The afternoon heat inside the small back room had become almost unbearable. The air was thick and still, carrying the bitter scent of stale sweat, damp earth, and the faint smell of blood.
Osaro lay curled on her side on the rough mat, her face turned toward the wall. Her body ached from the wounds she had suffered, but the physical pain was nothing compared to the heaviness in her heart.
Her mind kept replaying the voice she had heard earlier.
"Is anybody inside this house? Open this gate!"
Osaro squeezed her eyes shut.
She knew that voice.
There was no way she could have mistaken it.
It was her mother.
Her mother had come to see her.
Mrs. Iruson had actually stood outside the gates of the Okhizu compound, separated from her daughter by nothing more than a few yards of dusty ground and a heavy wooden gate.
Yet Osaro had been unable to reach her.
A fresh wave of tears rolled down her cheeks.
Why didn't I try harder?
The question tormented her.
Why didn't I crawl to the door?
Even if her ribs hurt, even if her entire body was broken, perhaps she could have managed to reach the gate.
Perhaps her mother would have heard her.
Perhaps she would have known the truth.
Osaro buried her face in her arms and sobbed silently.
Her mother had travelled all that way because she was worried about her. She had probably spent the entire journey thinking about her daughter, only to return home without seeing her.
The thought broke something inside Osaro.
The woven curtain covering the entrance to her room suddenly moved.
Osaro immediately stopped crying.
She stiffened.
For a moment, fear took over her entire body.
Was it the husband's aunt?
She quickly wiped her face with the back of her hand and pretended to be asleep.
The footsteps came closer.
Then she heard a familiar voice.
"Osaro."
She slowly opened her eyes.
It was Amina.
Mr. Okhizu's second wife stood at the entrance, staring at her with an expression Osaro had never seen on her face before.
Amina looked troubled.
Her eyes were red, and her hands trembled as she held the edge of her wrapper.
"Osaro," she called again, this time in a softer voice.
Osaro looked away.
"Please, Amina. If the aunt sent you to call me for another chore, tell her I will come. Just give me a few minutes to rest."
Amina's heart sank.
She moved closer and sat beside Osaro.
"I didn't come because of any chore."
Osaro remained silent.
Amina reached out carefully and touched her forehead.
"You're still burning."
"I'll be fine," Osaro whispered.
"No, you won't," Amina replied sadly. "Not if everyone continues pretending that what is happening here is normal."
Osaro slowly turned toward her.
Their eyes met.
For a few seconds, neither woman said anything.
Then Osaro asked the question that had been burning inside her since she heard the voice outside.
"She was here, wasn't she?"
Amina lowered her head.
"My mother," Osaro continued. "Mrs. Iruson was at the gate."
Amina's lips trembled.
"Yes."
The single word shattered whatever hope Osaro had left.
"She came for you."
Osaro covered her mouth with her palm as tears immediately filled her eyes.
"Why didn't you let her see me?"
Amina began crying.
"I am sorry."
"Why, Amina?" Osaro asked, her voice breaking. "Why didn't you call me? I would have crawled to that gate. I would have dragged myself there if I had to. I just wanted to see my mother."
"I know."
"You knew she was there, and you still let her leave!"
Amina wiped her tears quickly.
"Our husband gave strict instructions before he left," she explained. "He said your mother must not be allowed inside the compound. He warned us that if she saw your condition and reported it to the elders, he would make everyone pay for it."
Osaro stared at her.
"He threatened you?"
"Yes."
Amina nodded.
"He threatened to throw me out of the compound. He threatened to take my children away from me. I was afraid, Osaro."
Her voice cracked.
"I have spent years learning how to survive this man. I learned to keep quiet. I learned not to ask questions. I learned to look away when someone was being punished."
Amina covered her face.
"But today, when I saw your mother standing outside, I felt ashamed of myself."
Osaro said nothing.
"I lied to her," Amina continued. "I looked your mother in the eyes and told her that you had gone to the market with Oge. I told her you were fine. I told her you were eating well and adjusting to the household."
Amina's tears fell freely now.
"She believed me."
Osaro turned her face toward the wall.
She could not bring herself to be angry with Amina.
She understood fear.
She had lived with it since the day she entered the compound.
Still, knowing that her mother had been so close and had left without seeing her was unbearable.
"She must have been heartbroken," Osaro whispered.
"She was."
Amina paused before reaching into the folds of her wrapper.
