Chapter 10: False Hope
There was no welcome. No warmth. No easing into the new life.
From the moment Mary stepped into her aunt's house, it was clear—she was not there as family. She was there as labor. As a burden. As someone to be used.
Her aunt, her own mother's younger sister, did not show even a flicker of sympathy for the little girl who had just lost her mother. Instead, she became Mary's greatest trial.
Mary was given no rest. Every morning began before dawn. She swept the compound, fetched water in a heavy basin, and prepared the firewood before anyone else stirred. While her cousins played or rested indoors, Mary scrubbed pots until her fingers ached and stood in the heat of the sun selling food at the roadside.
There were no kind words. Only commands. Accusations. Shouting.
"You're lazy! Do it again!"
"You want to eat before the work is done? Are you mad?"
Her cousins—children like her—treated her with the same coldness. They mocked her silence, called her names, and laughed when her aunt scolded or slapped her. In their eyes, she was a servant.
There was no moment of false comfort. No quiet gesture of compassion. Nothing.
Sometimes, in the evenings, as her cousins ate their fill and Mary received scraps, she would stare at the wall and let her mind drift back to her mother's gentle voice. She remembered being held, being loved, being seen.
But those memories felt like dreams now.
The hope that maybe, just maybe, she would be treated like family faded quickly. She realized that love wasn't coming. Not here. Not from this house.
Still, she kept going. Not because anyone cared—but because she refused to let them break her spirit. Every harsh word, every slap, every long day of labor—it all carved strength into her.
She didn't say it out loud, but in her heart she whispered "One day, I will leave this behind. One day, this will not be my story forever".