“Hey, little one. Over here.” Emma looked back, saw the woman turned in her direction and headed toward her, holding out the small bag of fruit that she hadn’t yet sold. She’d done well that morning and she was in a good mood, so she didn’t notice how angry the woman was until it was too late. The woman leaned over without even glancing at the bag of fruit dangling in Emma’s hand. “They say you live with an old Hutu,” she said, her voice low and threatening. “What are you doing with her? She’s one of them, one of the assassins. Don’t you know that?” Emma struggled to answer. “She…she saved my life,” she mumbled, but that seemed to provoke the woman even more. “And who’s to say she wasn’t denouncing others at the same time she was hiding you?” she went on, her voice raised. “It happened often.” Emma flinched and said nothing, but that just made the woman angrier.
