Max buried her face deeper into the pillow, pretending not to hear the sharp sound of her mother's voice cutting through the morning stillness.
"Maxwell! At this time, you are still sleeping? You should be preparing for work!"
The bedroom door opened before she could respond. Her mother stood in the doorway, arms folded, her eyes already scanning the room with a familiar mix of irritation and concern.
Max sat up slowly, her eyelids still heavy with sleep. Across the hallway, her twin brother Michael was already awake in his room. He wasn't going out today-his classes were online-but he always woke up early. That alone gave their mother enough reason to start comparing.
"Even your brother is up," she continued. "You just want to sleep and sleep. Is that how you'll go to work?"
Max sighed inwardly. Here we go again.
Her father wouldn't have raised his voice. He might've knocked gently, asked if she was tired, and reminded her not to skip breakfast. But her mother believed in routine. She was loving, no doubt, but her love came with structure. And although Max respected her-feared her just enough to move carefully-mornings like this always started with pressure.
She slipped out of bed and reached for her slippers, dragging herself toward the bathroom. Her hair was a mess, her mind still stuck somewhere between sleep and responsibility.
As she stepped into the hallway, she caught a glimpse of Michael sitting on the edge of his bed, his door half-open. He looked at her and raised his eyebrows, as if to say, Finally.
"I'm getting ready," Max said before he could speak.
She didn't wait for a reply. She entered the bathroom, closed the door behind her, and stared at herself in the mirror. It's always the same thing-wake up, get scolded, rush through everything like I'm already late... even when I'm not.
Still, today was hers to handle. And she was determined to handle it quietly.
She washed her face slowly, letting the cold water pull her into reality. Her movements were quiet and careful-she didn't want to trigger another round of complaints.
Back in her room, she dressed in her usual work outfit: a simple blouse tucked into fitted trousers, clean and practical. Her hair, still a bit damp, was pulled back into a neat bun. A few spritzes of perfume, her bag slung over one shoulder, and she was ready.
It was nearly 9:30 a.m.
Her father had already left hours ago. Every morning, before dawn, he would make his rounds-kissing each of the children on the forehead, including Max-before heading out by 6 a.m. His presence lingered long after he was gone, though, with the house feeling quieter and emptier until he returned late in the evening, usually around 7 p.m.
Her brother Michael's door was now closed. His online class had probably started. Her older siblings, Martin and Martha, were away-Martin was abroad, and Martha had resumed school.
As she descended the stairs, the familiar scent of freshly cleaned tiles and distant breakfast filled the air. The living room was spotless, sun filtering through the tall curtains. She glanced toward the kitchen and saw a covered plate left on the counter. She didn't have time to sit and eat, but she paused for a moment, appreciating that someone-most likely the help-had thought to set it aside for her.
She moved through the dining area, adjusting her bag. Just as she reached the front door, her mother's voice came from behind.
"You're just going now?"
Max turned and nodded. "Yes, mum. I'll be on time."
Her mother didn't respond. She just gave her a long, unreadable look-part concern, part tired acceptance. Max opened the door, stepped outside, and took in a breath of warm, late-morning air.
It was 9:45. Her day was just beginning.
---
As the door shut behind Max, a gentle stillness followed.
Their mum sighed quietly, then turned toward the kitchen. "Mary?"
Mary stepped out, drying her hands. "Yes, ma."
"Please help me check the mats upstairs. If they're due for washing, let's take care of them today. And bring out the chicken from the freezer-I'll cook later if I'm back early."
"Yes, ma," Mary replied with a nod.
Michael came down the stairs, stretching a little. "Going out today, mum?"
She looked over at him with a small smile. "Just a quick meeting. I should be back before noon."
He nodded, then glanced toward the door Max had just gone through. "She didn't look too happy this morning."
His mum gave a tired laugh. "Max never looks happy when she has to leave the house early. But she'll be fine. You know how she is-she just likes things her way."
Michael chuckled lightly. "That's true."
She turned back to Mary. "And please, check the upstairs balcony too. The wind's been pushing dust in again."
"Alright, ma."
Michael leaned against the banister for a moment longer, watching as the house settled back into its soft rhythm. Ordinary morning things-but they held a kind of quiet peace.
---
Max stepped out of the house, earphones already in, the volume at its loudest. Eminem's voice poured into her ears-fast, raw, and full of energy. It wasn't just music; it was noise that blocked everything else out.
The quiet estate around her didn't matter. The trimmed hedges, polished gates, and lifeless streets all faded behind the rhythm pounding in her ears. She didn't know the neighbors and didn't care to. Everyone minded their business here, and so did she.
She walked with purpose-not fast, not slow, just steady. Ten minutes to the salon, and she planned to use every second of it to stay in her head. The lyrics moved with her steps. Her lips moved slightly, mouthing lines only she could hear.
By the time she reached the small row of shops and pulled out one earbud, the world returned-quieter, flatter.
She pushed the salon door open.
---
The salon was quiet when the bell above the door jingled unexpectedly. Max looked up to see a woman walking in-a new client, carrying a bag filled with hair products.
"Good morning, ma," the woman greeted, setting her bag down. "I need a full wash and treatment."
Madam Erin glanced up from her phone but then excused herself. "I have to run an errand, Max. You'll manage?"
Max nodded, trying to hide her nerves. She had done the work before, but never all at once.
