Beatrice sat alone in her bedroom, the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting long shadows across the room. In her trembling hands, she held a photo of Zaria. The girl's bright eyes and delicate smile pierced her soul like a blade.
She had stared at that photo for nearly an hour, unable to look away. Something about Zaria pulled at a part of her heart she had long buried. "Why is my husband so connected to her?" she whispered under her breath.
The weight of her lie pressed on her chest like a boulder. Years ago, she had told Sally that their child—her child—had died at birth. It had been easier to bury the truth than admit she had abandoned the girl when she was just two years old, choosing instead to marry a wealthier man and start a new life.
And now here Zaria was, alive, healthy, even thriving at Orbit International School—a prestigious place for brilliant minds and gifted talents. Beatrice's hands shook as she turned the photo over. "How… when… did Sally meet her? Why did he even bother with her?"
For a moment, she bit her lip until it bled. Questions flooded her thoughts, but answers were painfully scarce.
"What if I go to Hilltop?" she whispered to herself. "If Zaria is still there, living with her stepmother, then maybe… maybe I'm mistaken. Maybe they just look alike."
But she knew deep down that wasn't true. Zaria's face wasn't one you easily forgot—it was her face too, from years ago when she was still a struggling young woman.
"And if she isn't there," she muttered, pacing across the room, "then she's the one. My Zaria. But… how did Sally find her? And why didn't he tell me?"
Her hands clenched tightly at her sides. She had buried her past to protect her new life. Sally had believed her lie. He had trusted her. And now, because of one girl, all of it could unravel.
Beatrice sank into the edge of the bed and covered her face with her hands. For the first time in years, she felt something close to fear—not fear of Sally, but of the truth catching up with her.
"I need to meet her soon," she whispered. "I need to know what Sally knows… and how much she remembers about me."
---
Far across town, Sally sat in a sleek executive lounge at Lugogo, sipping coffee as he listened to one of his business partners pitch a new logistics deal. His calm demeanor masked the stress of managing multiple high-stakes contracts and the responsibilities of his powerful network.
His phone buzzed silently on the table. He glanced at the caller ID—it was one of his "shadow men," operatives he trusted with sensitive information. Sally excused himself from the table politely, walking to a quiet corner near the balcony before answering.
"Yes?" he said flatly.
"Sir," the voice on the other end whispered, "someone's investigating the girl… Zaria."
Sally's back stiffened. "Who?"
"Your wife, sir. Beatrice. She's been asking questions—many questions."
For a long moment, silence settled over the call. Sally stared into the night beyond the glass railing, his mind racing. His wife… digging into Zaria?
He pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a slow, heavy breath. "Got it," he finally said, his voice cold and steady.
He hung up and slid the phone into his pocket, taking a moment to gather himself. The air around him suddenly felt heavier.
Of all people, Beatrice had no right to ask about Zaria. She had abandoned the girl when she was only two years old, left her defenseless in a harsh world that had nearly killed her. Sally could still remember the day he had found Zaria—broken, bruised, and starving—dumped like unwanted trash on the verge of death. He had carried her to the hospital, paid every bill, and stood by her bedside until she could stand again.
Even after learning she was his stepdaughter, not his biological child, Sally hadn't turned away. Instead, he had given her life again—enrolling her at Orbit International, protecting her future, and guarding her from the cruel eyes of those who had abandoned her.
And now Beatrice, the woman who had left Zaria behind, dared to come sniffing around as if she had some right to her?
Sally's jaw tightened. "No," he thought. "She doesn't get to disrupt Zaria's life. Not now. Not ever."
---
Back at the house, Beatrice still held the photo, staring at it as if it could answer all her questions. She remembered her choices—the day she had walked away, the promises she had broken, the child she had left crying. At the time, it had felt like survival, choosing a stable marriage over the struggle of single motherhood.
But looking at Zaria now, thriving, alive, and—most importantly—connected to Sally, made her stomach churn. "What does he know? Did she tell him everything? Does she even remember me?"
Her heart pounded. "I'm going to Hilltop," she muttered to herself. "If Zaria's there, then I'll know I'm wrong. But if she's not… then she's the one. My daughter."
---
Later that night, Sally sat alone in his private office. He reached into a locked drawer and pulled out a photograph of Zaria taken at one of her school events. She was smiling, holding a trophy, the light of determination in her eyes.
Sally traced a finger over the image and closed his eyes. "I promised you'd never be hurt again," he whispered. "Not by them… and especially not by her."
Sliding the photo back into the drawer, he locked it firmly. His mind was already working on how to keep Beatrice's curiosity at bay without revealing Zaria's past. He knew one thing for certain: Beatrice could never know the truth—not all of it.
---
That night, husband and wife lay in the same house but worlds apart in thought.
Beatrice stared at the ceiling, replaying her own choices and feeling the weight of regret press hard on her chest.
Sally, meanwhile, silently vowed: "I saved her once, and I'll save her again… even if it's from you, Beatrice."
And as the clock ticked toward midnight, both knew that the past they had buried for years was clawing its way back to the surface.