Chapter 5: The breaking point

The voice  note  blinked on my phone screen,unread and  haunting. My thumb hovered above it , but I couldn't  press play. My heart  raced in an uneven rhythm that made my hands tremble. But there's  one condition.  What would my aunt say when he walks in? How did he know  where I lived? How long has he been watching  me?

I peeled through the window again. There he was leaning against the sleek black car like he stepped  out  of a movie  scene.Arms crossed, one foot balanced over the other like he had all the time in the world. And still, he looked like he owned it.  My breath  hitched. No man had ever come to see me like this, especially  not a man like him. Rich, polished and untouchable calm. And me? I  was wearing a faded gown with a tear at the hem.

This had to be a dream or maybe a trap.

I  walked in circles around the room, trying to convince myself not to open the door. I  knew  what would  happen  if my aunt saw him. The shouting, the judgement,the endless name calling.I  was twenty two not twelve. Yet my aunt treated me like a mistake that kept growing taller.Like I was something  to  manage not someone  to understand. Her voice  echoed in my head like it lived there rent free:”So you  are  now sleeping with men for money?”. She didn't  even ask if I was okay. Just launched words like weapons,  beat me like a little child and I had no shield but silence. 

I thought  about Stephen again. His suit. His scent lingered even after I left the  hotel days ago. His eyes gray like a storm that hadn't  decided whether to rain or destroy.

My phone rang. It was Stephen.

This was real. He was here. And I was still wearing a gown that looked like it had survived ten Decembers.

“I'm  coming”,I answered breathlessly, already racing towards my tiny wardrobe.

I removed my  gown onto the bed and  bolted toward the tiny makeshift wardrobe. There wasn't  much  but I found a  red dress that  was not too shabby. I  smoothed it over my hips and  caught  sight of myself in the cracked mirror. I didn't  look like much, but  I didn't  look like  nothing  either.I  ran  my fingers through my hair, tied it up and sprayed the last spray of perfume I do to work. Then I picked the one thing that reminded me I was loved once:The necklace  from my late mother. It was the last gift she ever gave me before cancer stole her away. I  wore it on days when I needed courage.I  needed  the kind of faith that makes people do impossible  things.

I clasped it around my neck and whispered,”Let me not look like  a housemaid,at least not  today”.

I  was almost at the door when Joanna(my aunties daughter) stepped in front of me like a snake slithering out of nowhere.  “Why are you wearing my necklace?” She asked, voice dripping  with entitlement.  I blinked. “What? This is my mom's  necklace. The only thing she left me to”.

“Liar”, She snapped. “That's  mine. I  bought it two weeks ago”. 

I wanted to scream. 

Instead I said,” You have  more clothes and  shoes than me. You take everything.  But this? This one thing? It's mine. And I am not  giving it up”. She crossed her arms and looked at me like  I  was filth.

I didn’t wait for more. I pushed past her and stepped outside.

Stephen’s eyes locked with mine the second I opened the gate. He must’ve seen the tremble in my fingers or the fear dancing behind my pupils.

"Hey, baby," he said gently.

And that was it.

The dam broke.

I fell into his chest, sobbing. His arms wrapped around me like safety nets, and for two whole minutes, I forgot what it meant to be broken.

When I finally pulled away, he brushed the tears from my cheeks and looked at me with something close to reverence.

"What happened?"

I told him everything. The necklace. The insults. The beatings. My aunt’s cruel words. How she called me a prostitute, how she beat me like I was a child caught stealing.

His jaw clenched. "You won’t stay here another night."

"But how did you even find me?"

He chuckled softly. "I followed the bus you entered that morning. Then the driver. I paid him to tell me."

"What?"

He shrugged. "I had to know where you lived. I had to see the world that made you."

"Why?"

His eyes softened. "Because I want to marry you."

The words hung in the air like a secret prayer.

"Stephen..." I whispered.

"Don’t worry about your aunt. Leave that to me."

He opened the car door for me. My knees were weak, but I climbed in.

He drove us back to the compound and walked me straight to the door.

I didn’t know what scared me more—what she might say or what I might finally say back.

The moment we stepped in, my aunt looked up from the TV. Her eyes narrowed. "Who is this one?"

"My friend," I replied, already preparing for the storm.

"Friend? And you wore that red dress? I see. You’re no longer hiding it. You’re sleeping with him too?"

"Ma, please," I started, but Stephen interrupted.

"Ma—I came here because I want to marry your niece."

Silence. Then chaos.

"You what? Marry her? God forbid! A girl that runs away for days and returns like a whore? You want to carry a disgrace into your family? Over my dead body!"

I tried to hold it in, but the anger boiled over.

"I am not a child. I am not a slave. You do not get to decide who I marry!"

"Then pack your bags and leave my house!"

"Gladly!"

Stephen held my hand. His fingers tightened when my aunt threw the TV remote across the room.

"Leave this house now! Both of you!"

As we turned to leave, Joanna appeared from the hallway, carrying laundry.

My aunt darted into the kitchen. I heard the sound before I understood it—a bottle being unscrewed, something sloshing.

My skin went cold.

I turned just in time to see her rush at me with a small bottle in her hand.

 It was Acid.

She screamed, "If I can’t have you, no one will!"

She threw it.

But life has a cruel sense of irony.

Joanna, stepping forward to block her mother's madness, took the hit.

The scream that followed shattered every bone in my chest.

Stephen pulled me back. My body refused to move, frozen in shock.

Joanna dropped to the floor, clutching her face, wailing. The acid was plenty that poured on her face.

My aunt stood still, bottle in hand, suddenly aware of what she’d done.

And just like that, the nightmare turned real.