Morning came slowly, dragging a gray light across the broken pieces of the night before. The rain had stopped, but the house still smelled of wet earth, kerosene, and fear. Amina woke up feeling as if she had aged years in a few hours. Her grandmother was still asleep beside her, breathing shallowly, her face pale from exhaustion and pain.
Amina sat up and looked around. The back door hung crooked, barely attached to its hinges. Two pots lay overturned, their contents spilled and spoiled. Her schoolbooks, soaked from the rain and the chaos, lay open like wounded creatures. Nothing felt familiar anymore.
She touched her grandmother's forehead. Warm. Too warm.
"Mama…" she whispered. But she didn't wake.
Amina's chest tightened.
She needed help. And quickly.
She hurried outside. The morning sun had barely risen, but neighbors were already moving around, sweeping compounds, fetching water, cooking over small fires. When they saw her, some paused and shook their heads with pity. Others whispered to each other. A few stared at her as if tragedy clung to her skin like dust.
But one neighbor, Mama Sadiya, rushed over. "How is your grandmother?"
"She's not waking up properly," Amina said, voice trembling.
"She needs a hospital," the woman said. "That blow she received wasn't small."
Amina swallowed hard.
Hospital meant money — money they didn't have.
As if reading her mind, Mama Sadiya touched her arm. "We'll gather what we can. Let me call the chairman. You go and stay with her."
Amina nodded and ran back inside.
Her grandmother stirred when she came in, her eyes fluttering open.
"Don't look like that, my child," she murmured. "I'm still here."
Amina knelt beside her. "You need a doctor."
Her grandmother closed her eyes as if the thought alone exhausted her. "We can't afford it."
"We'll find a way," Amina said, trying to sound braver than she felt. "People are helping."
A weak smile crossed her grandmother's lips. "God sees you, Amina. He will not abandon you."
The neighbors did gather money — some brought 200 naira, some 500, a few brought food instead because they had no cash. By the time the chairman arrived, they had scraped together barely enough for transport and basic treatment. But it was enough to get her grandmother into the nearest clinic.
The doctor sent Amina outside while they examined her. She sat on a wooden bench, hands trembling, mind racing.
The attack wouldn't leave her head.
The gun.
The machete.
The laughter of those men.
The moment one of them mentioned her stepmother.
She couldn't shake the feeling that the danger wasn't over.
After what felt like hours, the doctor finally came out, rubbing his chin.
"She's stable," he said. "But her blood pressure is high, and the impact on her side caused bruising. She needs rest and medication."
Amina let out a shaky breath. "Can I see her?"
"Yes."
When Amina entered the small ward, her grandmother was smiling weakly.
"You see? I told you I'm not going anywhere yet."
But her smile didn't stop the fear tightening inside Amina's chest.
She sat beside her and held her hand, but her mind was already moving ahead.
The men didn't just come to steal.
They came for her.
Someone wanted her gone.
And there was only one woman she could think of who hated her enough to do that.
Her stepmother.
The thought was like swallowing a stone. She knew the woman despised her. She knew she wanted her inheritance. She knew she lied about her, manipulated her father, turned him against her. But to send people who might kill her?
That was a different level of wickedness.
Before she could think any further, her grandmother squeezed her hand.
"You must not go home," she whispered. "Not yet."
Amina stiffened. "But Baba will worry—"
Her grandmother shook her head. "Your father is under a spell of lies. You know this. Going home will only put you back in danger. For now, stay with me. Stay here."
Amina nodded slowly.
Her grandmother was right.
But the reality hit her just as quickly.
School.
Her exams.
Her scholarship test.
How was she supposed to juggle all of that while dealing with assaults and broken roofs and a grandmother in the hospital?
Her future suddenly felt like a paper boat tossed into a flood — fragile, drifting, at the mercy of forces she couldn't control.
When they returned home that evening, she barely spoke. She cleaned the house in silence, repaired the door as best she could, dried her books page by page, and cooked a small meal of rice and oil because that was all they had left.
But her mind never rested.
And the next day at school made everything worse.
She arrived late, exhausted, still shaken, her uniform damp from washing and hurried drying. Her class was writing a test, and the teacher frowned when she slipped in.
"You're late again, Amina," he said. "This isn't like you."
