The memory was a ghost that lingered between them, though Sonia did not know it. Every time James set eyes on her, a part of him remembered the market, the shouting crowd, and the sandal clutched in her hand. The label "thief" was a shadow he couldn't quite shake, a stain on the image of the fine, quiet girl who now sat in his home.
For Sonia, his house was the only sanctuary she had left. With Kemi gone, the silence in her father's house was no longer peaceful, but heavy with the threat of her stepmother's cruelty. She kept going to James for food, for a moment of peace, for the simple human kindness that was absent from her life.
One afternoon, the dynamic shifted. James, watching her eat the food he provided, finally spoke the thought that had been haunting him.
"Sonia," he began, his voice losing some of its previous gentleness. "You come here, and I help you. But I cannot forget what I saw in the market. A thief is a thief. How do I know you are not just using me? How do I know you won't steal from me when my back is turned?"
His words were like a physical blow. The food turned to ash in her mouth. She looked up at him, the shame and hurt so profound she couldn't speak. The one person who had seen her as worthy of help was now looking at her with the same suspicion as everyone else.
He didn't ask why she had stolen. He didn't see the desperation of a sister trying to protect another from shame. He only saw the act.
"I... I would never..." she stammered, her voice a fragile whisper.
But the trust was broken. The sanctuary was poisoned. James's help was no longer a simple kindness; it had become a transaction, weighted with his judgment and her past. She finished the meal in a strained silence, the walls of his house feeling like a new kind of prison.
When she left, she knew she couldn't go back. The one door of escape had slammed shut, leaving her truly alone, with nowhere to go and no one to turn to.
With James's door closed and Kemi gone, the walls of her father's house felt more like a prison than ever. There was no "if" or "maybe" about her stepmother's maltreatment now; it was a constant, brutal fact of life. Sonia, with no other options, learned to wear a mask of quiet submission, building a fortress inside her own mind where her stepmother's words could not reach her.
Then, her father, Claudius, made a decision. Perhaps driven by a flicker of guilt, or more likely by a desire to reduce the financial burden and constant tension in his home, he announced that Sonia would no longer continue her education. Instead, he found her a position as a food preparation worker—a kitchen assistant—in a local canteen.
For Sonia, this was a double-edged sword. It was the end of her academic dreams, the final nail in the coffin of the future she had once imagined. But it was also an escape from the house for most of the day. It was a new world.
The work was grueling. Her hands, once used to holding books, were now raw from scrubbing pots, peeling mountains of vegetables, and scaling fish. The heat from the stoves was relentless, and the head cook was a stern, demanding woman. But amidst the steam and the sweat, Sonia found something she hadn't expected: purpose.
She was a quick learner. She watched the cooks carefully, memorizing recipes and techniques. She discovered she had a natural instinct for flavors. While the work was meant to be menial, she began to take pride in it. Chopping an onion perfectly, ensuring the rice wasn't sticky, creating a well-balanced stew—these were small, tangible accomplishments. No one could take that skill away from her.
The other workers, while not friends, were not her enemies. They were simply people trying to make a living. In their indifferent company, she found a strange kind of peace. Here, she wasn't "the thief" or "the unwanted stepdaughter." She was just Sonia, the new girl who worked hard.
She would come home each evening exhausted, her body aching, but with a few precious coins in her pocket that she had earned herself. It wasn't much, but it was hers. And in the dead of night, she would hide those coins away, each one a silent, metallic promise of a future where she would be the one to decide her own fate.