The days following Zaria's academic victory passed in a dreamy blur. Every morning, she awoke in her new bed inside the main house, sunlight filtering gently through floral curtains—curtains she had never imagined touching, let alone having in a room of her own. Her clothes were no longer tucked away in dusty sacks or folded beneath firewood. They now sat neatly on a small wooden shelf her stepmother had ordered Mary to clean for her.
Zaria, for the first time in her life, felt like she belonged.
The village still buzzed with talk about her results. Women at the borehole whispered her name with admiration. Even men who never looked twice at her nodded respectfully when she passed. "That girl is going far," they would say. "Mark my words—she's not staying in this village."
Zaria soaked in the praise like sunshine. It warmed the cold places in her heart that had never known love. At school, the headteacher had already confirmed her government sponsorship. "You're going to a good secondary school," he told her. "All expenses paid. You've earned this, Zaria."
She had told Sarah the news that evening, her heart thudding with excitement. Sarah had smiled, eyes narrowed slightly. "That's good," she said. "Very good."
Zaria had taken that as approval. She had no reason to doubt it.
But the next few days brought a strange chill. Sarah's tone began to shift. She still smiled, but it felt stiff—controlled. Mary and Claire no longer sat next to her during meals. They'd gone back to whispering and laughing behind closed doors. Zaria noticed her plate had fewer beans. The firewood had to be fetched earlier. One afternoon, Sarah told her to sweep both the compound and the latrine area—something she hadn't been asked to do in weeks.
At first, she brushed it off. Maybe things were simply settling back to normal.
But normal, in this house, had always meant pain.
That Friday, Zaria returned from school to find Sarah waiting in the living room. Her face was unreadable.
"Sit," Sarah said.
Zaria sat down slowly, unsure of what was coming.
"I've been thinking," Sarah began. "About this secondary school nonsense. Who said you're going?"
Zaria blinked, confused. "But… the school sent a letter. I was selected for the scholarship. Everything is paid for."
Sarah's lips curved into a mocking smile. "And you think that means something? Just because the government wants to waste money on you doesn't mean I will."
Zaria felt her heart slide down into her stomach. "I—I don't understand."
"You're not going anywhere," Sarah said coldly. "You'll stay here and help around the house. You've had your moment. It's over now."
Tears sprang into Zaria's eyes. "But Mom, please… I worked so hard. I studied every night. I never asked for anything. This is the only chance I have."
"Am not your mom and it will be your last," Sarah snapped. "I fed you, clothed you, raised you when your useless mother ran off with another man. Your father abandoned you. Do you think I'll keep sacrificing for a child that isn't mine? You are not going to secondary school, Zaria. You'll remain here—where you belong."
Zaria's throat tightened, her words trapped behind a lump of disbelief. "But I got five aggregates…" she whispered.
"I don't care if you got one," Sarah spat. "No school fees will be paid. No forms will be signed. That's final."
Zaria sat frozen. The world around her blurred. The warmth she had felt in the past weeks shattered like glass around her. It had all been fake. A trick. A soft rope to tie her before the final blow.
That night, she cried silently into her pillow. The room she once saw as a sanctuary now felt like a cell. She looked around at the bedsheets she had been given, the chair by the window, the clean sandals on the floor—all part of the performance. Sarah had given her a taste of what life could be like, only to snatch it away with brutal cruelty.
The next morning, Zaria didn't eat. Her heart was too heavy for food. Linda came to visit but found her sitting alone in the backyard, her eyes swollen from tears.
"Zaria, what happened?" Linda asked, kneeling beside her.
Zaria looked at her friend, trying to smile, but her lips only trembled. "She said I won't go to school. That I'll stay here."
"What?" Linda gasped. "But the scholarship—"
"She doesn't care," Zaria interrupted. "She said I'm not her child, that I don't deserve it. She said my mother left me and my father doesn't want me."
Linda stood up, pacing angrily. "This woman is wicked. This is pure wickedness!"
Zaria didn't respond. She stared ahead, her hands clenched in her lap.
"But you can't just give up," Linda said. "There must be a way."
"What way, Linda? I'm still a child. I can't sign my own admission forms. I need her consent. And she will never give it."
Linda frowned. "We'll talk to Teacher Lilian. Maybe she can help again."
Zaria looked up, a flicker of hope in her eyes. "Do you think she would?"
"She has always believed in you. If anyone can help, it's her."
The girls sat in silence, hope and sorrow warring within Zaria's chest. She had been so close. So close to escaping. To starting a new chapter. And now, it all seemed to be slipping through her fingers like water.
That evening, Sarah watched Zaria from the doorway with narrowed eyes.
"She's breaking," she muttered to herself. "Good. Let her break. Then I'll have peace in this house."
But what Sarah didn't know was that even broken girls can rise. And when they do, they rise with fire.