Chapter 1 - THE NIGHT CLARA WAS LEFT OUTSIDE
By the time the sun began to rise over the quiet neighborhood, Clara could no longer feel her fingers.
She sat against the concrete wall beside the Adamu family gate with both arms wrapped around herself. Her travel bag lay beside her, damp from the cold night air.
She had been there almost the entire night.
Every few minutes, another violent shiver traveled through her body.
But Clara didn't knock again.
She had already knocked enough.
She had begged enough.
And sometime shortly before midnight, she had finally understood something that hurt more than the cold.
Nobody inside wanted to open the gate.
Not for her.
Not anymore.
Only months earlier, Clara had entered that same compound without knocking. After losing both of her parents, Uncle Adamu had promised she would always have a home with his family.
His wife had once hugged Clara and told her, "As long as we're alive, you'll never be alone."
Clara remembered those words now.
They felt like something spoken in another lifetime.
The gateman had noticed her before dawn. At first he thought she would eventually leave. But when he returned and found her sitting in exactly the same position, trembling violently, he became frightened.
He went to wake Mr. Adamu.
Minutes later, the gate opened.
Clara lifted her head.
Her uncle stood there staring at her.
"What are you doing in front of my gate shivering like someone who's about to lose her life?" he demanded.
His anger lasted only a moment.
Then he noticed her face.
Clara's lips had lost their color. Her eyes were swollen from crying. Sweat covered her forehead despite the cold.
"If the gateman hadn't called my attention," he continued more quietly, "I wouldn't have known you were still here."
Clara tried to speak.
Nothing came.
Mrs. Adamu appeared behind her husband.
The moment she saw Clara, her expression hardened.
"I thought my husband told you to leave."
Clara lowered her eyes.
"I thought he told you to go and find whoever got you pregnant. Why are you still here?"
The word pregnant landed like a stone.
Clara instinctively placed one hand against her stomach.
She wasn't showing much yet.
But everybody knew.
Stella followed her mother outside.
Unlike her parents, Stella didn't stare at Clara with anger. She stared at her with fear.
"Clara?"
She hurried forward.
"Stella, come back," Mrs. Adamu ordered.
But Stella ignored her and touched Clara's forehead.
Her eyes widened.
"Mummy, her body is so hot."
Mrs. Adamu immediately pulled Stella backward.
"Don't touch her! Don't let her contaminate you."
Clara closed her eyes.
Contaminate.
She wasn't family anymore.
She wasn't even a person to them.
She was something dirty.
Mr. Adamu looked uncomfortable.
Whatever anger he felt toward his niece, seeing the orphaned daughter of his late brother sitting sick outside his gate was becoming difficult to ignore.
He sighed.
"Since you refuse to leave, I'll allow you inside on one condition."
Clara looked up.
For the first time that morning, hope entered her eyes.
"You won't stay inside the main house anymore. You'll stay in the boys' quarters."
Clara nodded immediately.
"I—"
"That's not all," Mrs. Adamu interrupted.
She stepped closer.
"If you want to remain here, you earn your place."
Clara stared at her.
"You've already been chased out. We're accepting you back only under our conditions."
"What conditions?" Clara whispered.
Mrs. Adamu folded her arms.
"You become my servant."
Stella's mouth fell open.
"Mummy—"
"Stay out of this."
Clara's eyes filled with tears.
Mrs. Adamu continued.
"You'll cook. Clean. Wash. Do whatever you're told. You're not coming back here pretending everything is normal after bringing shame into this family."
Clara wanted to say she wasn't trying to shame anybody.
She wanted to explain everything.
But every time she thought about telling them who the father was, something stopped her.
Fear.
A promise.
And one secret that could destroy far more than her own life.
So Clara nodded.
Mrs. Adamu frowned.
"I don't need crocodile tears. When someone asks you a question, answer with your mouth. That's why God gave you one."
Clara swallowed.
"I... I accept, Mum."
Mrs. Adamu's expression changed instantly.
"Shut up."
Clara froze.
