her mother’s older sister, had taken her in not out of love, but out of obligation. « You’re lucky I’m not heartless, » her aunt often said, « others would have thrown you out. » Amara quickly learned that gratitude was expected, even for the crumbs she was given.

At first, she tried to be small: small in appetite, small in voice, small in presence. But grief does strange things to a child. Food became her only comfort when the house felt too cold or when her aunt’s words cut too deeply. When her cousins ​​rolled their eyes at the sight of her, she would find herself eating quietly in the kitchen, long after everyone else had gone to bed. It wasn’t gluttony; it was survival. By sixteen, her body had become rounder, more voluptuous than those of other girls her age. Her cousins ​​were slim, wore fitted dresses, and braided their hair with a confidence she lacked.