This is my post on #freewriters3194 #dailyprompt too much suffering hosted by 
The rain had not stopped for three days when Nneka finally sat down beside Emeka on the veranda, watching water pool in the compound where their mother's cassava stakes used to stand.
"Everything is going," Emeka said quietly. "The farm, Papa's shop, now even the roof."
Nneka did not answer at once. She had buried her own private griefs — a lost job in Uyo, a marriage that had ended in silence — and had learned that suffering, when it came in floods, taught patience faster than any harmattan season ever could.
"Do you remember," she said finally, "how Papa used to say a river that refuses to bend will break?"
Emeka managed a small, tired laugh. "He said many things."
"He also said suffering that does not kill a man teaches him where the firewood is dry." She reached for his hand. "We will rebuild. Small small."
Outside, the rain began to ease, and somewhere beyond the flooded yard, a cock crowed as if unaware that anything had been lost at all.
Emeka squeezed her hand back. "Small small," he agreed.
The compound was still wet, but for the first time in days, it did not feel like drowning.