"Who is your mother?"
Silence.
"Don't you know where your mother is?"
Clara's lips trembled.
"Six feet below."
Stella looked horrified.
"Mom!"
"Don't ever call me your mother again," Mrs. Adamu said. "I could never give birth to a wayward child like you."
Something inside Clara broke.
Her mother had been dead for less than two years.
Some mornings Clara still woke expecting to hear her voice.
Her father had died only months after his wife.
And after both funerals, Mrs. Adamu had been the woman who held Clara's hands and promised to protect her.
Now she was using Clara's dead mother as a weapon.
Clara began crying again.
Mr. Adamu looked away.
"Enough," he finally muttered. "Clara, go inside."
Clara started walking through the gate.
"Your bag!"
She stopped.
Mrs. Adamu pointed toward it.
"Who are you leaving that behind for?"
Clara returned, picked up the heavy bag and dragged it across the compound.
Nobody helped her.
Not even Mr. Adamu.
Only Stella watched.
And as Clara disappeared toward the neglected building behind the house, Stella saw something none of the adults noticed.
A small dark stain appeared on Clara's sleeve when she wiped her mouth after coughing.
Stella's heart began pounding.
The boys' quarters smelled of dust and damp concrete.
Nobody had lived there for months.
Clara pushed open a window and stared at the dirty mattress, broken chair and cobwebs.
This was home now.
She put down her bag.
Her knees nearly gave way.
But she began cleaning.
Ten minutes later—
"CLARA!"
Mrs. Adamu's voice thundered across the compound.
Clara flinched.
"CLARA!"
She hurried toward the door.
The moment she opened it, Mrs. Adamu's hand struck her cheek.
Clara stumbled sideways.
For several seconds, everything seemed distant.
"So I'm calling you and you answer whenever you like?"
"I was—"
"Don't you know my children have to eat before school? Should my husband starve because you're feeling sorry for yourself?"
Clara touched her cheek.
"You have fifteen minutes to make breakfast."
Mrs. Adamu turned away.
Clara stared after her.
Then she walked toward the kitchen.
She cooked through dizziness.
Eggs.
Tea.
Bread.
She prepared everything the family normally ate.
When she finished, she served them.
Mr. Adamu barely looked at her.
Stella couldn't stop looking at her.
Clara returned to the kitchen and quietly placed a little food onto a plate.
She had eaten nothing since the previous morning.
Before she could leave, Mrs. Adamu appeared.
"Oh. So you're hungry?"
Clara stopped.
"Please, I haven't eaten since—"
"Put it back."
Clara stared at her.
"When my husband and children leave, you'll do your chores. Then you can think about eating."
"Please."
Mrs. Adamu pointed toward the counter.
"Put. It. Back."
Clara slowly obeyed.
She returned to the boys' quarters.
Her head was spinning.
She sat on the edge of the mattress.
"I miss you, Mom," she whispered.
Tears rolled down her cheeks.
She remembered her parents.
She remembered how Mrs. Adamu used to smile whenever they visited.
How could death change people so quickly?
Or had death simply revealed who they had always been?
Clara tried to stand.
The room tilted.
She grabbed the wall.
Her vision blurred.
"Not now..."
She took another step.
Then everything went black.
Her body collapsed onto the floor.
Outside, Stella had just returned because she'd forgotten a school notebook.
As she passed the boys' quarters, she heard the sound.
THUD.
Stella stopped.
"Clara?"
No answer.
She walked toward the door.
"Clara?"
Still nothing.
Stella pushed it open.
Her scream echoed across the entire compound.
And when Mr. Adamu came running and saw his niece unconscious on the floor, he finally realized something his wife had refused to see.
Clara wasn't pretending to be sick.
She might actually be dying.
But what none of them knew was that Clara's fever wasn't going to become the biggest problem inside the Adamu house.
Because hidden at the bottom of Clara's travel bag was an envelope.
May you like
An envelope addressed to her late father.
And inside it was a name that Mrs. Adamu would do almost anything to keep Clara from discovering.