"But she didn't leave empty-handed."
Osaro looked at her.
"What do you mean?"
Amina brought out a small cloth parcel.
"Your mother gave me this."
Osaro's eyes widened.
"She said I should make sure you received it."
Amina placed the pouch carefully into Osaro's hands.
"She told me that if I had any fear of God in my heart, I must make sure it reaches you."
Osaro held the little cloth parcel against her chest.
For a moment, she simply stared at it.
The material carried a familiar scent.
Home.
Her mother's kitchen.
Her childhood.
The life she had been forced to leave behind.
"She still remembers me," Osaro whispered.
"Of course she does."
Amina squeezed her hand.
"She is your mother."
Osaro slowly opened the pouch.
Inside was a small piece of smooth river chalk and a folded strip of white cotton cloth.
She carefully unfolded the cloth.
Her breathing stopped.
Along the edge were tiny symbols sewn with red thread.
Osaro immediately recognized them.
Her mother had taught her those symbols when she was a little girl.
They were part of a small tradition her mother used to remind her children that they were protected and loved.
Osaro pressed the cloth against her chest.
"Mama…"
The tears came again, but this time they were different.
They were tears of love.
Her mother had not forgotten her.
Even though she had been unable to enter the compound, she had found a way to send her daughter something that carried a piece of home.
Amina watched her quietly.
Then Osaro suddenly sat up despite the pain.
"Amina."
"Yes?"
"I need to send her a message."
Amina looked startled.
"A message?"
"Yes."
Osaro wiped her tears.
"If I cannot leave this compound, then my words must leave it."
Amina remained silent.
"I need her to know the truth," Osaro continued. "She needs to know what is happening to me. She needs to know that I am not fine."
The danger of the request was obvious.
If Mr. Okhizu discovered that they were secretly communicating with Osaro's family, there would be consequences.
But Osaro's eyes were different now.
There was fear in them, but there was also determination.
"I don't want my mother to keep believing that I am safe," she said.
Amina took a deep breath.
"How will we send it?"
"I don't know yet."
Osaro looked toward the small window.
"But we will find a way."
Amina stared at her for a moment before finally nodding.
"I will help you."
Osaro looked at her.
"You will?"
"Yes."
Amina reached for her hand.
"Oge and I will help you. Whenever one of us gets the opportunity to leave the compound, we will find a way to pass your message to your mother."
Osaro squeezed her hand.
"Thank you."
Amina smiled sadly.
"Don't thank me yet. We still have to be careful."
"I know."
Amina stood up and adjusted her wrapper.
"I should leave before anyone notices that I've been here for too long."
Osaro nodded.
Amina moved toward the doorway but stopped.
She turned back.
"Osaro?"
"Yes?"
"Don't give up."
Osaro looked at her.
"You have suffered enough, but don't allow this place to convince you that your life is over."
Amina slipped through the curtain and disappeared.
Osaro remained alone.
She looked down at the little piece of cloth in her hands.
For the first time in many days, she allowed herself to remember the girl she had once been.
The girl who laughed freely.
The girl who went to school with dreams.
The girl who believed that her life would become something beautiful.
That girl was still somewhere inside her.
Maybe she had been buried beneath the pain.
Maybe she had been frightened into silence.
But she was still there.
Osaro slowly wiped her tears.
She had spent too much time waiting for someone else to save her.
Perhaps she could not escape immediately.
Perhaps she could not fight Mr. Okhizu physically.
But she could think.
She could plan.
She could learn.
And most importantly, she could refuse to let him completely destroy her spirit.
Osaro carefully folded the cloth and placed it beneath her mat.
She then held the piece of river chalk tightly in her palm.
"Mama," she whispered, "I will find a way back to you."
Outside, the compound remained strangely quiet.
The high walls still stood.
The heavy gate was still locked.
Mr. Okhizu still held power over the household.
But something had changed.
Osaro was no longer facing the darkness alone.
Amina had chosen to stand beside her.
Oge had already shown that she was willing to help.
Mama Adana had shown her kindness.
And somewhere beyond those walls, her mother was still waiting and praying for her.
Osaro closed her eyes and took a slow breath.
Her wounds still hurt.
Her body was still weak.
The fear of what would happen when Mr. Okhizu returned still lingered in her heart.
But beneath all that fear was something new.
Hope.
A tiny, stubborn hope.