She led the client to the washing station and began carefully massaging the shampoo into the woman's hair. Everything seemed fine until she reached for the blow dryer. In her distraction, the dryer slipped too close, and a quick puff of hot air burned the client's scalp.
"Ow! That hurts!" the client snapped, pulling away.
Max's face flushed. "I'm so sorry, ma. It was an accident."
The client's voice rose. "Accident or not, this is unacceptable! I came here expecting professional service, not burns!"
Madam Erin returned just then. The client launched into her complaint again, louder this time.
Madam Erin raised a calm hand. "Please, let's keep it civil. Max is still learning."
The client huffed but said no more. Max felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment. After the client left, Max quietly told Madam Erin, "I'm not feeling well. I think I should go home early."
Without waiting for a response, she grabbed her bag and slipped out the door, relief flooding her as she stepped outside.
---
Max unlocked the door and stepped into the quiet house. The faint scent of breakfast lingered, but the table was empty. Michael sat in the small parlor, laptop open, headphones around his neck.
He looked up as she entered. "You're home early. Everything alright?"
Max forced a small smile. "Yeah, just not feeling great."
Michael studied her for a moment, then nodded. "If you want to talk, I'm here."
Max shrugged, heading upstairs. "Thanks, Michael. Maybe later."
As the door closed behind her, Michael returned to his laptop, a quiet concern lingering in the room.
---
Later that evening, the smell of jollof rice filled the house. Their mum moved around the kitchen with ease, humming softly as she cooked. When dinner was ready, she called out to Michael.
"Michael, come and eat!"
Michael came downstairs quickly. As they sat to eat, he glanced toward the staircase.
"Should I call Max?" he asked.
Their mum nodded. "Yes, please."
Michael stood at the bottom of the stairs and called, "Max! Food is ready!"
No response.
He waited a few seconds, then called again. Still silence.
He returned to the dining table. "She didn't answer."
Their mum paused, wiped her hands, and stood. "Let me check on her."
She climbed the stairs and walked to Max's door. She knocked gently, then opened it slowly.
Max was sitting on her bed, head down, shoulders trembling slightly. Her mum stepped inside, closing the door behind her.
"Maxwell?" she said softly.
Max didn't look up. She tried to wipe her tears quickly, but her mother had already seen.
Their mum sat beside her on the bed and placed a hand gently on her back.
Max didn't speak. She didn't move.
But after a moment, she leaned into her mother's side, just a little.
That was enough.
No words yet-but the door was open.
---
Her mother didn't rush her. She just stayed close, her hand moving slowly up and down Max's back, steady and warm. The silence in the room felt safe now, not heavy.
Max's voice cracked as she finally spoke. "I felt so small, Mum. Like I wasn't good enough."
Her mother turned slightly, pulling her closer. "You are more than good enough, Max. One mistake doesn't define you."
Max leaned into her, resting her head against her shoulder like she used to as a child.
"She shouted in front of everyone," Max murmured. "Like I didn't matter."
"You matter. To me. To your dad. To Michael. To all of us," her mother said softly. "You're trying. You're doing your best. That's more than enough."
Max's tears returned, but this time, she didn't fight them.
Her mum wiped them gently with her thumb, then cupped her face. "You're allowed to fall apart sometimes. It's okay. You don't have to carry everything on your own."
Max nodded slowly, eyes red but calmer now.
Her mother held her close for a few more minutes, rocking slightly, whispering, "My last baby. My strong, stubborn girl."
They sat like that until Max's breathing slowed. Then, her mum kissed her forehead and whispered, "Let's go eat. You need your strength."
Max gave a small, tired smile. "Okay."
Hand in hand, they walked downstairs.
That night, the food tasted warmer. Not because of the spices-but because of love.
---
By the time the clock struck 7 p.m., the hum of the house had softened. Max lay across her parents' bed, earbuds still in, but no music played anymore-just silence.
The front door opened downstairs. A few minutes later, her father's footsteps echoed up the stairs. He paused at the doorway, loosening his tie.
"So this is your new room now?" he teased.
Max gave a small smile. "It's more peaceful here."
"You and your peace. You'll soon drive your mum and me to the guest room."
He sat beside her. "You good?"
She nodded.
He kissed her forehead. "I'll be back."
---
Downstairs, her mum explained everything. The salon. The client. The outburst. How Max had shut down.
Her dad listened quietly. "I'll talk to her," he said.
---
Back upstairs, he returned, closed the door gently, and sat beside her again.
"I heard," he said softly.
Max didn't move.
"I know how it feels... when someone embarrasses you. Makes you feel like you don't know anything."
A tear slipped down her cheek.
"I tried so hard, Daddy. I wasn't being careless."
"I'm not angry," he said. "Not disappointed. You're still learning. Mistakes aren't failures-they're training."
Max sniffed. "I felt stupid."
"You're not. You're one of the smartest people I know. You went, you tried, and even now, you're still standing."
She leaned in slowly, resting her head on his shoulder.
"Some days will feel like wins. Others, like today, will feel like setbacks. But neither defines you. You keep moving, Max. That's what matters to me."
She didn't speak, but her arm wrapped around him.
And in that simple moment-on a bed she always ran to when things felt too heavy-Max allowed herself to breathe again.
---
End of Chapter One