Zaria didn't expect much from the world anymore, but the news of her father's return brought a glimmer of something she hadn't felt in a long while—hope.
It was early morning when her stepmother, Sarah Jackson, knocked hard on the kitchen door. Zaria, who had just started preparing porridge for the day, turned around, startled.
"Your father is calling you in the sitting room," Sarah said curtly, before walking away without another word.
Zaria froze. Her father? Home?
Her heart began to race as her hands trembled. She hadn't seen him in seven months. He had left for a distant construction site job, promising to return with money that would help them all live better lives. Since then, all she'd had were the memories of his occasional phone calls and warm laughter that echoed faintly from her childhood. Despite the heavy burdens Sarah had placed on her shoulders, Zaria held tightly to one belief—that her father loved her.
She wiped her hands on her dress and rushed to the sitting room, her bare feet silent on the cold floor. A smile broke across her face the moment she saw him. Her father sat on the edge of the sofa, still dressed in dusty work clothes, fatigue clinging to his features. But to Zaria, he looked like a hero.
"Papa!" she said, her voice breaking with emotion.
But before she could move closer, his hand flew through the air and struck her across the face.
The slap was loud. Her cheek stung immediately. Zaria staggered backward, shocked more by the betrayal than the pain.
"You ungrateful child!" her father shouted. "You've been going around making people laugh at us! Telling everyone your mother mistreats you—do you think I wouldn't hear about it?"
Zaria's mouth opened, trying to speak, to explain. But he didn't let her.
"I don't want to hear anything from you!" he continued, rising to his feet. "Your teacher came here, saying she wants to help you—what for? Do you want to embarrass this family further? From today onwards, forget about school. You'll stay here and help your mother. Let your sisters go to school."
Zaria felt the walls close in. Her lips trembled. "But… Papa, I didn't—"
"Shut your mouth!" he roared. "You think life is fair? That everyone gets what they want? You should be grateful you even have a roof over your head."
Tears welled in her eyes, but she fought them back. Not here. Not in front of him. Not like this.
Her father sat back down, breathing heavily. "You think your sisters have it easy? They're working hard in a private school. You… you've been getting free education at that government school and still have the guts to complain."
Zaria clenched her fists. Free education? She wanted to laugh, scream, cry—anything to release the storm building inside her. That "free" school had still required fees—money that Sarah had grudgingly given, often late. And scholastic materials? Zaria had scavenged used books from neighbors, begged for pens, and reused tattered exercise books.
Her stepsisters, Mary Florence and Claire Rina, had shiny new school bags every term. Their uniforms were always ironed, shoes polished, and lunch boxes packed with warm food. Meanwhile, Zaria walked to school hungry, her toes poking out of worn slippers, her blouse patched more times than she could count.
Still, she had loved school.
It was her escape, her joy, her one place of freedom.
And now, even that was being taken away.
"I work day and night to provide for this family," her father went on, clearly not done. "And what do I come back to? Gossip! People saying we don't take care of our own daughter. Do you have any idea how shameful that is?"
Zaria wanted to scream the truth. That it was Sarah who beat her. That it was her stepsisters who locked her out on rainy nights. That she had eaten leftover food from the goats' shed because no one left her anything. But she knew it would be pointless. Her father had made up his mind. Sarah had already poisoned it.
There was no winning this.
Zaria lowered her head and whispered, "Yes, Papa."
The room fell silent.
He looked at her, his expression unreadable for a brief moment. "Go. Get out of my sight."
Zaria turned and walked away slowly, her heart shattering with every step. She didn't go back to the kitchen. Instead, she slipped out into the backyard and sat under the large mango tree. She drew her knees to her chest and buried her face.
So this was it.
Her dream of becoming someone. Of changing her story. It had just ended in one slap and a few cruel words.
She sat there for what felt like hours, unmoving, until a shadow loomed over her. She looked up, expecting to see Sarah ready to bark new orders. But it was Claire Rina, the younger of her stepsisters.
Claire crossed her arms and smirked. "So… you really thought you'd leave this place and become someone, huh?"
Zaria didn't respond.
Claire laughed. "Well, welcome to real life, Cinderella. No prince is coming to save you."
She walked away, her laughter trailing behind her like poison.
Zaria closed her eyes and let the tears fall.
That night, as the household fell into silence, Zaria remained wide awake on her thin mattress in the small storeroom where she slept. She stared at the ceiling, her mind replaying her father's words over and over.
How quickly love could vanish.
Or maybe it had never been there to begin with.
And yet, even in her brokenness, something stirred inside her. A quiet voice, small but stubborn.
This is not the end.
They could take away her schoolbooks. They could tear her dreams and burn the pieces. But as long as she breathed, Zaria would not give up.
Someday, somehow, she would rise from this.
They would see.