The first week of the school term began, but for Zaria, there was no joy, no preparation, no new books, no school uniform. Just silence. The kind of silence that weighs on your chest like a stone, making it hard to breathe.
The days felt heavier now. After Teacher Lilian's unexpected transfer to the north and her urgent travel to Kenya for her mother's heart surgery, Zaria had been left with no one to turn to. The one thread of hope she held onto had snapped. Teacher Lilian was the only person who had seen Zaria for who she truly was—bright, brave, and full of potential. But now, she was gone, and with her, so was Zaria's last line of defense.
Sarah, her stepmother, had waited for this very moment. When she realized Zaria had no advocate, she saw her chance to strike—and this time, she chose a different kind of weapon. Lies.
The rumors started subtly. A whisper here, a side-eye there. But within a few days, the lie was loud and clear: Zaria was pregnant.
Sarah told the story with practiced tears and a voice heavy with false concern.
"I don't know what to do with this girl," she said to the neighbors, clutching her wrapper tightly. "After all the love I've shown her… eh! I fed her, clothed her, treated her like my own daughter. Now see what she has done to me!"
Women in the village gathered under mango trees and behind their verandas, clucking their tongues in disbelief.
"You know those quiet ones are the most dangerous," one woman said.
"Ah-ah, but wasn't she the one who passed PLE with flying colors?"
"Exactly! That's why it's even more shocking."
And Sarah made sure to say the line often: "We don't even know who the father is."
The story spread like wildfire. Soon, someone had posted a version of it on Facebook:
"Best PLE student in the district now pregnant. Sad!"
The post had over 300 comments in just a day. Everyone had an opinion. Some blamed her. Others expressed disbelief. But the damage had been done.
At school, the headteacher, Mr. George Bazirakakye, had just returned from a brief leave when Sarah arrived at the office. She wore her best kitenge dress and carried herself with grace—grace that masked a venomous plan.
"I just came to inform you, sir," she said, wiping her fake tears with a handkerchief. "Zaria won't be joining the school anymore. She has made some poor decisions, and… she's pregnant. We are all so ashamed."
Mr. Bazirakakye was stunned. "Zaria? That brilliant girl? Are you sure?"
"Yes, sir. I wish it wasn't true. But we found out during the holidays. She has disgraced us."
And just like that, the opportunity for government sponsorship began to slip away. Without proof or Zaria's presence to defend herself, the story was accepted as fact. No one thought to ask her. No one thought to investigate.
Back at home, Zaria could sense that something was wrong. The stares she got when she went to the shop. The way people whispered when she passed. The pity in Linda's eyes when she finally sneaked in to visit her.
"Zaria…" Linda whispered, pulling her aside. "What's going on? They're saying… you're pregnant."
Zaria's mouth dropped open. "What?! Who said that?"
Linda looked pained. "Everyone. It's all over social media. Even some teachers are talking."
Zaria's heart thumped painfully in her chest. "Why would they say such a thing? I—I've never even—"
She stopped herself. The words felt too filthy, too impossible to utter.
She ran home that day, her vision blurred with tears. She stormed into the house, breathless and broken. "Why are you lying about me?" she shouted at Sarah, her voice trembling.
Sarah, who had just finished cooking, looked at her with mock confusion. "What are you talking about?"
"You told people I'm pregnant! Even the headteacher!" Zaria's voice cracked.
Sarah stood slowly, wiped her hands, and smirked. "You want to go to school, eh? You want to make the whole village sing your name? You want to be the star while my daughters sit here in shame?"
She walked closer, lowering her voice. "Now let's see how far that name of yours will go with such a story attached to it."
Zaria collapsed to the ground, sobbing uncontrollably. She wasn't crying just because of the lie—it was because of the injustice. The betrayal. The helplessness.
At Thirteen years old, she was being buried alive under a mountain of shame she hadn't earned.
The next day, she didn't leave the house. She couldn't face the eyes of the village. She couldn't walk the road she once proudly used on her way to school. Even the stray dogs seemed to look at her differently.
She curled up in the corner of the store—the same place she used to sleep before Sarah "changed."
Everything was unraveling.
And yet, in that moment of darkness, she whispered into the silence,
"God, I thought I had conquered all my miseries. Why me again?"
Her stomach growled, but she ignored it. Her heart was too heavy to think about food.