CHAPTER 3: The Shame and Pain 2

She felt crushed. The girl's words didn’t just make her angry—they made her feel too small, ashamed. Her friends stood quietly beside her, just as shocked.

It wasn’t fair. They had almost been hit by her car, yet she showed no concern—only anger. No apology. No care. Just cold, cruel words.

Now Samantha wanted to shout, to fight back. But she held it in. This was the world she knew: where the rich had a voice, and the poor had to stay silent.

Her friends glanced at each other, unsure whether to speak or walk away.

The girl wasn’t done talking, her voice even harsher.

"You think I would have stopped if I knocked you down?" she scoffed. "I would have left your lifeless bodies right here on the road and kept driving!"

Nonsense-people, she added. You all stinks and look forsaken and slavery. Death is ever much better for you than living as a beggar in the street. Assuming I kill you all, I would have been doing you a great favor. She drove off.

As the car sped off, Naomi laughed and shook her head.

“I know that girl, that brat” she said. “Her name is Julia. She’s in accounting — same level as us.”

“300 level?” Marian and Tasha asked, surprised.

“Yes,” Naomi replied.

Samantha frowned. "But she looks like a working-class babe,"

“No, she’s not,” Naomi said. “She was just lucky enough to catch the attention of a politician—I heard he bought that expensive car for her."

Marian clapped her hands. “Wow! So she got lucky and now acts like she’s better than everyone?”

Tasha folded her arms. “Imagine! Acting proud like she earned it herself.”

Then Tasha leaned in. “Wait… wasn’t she the girl Dave talked about? The one he said insulted him?”

“Exactly,” Naomi said. “That’s how I got to know her.”

Mariam nodded. “Yes, that’s her.”

Tasha continued, confused. “But Dave later said it wasn’t true. He only said that to embarrass her — to humble her because she’s so full of herself.”

Naomi frowned. “So who does she think she is? A god?”

Tasha narrowed her eyes. “I heard she’s a millionaire’s daughter. The only child of a powerful man in this town.”

Marian scoffed. “No wonder that brat had the nerve to look down on us like she’s better than everyone else.”

“Because you can’t tell me we’re wrong,” she added sharply. “We’ve been walking this same road for years. Cars pass by all the time—no one complains, no one gets hurt. But today, she came flying down like it’s her private runway and nearly killed us all. And she still have the gods to run her mouth. Who does that?”

Samantha, who had been quiet, finally spoke.

“Whether she’s rich by herself, got lucky, or comes from money — it doesn’t matter. Rich people often act proudly and selfishly.”

Everyone nodded — except Tasha.

“I don’t agree,” Tasha said. “Some rich people are good. Some poor people would act the same if they had money. Power changes people. It’s not about the wealth — it’s about who they choose to be.”

“You’re right,” Marian said. “But let’s focus on Julia. She nearly hit us and didn’t care. To her, we were just nobodies.”

Samantha got home that Friday evening, tired but restless. She walked into her small room and stood in front of the mirror, staring at her reflection.

She touched a crack in the glass. It felt rough—like her life. Broken in places.

Her mind was full of thoughts: the near accident, Julia’s cruel words.

“I thought life was fair,” she whispered—I thought life gave everyone equal opportunity," she whispered to herself. But that’s not true. Life never gives me wealth. No silver spoon, no luxuries, not even a solid foundation to stand on. Just dreams.

Her eyes moved to a small photo tucked beside the mirror. It showed her parents when they were younger, smiling with hope. Time had changed them. Now, their faces carried the weight of struggle.

Next to them in the photo was a boy—her brother.

“What about him?” she murmured.

He was once the joy of the family. Now, just a memory. Lost. Gone.

She had tried to move on, but the pain stayed. The hope that he might still be alive never left her.

Her parents said he went missing when he was six and was never found. Every year on his birthday, she sat with his photo, staring at his smile.

“If you were here,” she would whisper, “I’d have a brother. We’d fight together to lift this family out of pain.”

“As a son, you had the power of a man, maybe you’d have carried us into a better life.”

“Are you truly gone?. Because the story… It’s still unclear,” she asked quietly.

Outside, the city was busy—cars speeding by, people walking, voices everywhere.

Smanatha reasoned within herself, “Life moves on, life didn’t stop for anyone, not even those who were dead, sick, or struggling.

She saw the rich in their fancy cars, smiling with ease. “Some people are lucky,” she thought. “Some have talent. And some have nothing to boast of, yet played roles so vital that their absence could make even wealth meaningless. And as for me? Maybe my purpose is to fight—navigate through struggle—and come out great on the other side."

Her father worked as a gateman. Her mother was sick. Money was always tight, always slipping away. But Samantha refused to believe that was all life had for her.

“If I weren’t born into a rich family,” she whispered, “then I’ll make sure a rich family comes from me.”

Suddenly, she remembered—she hadn’t greeted her mother since her return from school.

Samantha went to her mother’s room. Lillian lay quietly, weak under the blanket.

“Mum, good evening,” Samantha said softly.

Lillian coughed and whispered, “Samantha…”

“Take it easy, Mum,” she said, hurrying to her side.

Lillian’s voice was soft, almost fading, but her words carried weight.

“I pray for you, my daughter,” she whispered, her eyes half-closed. “The Lord God will surprise you with blessings and favor. Whatever you seek in life, may He grant it unto you. You shall be great. Your husband shall be great. Your circle shall be great indeed. And every happening in your life shall turn out for your favor.”

Samantha stood by her bedside, stunned. She replied, “Amen,” but the word felt hollow. Her lips moved, but her heart wasn’t in it.

“Mum… why are you praying for me like this? Under this condition?”

Lillian didn’t respond.

“I don’t understand this prayer at all,” Samantha continued, her voice cracking. “It’s too early. Too sudden.”

She looked into her mother’s eyes, searching for answers—wondering if this was a goodbye wrapped in blessings.

Lillian looked at her with tired eyes. “Be strong. Be tough, be kind. Stay focused. So wherever I am… I’ll know you’ll be okay.”

Samantha froze. “Mum, what do you mean? Are you planning to leave me?”

Lillian didn’t answer right away. Her eyes said more than words could.

Samantha swallowed hard. “I’ll be strong, Mum—but only if you fight. Stay alive. For me. For Dad.”

Lillian gave a faint smile, her voice barely a whisper. “Okay, my daughter,” she said softly. “Please… get me my medicine.”

Samantha nodded and hurried off, her heart steady but hopeful.

But the moment she returned, everything changed.

Lillian’s cough erupted violently—louder, deeper, more relentless than before. Samantha dropped the medicine bottle and rushed to her mother’s side.

“Mum! What’s wrong now?” she cried, panic rising in her chest. “Here’s the medicine—please take it!”

But Lillian didn’t respond. The cough shook her body, bouncing her helplessly on the bed. Her eyes fluttered, her breathing uneven.

Samantha was helpless. Frustration and fear gripped her. “Mum… Mum… Mum, please,” she sobbed, tears streaming down her cheeks. “You’re scaring me…”

“Wait—let me get you water!” She turned and dashed out of the room.

Her footsteps echoed down the hallway as she ran to the kitchen, desperate to do something—anything to save the woman who had always been her strength.