Mama Coco ladled porridge into three clay bowls. She pointed to the sky outside the window, where a monsoon cloud was building.

They both froze. From the kitchen came a sound like wind chimes made of honey. It was the voice of their great-grandmother, Mama Coco.

Mama Coco closed her eyes. Outside, the first fat drops began to fall, drumming on the tin roof. Tock. Tocka-tock.

“ Pteah, ” she said. “It means ‘home.’ But it also means ‘the place where the fire never goes out.’ You feel it in your chest, not your head.”