Sarah stood silently by the door, half hidden behind the cracked wooden bannister, her heart thudding in her chest. The morning sun poured lazily through the curtain gaps, casting stripes across the living room as Aunt Anita's voice drifted from the kitchen. Her mother sat at the table, hands clasped together, her eyes dull and tired.
"Gloria," Aunt Anita began, her tone cautious but firm, "I know you've been through a lot. We all have. But Sarah is getting older, and frankly, this environment isn't doing her any good. I can take her to London. Give her a fresh start. Help her stand on her feet."
"She doesn't need London," Gloria replied curtly. "She needs God. She needs to stay grounded. What future does a girl have out there when she's thrown into temptation?"
Aunt Anita let out a sigh, shifting in her seat. "She's struggling here. You're struggling. I'm not saying she should go run wild in the streets. She'll be with me. Safe. I have a stable home now. I'm married. You know I'm not the same person I was—"
Grace cut in. "That's the problem. I do know who you were. The woman who paraded around Soho in see-through dresses, living off men's pockets. Forgive me, Anita, but I can not entrust my daughter to someone with that kind of past. I have raised my children with the Word. She'll stay."
A heavy silence followed.
Aunt Anita's voice was softer now. "Gloria... that past paid for my present. And it's a better present than this. Your pride is costing Sarah everything."
Sarah flinched. It felt like someone had slapped her across the face.
"I said no." Her mother stood up, her voice resolute. "This conversation is over."
Aunt Anita didn't argue further. She pushed her chair back, muttered, "I'll be on my way then," and headed toward the front door.
Sarah stepped back as she heard the door creak open. Then, she acted on instinct.
Rushing out the door and down the small walkway, she caught up with her aunt just before she reached her car parked at the curb.
"Aunty Anita!"
Anita turned, surprised, clutching her handbag. "Sarah?"
"I— I want to talk to you," Sarah said, slightly breathless.
"What is it, love?"
"Give me your number. Please. Don't tell Mama. I'm not saying I'm leaving today or tomorrow. But... one day. I might need to call you."
Anita's expression softened. "You sure about that?"
Sarah nodded. "I want to help my family. I want to help myself. And I don't want to be stuck here forever."
Anita pulled out her phone and scribbled her number on a small note from her bag. "Here. Keep it hidden. Use it when you're ready. And whatever you do, be smart."
"I will."
"Take care of yourself. You're not your mother."
Sarah smiled faintly. "I know."
After a brief hug, Sarah watched her aunt drive away. The street returned to its usual quiet, with bins lining the curb and school kids laughing from a few doors down.
She walked back inside, her mind buzzing with a new sense of purpose. She checked the time. It was 11:45 a.m.—she had a little time before her shift.
Marching to the bathroom, she pulled her frizzy curls into a neat bun, brushing out the stubborn strands around her face. For the first time in weeks, she actually looked at her reflection with intent. She dabbed some vaseline on her cracked lips, rubbed it in, and tilted her head.
Not bad.
She changed into her black work trousers and snug top, slipping on her shoes and spraying a little perfume she'd gotten from a customer last Christmas.
Before stepping out, she gave herself one last look in the small hallway mirror. She forced a smile, checking how it looked. Not too fake. Not too worn down. Just enough to fool the world.
Then she whispered under her breath, "This time, I'll do better."
And with that, she locked the door behind her and headed to The Copper Spoon, carrying more than just a tray of hope.