Becky stood amidst the bustling market of Mulot, her eyes scanning the crowd. She had just bought some vegetables, seeking comfort in the simple, familiar routines of life in Sagawaita. Yet peace had been a stranger to her ever since her separation from Tesot.
As she moved past the busy stalls, someone caught her eye. Her heart skipped a beat. She squinted through the crowd, a strange sense of familiarity tugging at her. Could it really be?
Chepkorir.
She hadn't seen her in years. But there she was — standing a short distance away, unchanged by time. Becky's pulse quickened.
Without hesitation, she pushed through the crowd and gently tapped the woman's shoulder.
Chepkorir turned around—and gasped.
"Oh, Becky!" she exclaimed, stunned. "Is that really you?"
"It's me," Becky said, her voice trembling. "I saw you leaving that shop… I couldn't let you go without saying something."
Chepkorir's shock faded into a warm smile. "It's been so long. How have you been?"
Becky sighed. "It's been tough. I've spent every day worrying about my son."
Chepkorir nodded sympathetically. "He's doing okay. He's in Class Five now… transferred to a boarding school."
"Boarding school?" Becky's voice tightened. "Which one?"
"Kararan Academy," Chepkorir replied. "He's been there for almost a year."
"Kararan Academy…" Becky echoed, the new school had gained so much reputation after only two national examination . "I didn't know."
Chepkorir hesitated, then added gently, "And Tesot… he married again."
The words felt like a blade twisting in Becky's chest.
"Well, lucky him," she said with a dry laugh. "A new wife without even divorcing me."
They lingered together in the busy market. Chepkorir spoke of village matters—new births, deaths, school fundraisers—but Becky's mind had drifted. Her thoughts looped around one name, one revelation.
Kiplimo.
That night, Becky lay awake on her thin mattress, staring at the cracked ceiling, her body still from exhaustion but her mind restless. Kiplimo in a boarding school. Far from Tesot. Far from the tight grip of the clan.
Maybe—just maybe—she could reach him now.
But then came the doubt, dark and slow like a rising tide. Would he even recognize her? Did he still remember the scent of her skin, the warmth of her embrace? Or had time and distance buried those memories in the back of his mind, along with all the hurt she had left behind?
Her chest clenched painfully. Tears welled, but she blinked them back. She didn't want to cry. Not yet. Not unless there was truly something to grieve.
Still, despite the ache, something small and stubborn fluttered in her—hope, delicate as a butterfly's wing, trembling but alive.
Two days later, back in Nakuru, Becky shared her decision with her sister, Mary.
"I'm going to visit Kiplimo tomorrow," she said, her voice carrying both hope and anxiety.
"Kararan Academy?" Mary asked, surprised.
"That's what Chepkorir told me."
Mary's eyebrows lifted. "That's one of the top schools in Bomet."
"Would you come with me?" Becky asked hopefully.
"I wish I could," Mary replied. "But I'm swamped. You go, though — I'll be praying for you."
That night, Becky prepared for her journey. She cooked chapattis, fried chicken, and rice, packing everything carefully into hotpots. She set her alarm for an early start, the plan to leave at dawn to reach Siongiroi, a small town in Bomet, where Kararan Academy was located.
When she arrived, the afternoon sun had already begun to dip, casting long shadows across the compound. Becky approached the school gate, her heart beating in her chest.
A security guard stood by the entrance.
Hi, my name is Becky," she introduced herself, forcing a calmness into her voice.
The guard greeted her politely. "Yes, Becky. What can I do for you?"
"I'm here to see my son," she said, a little hesitant but determined.
The guard looked at her with a frown. "I'm afraid that may not be possible," he said, his tone apologetic.
"What? Why?" Becky demanded, confusion and frustration bubbling to the surface.
"You must be aware that this school only allows parents to visit on specific visiting days," the guard explained.
"Of course, I know," Becky replied, trying to remain composed. "But this is an exception. I haven't seen my son for five years, and I've traveled a long way just to catch a glimpse of him."
The guard seemed unmoved, his expression stern. "I'm sorry, ma'am. I can't make exceptions."
Becky's heart sank. This was her one chance, and it was slipping away.
"What's your son's name?" the guard asked, though he seemed doubtful.
"Ismael Kiplimo," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Kiplimo?" The guard's eyes narrowed. "I know both of the boy's parents. They were here a couple of weeks ago during the last visiting day."
"Please," Becky pleaded, tears stinging her eyes. "I just want to see him."
The guard hesitated for a moment before giving a sigh. "I'll have to check with the teacher on duty," he said, walking away.
A few minutes later, the teacher returned with the same dismissive expression. "We can't allow you in," he said. "The school records show only Daniel Tesot and Vicky Tesot as Kiplimo's parents. You're not listed."
Becky's heart shattered at the words. They didn't even acknowledge her existence as his mother.
"Wait here," the teacher ordered before disappearing back inside. She could hear voices as they consulted with the school manager, who would ultimately defer to Kiplimo's father.
It was all about his connections, his power, his wealth.
A few moments later, the guard returned. "It's unfortunate," he said, his voice cold. "You're not allowed to see your son. We have instructions not to let you in."
Becky stood there, helpless, her mind spinning. "This isn't fair!" she cried out. "It's been five years. Please, let me see him!"
The guard was unmoved, and within moments, two police officers arrived to escort her out.
Becky's heart sank as she was dragged away from the gate, the cries of the pupils echoing in her ears. Among them, she could see Kiplimo, his eyes wide with confusion and fear.
Kiplimo's chest tightened with fear as he stood frozen, watching helplessly. The large bag she had carried clattered against the ground, dragging behind her like a forgotten offering. His eyes burned with unshed tears, the weight of confusion and heartbreak pressing down on him.
