The initial joy of the reunion settled into a fragile, temporary peace. Stella, perhaps feeling a surge of old maternal instincts or a fresh wave of guilt, made them the same promise she had once made to Sonia.
"Don't worry, my children," she said, her voice soft. "Whenever you need anything, you can come to me."
Sonia heard the words, but they felt hollow, like an echo of a promise that had already been broken. She remained quiet, simply nodding. Kemi, however, clung to them, her eyes bright with renewed faith.
Stella cooked a hearty meal for them—a simple act that felt like a feast to the sisters. For a few hours, the house was filled with the sounds of a family, a painful and beautiful illusion. They ate until they were full, a rare and cherished feeling.
As the sun began to dip, Sonia, ever the pragmatist, knew they had overstayed. The fear of their stepmother's wrath was a clock ticking in her head.
"Mama, Kemi... it is time to go home now," Sonia announced, her voice heavy.
Panic flashed in Kemi's eyes. "No!" she pleaded, turning to their mother. "Mama, please, let us stay. I don't want to go back to that woman. I want to stay here with you!"
The plea hung in the air, a desperate request for salvation.
Stella's face fell. The reality of her new life collided with the ghosts of her old one. She looked from Kemi's hopeful face to Sonia's resigned one. She pulled Kemi into a gentle hug.
"My dear, you have to go back," she said, her voice laced with a painful but firm resolve. "That is your father's house. And I... I am in my husband's house now. This is not my house to share. You must go back."
The words were a final, gentle door closing. There would be no rescue.
The walk back to their father's house was silent. Kemi's spirit, so briefly lifted, was now crushed, her steps slow and heavy. Sonia walked beside her, her own heart aching, not just for their situation, but for the final death of the hope that their mother could be their way out. They were returning to the battlefield, armed with nothing but the memory of a full stomach and the bitter understanding that they truly had nowhere else to go.
The walk to school was one of the few moments of peace in Sonia's day. With her books clutched to her chest, she could almost pretend she was just like any other student, her mind focused on equations and essays instead of the tension waiting for her at home.
"Sonia?"
A familiar voice, calm and kind, broke through her thoughts. She turned, and her heart gave a small, unexpected leap. It was him. James. The man from the market.
He was smiling as he hurried over to her. "Sonia! It is good to see you. How are you? How are things?" he asked, his genuine concern a stark contrast to the indifference she was used to.
For a moment, she was tempted to tell him the truth—that things were hard, that nothing had changed. But years of hiding her pain made her default to a polite facade. "Things are good," she replied, offering a small, shy smile. "And... thank you for the other time. At the market."
James waved away her thanks gently. "You don't need to mention it. I was just glad to help." He paused, looking at her with a friendly curiosity. "Can I have your contact? Your phone number, maybe? So we can keep in touch."
Sonia's eyes dropped to the ground in a wave of sudden shame. She hugged her books tighter.
"I... I don't have a phone," she murmured.
James was visibly taken aback. His surprise wasn't cruel, but it was immediate. "What? A fine girl like you, without a phone? How is that possible?"
The question hung in the air, simple and innocent, yet it highlighted the vast, invisible chasm between their worlds. To him, a mobile phone was a basic, assumed possession. For her, it was an unimaginable luxury, a symbol of a normal life that was completely out of reach. His surprise was a quiet, unintentional reminder of just how much she lacked.