The house felt strangely calm the next morning too calm, the kind that made Amina's stomach tighten because silence in this house never came without a reason.
She woke up early, washed her face, and tied her scarf neatly. The night's conversation had drained her, but it left something behind too—a sense that the ground beneath her feet was finally shifting in her favor.
When she stepped into the sitting room, her father was already dressed for work. He sat at the table with his glasses low on his nose, reading something with the kind of concentration that usually meant trouble.
"Good morning," Amina said.
He looked up immediately. "Morning, my daughter. Come."
She sat opposite him, her heart picking up a small nervous beat.
"I thought about everything we said yesterday," he began. "And I don't want it to end as only talk."
Amina's fingers curled around the hem of her wrapper. "What do you mean?"
He removed his glasses, folded them, and set them down. "We need rules. Boundaries. And I will not let anyone—Maryam included—mistreat you again."
Amina blinked, unsure she heard right.
Before she could respond, the bedroom door opened. Maryam walked out slowly, still in her nightdress, looking like she hadn't slept at all. She didn't look at Amina. She didn't look at anyone. She just walked to the dining table and sat down quietly.
It was unsettling.
Her father cleared his throat. "We agreed yesterday that things must change."
Maryam stared at her hands.
Amina waited, her pulse steady but cautious.
Maryam finally looked up—not with hostility this time, but with something that looked almost like shame.
"I said a lot of things yesterday," she said softly. "Some out of anger. Some out of fear."
Amina didn't interrupt.
Maryam continued, voice thin. "But I was wrong about many things… especially about you."
Amina still didn't speak. She wanted to hear everything.
Maryam took a breath like she was swallowing something sharp. "I pushed you too hard. I let my insecurities turn into cruelty. I thought if I controlled everything, I wouldn't lose what I had."
Amina's throat tightened a little. Not sympathy—just surprise. Maryam had never admitted anything before.
Her father nodded at Amina. "Say something."
Amina exhaled. "I'm not the enemy."
Maryam looked down. "I know."
Another stretch of silence hung between them. A fragile one.
"I'm not asking you to like me," Amina said carefully. "But I need peace. That's all I've ever wanted."
Maryam nodded slowly. "I will try."
It wasn't perfect. It wasn't an apology wrapped in tears and repentance. But it was the first real crack in the wall Maryam had surrounded herself with.
Her father leaned back in his chair. "Good. Then we start from there."
Amina stood to leave, but Maryam spoke again—quietly.
"Amina."
She turned.
"I don't hate you," Maryam said. "I was just… scared of being second."
Amina didn't know what to do with that. She simply nodded and walked toward her room.
⸻
Outside, the morning sun was soft, spreading a gentle warmth across the compound. Amina stepped out into the light and let the fresh air fill her chest.
Her phone buzzed.
Usman:
"Should I send the bike for you? Or will you come on your own?"
A small smile touched her lips.
Amina:
"I'll come myself."
Usman:
"Good. I'm waiting."
She slipped her phone back into her pocket and paused at the gate, looking back at the house. For once, the walls didn't feel like they were pressing in on her. They felt… lighter.
Not healed. Not fixed.
Just lighter.
And sometimes, that alone was enough to start breathing again.
Amina opened the gate and stepped out into the day ready for whatever came next.