Quiet Dawn

The next morning started slow and heavy. The sun climbed behind thick clouds, casting a dim, uncertain light over the compound. I sat by the window, staring out at the dew-drenched garden, my mind still processing my parents’ proposal.

We had talked late into the night. They had urged me to give Tom time — time to process his decisions, time to think.

“Perhaps something is going on in his life that you do not know of,” my father had said. “Maybe he needs to work through that before he reconsiders his marriage.”

Those words echoed in my mind now. They had come after I finally opened up about everything that had happened between Tom and me.

“It’s a good thing he hasn’t chased you out of the house,” Father had added. “At least you still have a place to call home. Go back, and wait.”

Behind me, the smell of tea filled the air. Rosa was busy in the kitchen, making breakfast.

My little sister appeared, still drowsy from sleep. I watched her move gracefully across the floor, light on her feet and carefree. She looked so peaceful—untouched by worry. Nothing seemed to trouble her. For a moment, I envied her innocence. My own childhood had been like that once — a world without fear or the weight of choices I hadn’t made.

“Good morning,” she greeted, coming to sit beside me.

“Good morning,” I replied softly.

We hadn’t spent much time together since I arrived. After opening the gate for me the previous day and taking the dress I’d brought her as a gift, she had vanished — only reappearing at dinner. Even then, she’d gone to bed early, leaving the adults to wrestle with their troubles.

Rosa brought breakfast and set the table for the family before heading to the master bedroom to wake our father.

Soon, everyone gathered in the dining area.

It was pancakes and tea. Today, my appetite had returned. When we were done, I helped clear the table and carried the dishes to the kitchen. My sister followed, drying the plates and arranging them neatly in the cabinets.

“I didn’t know you could help with the dishes,” I said with a smile.

“I wash sometimes,” she replied cheerfully. “But sometimes Mum says, ‘Go and read — I’ve got this.’”

After breakfast, I was ready to return to Mombasa. But this time, I didn’t want to go alone. I asked Mother if I could take my sister, Kate, with me. She didn’t object.

Kate was thrilled. She packed a few dresses, sandals, and her storybooks quickly, then hurried to the car before anyone could change their mind. She settled into the passenger seat, legs swinging, eyes bright with anticipation.

It wouldn’t be her first time at the coast — she had attended my wedding, though she’d stayed only three days, spending just a few hours at the beach. Now she would spend the whole holiday there.

I started the engine, and we set off, soon joining the Nakuru–Nairobi highway. Morning traffic was already building, trucks and buses rumbling along the road. The journey ahead was long; we would drive through the day and into the night.

As the miles slipped by, Kate asked if I would take her to the ocean and the beach.

“Of course I will. And to Fort Jesus and Haller Park,” I said. “You’ll enjoy it.”

Her chatter filled the car, light and innocent. I was glad she’d come. Her presence was a welcome distraction from the storm in my chest. For the first time in weeks, I felt something close to peace. Maybe, just maybe, my marriage wasn’t the end of everything.

We arrived before dawn. I took out my phone and called Kirui, the shepherd. He came to open the gate for us. I drove into the parking lot. Kate had long fallen asleep beside me. I woke her gently, and together we walked into the house.

Her laughter filled the room soon after — bright and careless — the kind that made my heart ache in the sweetest way.

The vibrations of my phone dragged me out of deep sleep. My hand reached for it on the bedside drawer. I swiped my thumb across the screen without opening my eyes and pressed the phone to my ear.

“Hello,” I murmured, my voice heavy with sleep.

“Mum,” I said, forcing myself upright as soon as I recognized her voice.

“Did you arrive safely? You didn’t call,” she said.

“We got here before dawn,” I replied, glancing at Kate beside me, one arm thrown across me. “I didn’t want to wake you.”

We spoke briefly. She asked about Kate and whether she had bothered me during the journey. Then she hung up.

I set my phone aside and lay back. A dull ache rolled through my stomach. I sat up slowly, thinking it was just fatigue from the drive.

When the smell of breakfast reached me, I rose and went to the bathroom. Someone had forgotten to flush. The sight turned my stomach. I leaned over the sink and vomited.

Halima, the maid, heard me and rushed in.

“Are you okay?” she asked, gently placing her hand on my shoulder.

“I’m okay,” I whispered.

“Let me get you a glass of water,” she said softly, her voice blurring as my thoughts scattered.

I nodded weakly. But inside, a quiet realization was already unfurling — slow, trembling, impossible to ignore.

Something inside me had changed.