From a short distance, Teacher Koech had noticed the commotion. He stepped forward, concern etched across his face. Seeing the boy's trembling frame, he gently placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder.
"Come, my boy," he said softly, his voice steady. Then, without another word, he led Kiplimo away.
"Please, don't take me away," she begged, her voice breaking. "I just want to see my son."
But the officers remained unrelenting.
---
Inside the police land cruiser, Becky's despair boiled over into furious sobs and choked curses.
"You monsters! Idiots! You'll burn in hell!" she screamed, her voice raw with anguish. "I'll see my son—one way or another. You can't stop me!"
By the time they reached the station, her strength had drained away, leaving only trembling silence. She was thrown into a locked in a cold, dimly lit holding cell — the walls bare, the air damp with hopelessness.
She sat in the corner, knees drawn to her chest, when the guard returned.
"You have a guest," he announced gruffly.
Her heart jolted. For a moment, she couldn't breathe.
A man stepped into the dim cell — tall, broad-shouldered, his kind eyes as dark and steady as polished ebony.
"Hi," he said gently, extending his hand through the bars. "I'm Peter Koech."
Becky rose slowly, unsure but curious, and took his hand. "I'm Becky."
"I'm a teacher at Kararan Academy," he explained. "I saw what happened earlier. I'm truly sorry."
"You saw all that?" she asked, her voice fragile.
He nodded. "I did. And I've come to make you a proposal."
Becky's breath caught. "What kind of proposal?"
"I can help you meet your son — quietly, without the school knowing."
Her eyes widened. "But… I'm locked up."
"I've spoken to the officers," Koech said calmly. "They've agreed to bail you out. Tomorrow, I'll be taking some pupils on a nature walk near the school. I'll make sure your son is there."
Becky stared at him, heart pounding, the flicker of hope igniting like a flame in a storm.
"You'd really do that for me?" she whispered. "You'd risk your job?"
Koech smiled softly. "Some things are worth the risk. I just want you to see your son."
Overwhelmed, Becky lowered her gaze, tears brimming in her eyes.
"Thank you," she whispered, her voice trembling. "Thank you so much."
---
The next day, around 11 a.m., beneath the wide shade of an acacia tree, Becky waited, her breath catching at every sound. The wind rustled the leaves gently, but her mind was a storm of anticipation.
Then—she saw them.
Koech emerged, walking slowly toward her, holding Kiplimo's hand. The moment their eyes met, the boy broke into a run and threw himself into her arms.
"My boy!" Becky sobbed, clutching him tightly, covering his face with kisses. Tears slid freely down her cheeks.
She pulled back for a moment to study him—his smile radiant, his eyes so much like hers. Then her gaze dropped—and froze.
His teeth. Brownish. Stained.
A sharp memory pierced her heart: how her own mother had guarded them from drinking hard water, insisting it kept their teeth white. I'll do the same for my children, she had once vowed.
That promise, like so many others, had been stolen from her.
"I'm so happy to see you," she whispered, brushing a tear from his cheek. "Do you remember me?"
"Yes."
"Who am I?"
The boy smiled. "My mum!"
Her heart cracked open.
They sat together and unpacked the food she'd brought. Koech sat a respectful distance away, quietly watching over them like a silent guardian. But Becky, her heart swelling with gratitude, wouldn't have it.
"Please," she said, gesturing warmly. "You've done so much. Join us."
He hesitated, clearly reluctant—but finally nodded and moved closer. Together, the three of them formed a small circle. Becky reached out, took their hands in hers, and bowed her head.
They prayed — a short, quiet moment beneath the open sky.
As the sun arched higher above them, time seemed to slow — and then, cruelly, quicken. Becky watched Kiplimo eat, talk, and laugh, trying to memorize every detail: the shape of his hands, the rhythm of his voice, the way he wrinkled his nose when smiling. Each moment felt both like a gift and a countdown.
As they finished eating, Kiplimo lay back on the grass, full and content, idly picking at a leaf. Becky watched him with quiet joy, her heart slowly stitching itself back together with every passing second.
She turned to Koech, her voice low. "I don't know how to thank you."
He shook his head gently. "You don't have to. I just did what felt right."
"But you risked so much," she said. "Your job… your reputation. Why?"
Koech looked away for a moment, then back at her. "Because I've seen too many children grow up with one side of the story. I didn't want your son to be another."
Becky blinked, surprised by the depth in his voice.
"I grew up without my mother," he added softly. "No one ever told me what happened to her. I think… maybe that's why I couldn't just stand by."
A silence settled between them — not awkward, but full of unspoken understanding.
"You're a good man, Koech," Becky said at last, her voice sincere.
He smiled faintly. "Don't tell anyone. I have a reputation for being strict."
She chuckled, and even Kiplimo giggled.
"Will I see you again, Mum?" the boy asked suddenly, sitting up.
Becky's smile faltered, the weight of uncertainty returning. "I hope so," she said softly. "I'll try. I'll do everything I can."
Koech placed a hand on the boy's shoulder. "You have a strong mother," he said. "Never forget that."
The time came sooner than she wanted. As they packed up, Becky knelt and hugged Kiplimo tightly again, inhaling the scent of his hair, memorizing every inch of him.
"Study hard. Pray. Be kind," she said, her voice thick. "And never forget that I love you. Every single day."
"I love you too, Mum," he whispered.
Koech stood waiting nearby, giving them space but knowing they couldn't linger.
As he took Kiplimo's hand and gently led him away, Becky stood motionless, her heart breaking all over again — but this time, with a seed of hope planted deep inside.
She turned back toward the dusty road, toward her uncertain future, her eyes misty but her spirit burning with quiet resolve.