"I'm sorry, sir. Something happened last night—"
"You can explain after class. Sit."
The students snickered as she took her seat. Some whispered loudly on purpose, wanting her to hear:
"She lives in that broken house."
"Her grandmother almost died."
"I heard armed robbers came for her. Why? What did she do?"
She clenched her fists and kept writing, even though her hands shook so badly she could hardly form numbers.
When the bell finally rang, her teacher called her aside.
"What happened?"
The moment she opened her mouth, her throat tightened and tears spilled. She didn't want to cry, but everything she was holding back came rushing out — the attack, the fear, the hospital, the roof, the poverty, the pressure, the constant humiliation.
The teacher listened quietly, then placed a hand on her shoulder.
"You're carrying too much for a girl your age. But you're strong, Amina. Stronger than you know."
She wiped her cheeks. "I have to keep going. I don't have a choice."
"That determination will take you far," he said. "But you'll need help along the way. Don't push everyone out."
That made her pause.
Help?
From who?
She barely trusted anyone.
Except maybe her grandmother.
And this teacher who had always believed in her.
But the rest of the world?
It had shown her nothing but cruelty.
The next few days were heavy. She studied late into the night, took care of her grandmother, repaired the house inch by inch, helped neighbors in exchange for food, and forced herself to stay focused at school.
But even as she pushed forward, danger crept behind her like a shadow.
She started noticing things.
A man watching her from across the street on her way from school.
A strange knock on the door late at night that disappeared when she approached.
A letter pushed under their broken door — blank, with nothing but a small X drawn in red ink.
Her grandmother found her staring at it one evening.
"Don't let fear lead you," she warned. "Let wisdom lead you."
Amina tried.
But fear and wisdom felt like twins now — constantly fighting in her chest.
Then came the day her father returned.
She hadn't seen him in months. He had traveled for work, leaving her alone with her stepmother. When he walked into the compound, carrying his old brown bag and looking tired but relieved to be home, Amina's heart moved in her chest.
"Baba!" she cried, running to him.
He hugged her tightly. "My daughter… you've grown thin. Are you eating well?"
She opened her mouth to speak — to tell him everything — but her stepmother's voice cut in sharply from the doorway.
"Don't listen to her, darling. She caused trouble while you were away. The neighborhood complains about her. And she nearly killed your mother while running wild at night."
Amina felt the words stab her.
Her grandmother gasped in disbelief.
"Are you mad? How dare you?"
Her father's face darkened, confused and torn. "Enough. I just returned."
Her stepmother pressed closer to him, acting like the gentle victim.
"She attracts bad things into this house. I don't know what spirit follows her, but armed robbers even came here because of her."
Amina felt her blood run cold.
They knew about the attack.
Too quickly.
Too conveniently.
She stepped forward.
"Baba, please… that woman is lying. They came for me. She sent them. She wants to destroy me."
Her stepmother laughed loudly, putting a hand to her chest. "Me? Send robbers? God forbid!"
Her grandmother spoke up. "Your wife hates this child. She has poisoned your mind against her since day one. If you don't open your eyes, she will destroy everything, including you."
A storm gathered in her father's eyes.
He looked between them — his daughter, his mother, his wife — as if trying to unravel knots tied by another person's hands.
Then, slowly, he said,
"I don't know who to believe anymore."
Amina felt something inside her break.
Deeply.
Finally.
Silence filled the compound. Heavy. Bitter.
Her stepmother smiled.
Not at him.
But at Amina.
A quiet, victorious smile.
That was the moment Amina understood something she should have realized long ago:
Her father would not save her.
Not yet.
Maybe not ever.
She would have to save herself.
Later that night, as she sat outside under the moonlight, listening to the quiet hum of the village and the distant bark of dogs, she made a decision.
She didn't know how.
She didn't know when.
But she would rise.
She would fight for her education, her dreams, her freedom, her future — no matter who tried to stop her.
Her career, her success, her destiny… they wouldn't come from luck or privilege.
They would come from struggle.
From endurance.
From the strength she was being forced to grow.
And one day, when she stood at the top — when she finally became the woman she was meant to be — every stone thrown at her today would become part of the foundation that lifted her.
But for now…
the battles had only just begun.
And she was ready.