One of the women hissed sharply and continued walking.
“I should give you water?” she snapped. “Do you know how far we walk to fetch it?”
But the other woman, Patricia, quietly lowered her gallon. Greg took it carefully and poured some into his engine tank.
“Thank you so much,” he said, genuinely grateful. “Let me help you. I can take you back to fetch more water.”
“No,” Patricia replied with a soft smile. “I’ll manage.”
“Please, I insist,” Greg said firmly.
Patricia hesitated, glancing at the gallon. The tap was indeed quite far. Finally, she agreed and sat behind him. Greg rode her to the tap, waited while she refilled her gallon, and then brought her back close to her house.
“Thank you,” Patricia said again as she carried the gallon on her head and walked in.
But the moment she stepped inside, she froze. Her mother and two sisters were already waiting for her like a storm ready to break.
“Patricia, where are you coming from?” her mother demanded.
“I went to the tap,” Patricia answered calmly.
“You see, Mommy? She’s still lying,” Chioma said with a scoff.
“Who is the man Nkolika saw you with?” Elizabeth added sharply.
“No, Mommy. That’s not what it is. I just helped him.”
“So it’s true?” Elizabeth cut in. “It has gotten to the extent of you sleeping around in this village?”
“No, Mommy.”
“Shut up!” Mercy shouted.
Elizabeth’s face hardened with anger. “You see why I said a prostitute’s child will never amount to anything good. You will not eat in this house for three days. Maybe hunger will drive out that useless behavior from you.”
“Nonsense. Go and chop the firewood at the backyard.”
They stormed off, leaving Patricia standing there, tears streaming down her face.
This was how they had always treated her ever since her father died. She had been adopted long before Elizabeth gave birth to her first daughter, Chioma. A year later, Mercy was born. But after their father’s death, everything changed. Patricia became nothing more than a servant in the house. She did all the chores, ran every errand, and endured every insult, while Chioma and Mercy spent their days dressing up, waiting eagerly for the wealthy man their father had once promised would come and marry one of his daughters.
“Mommy, who will he choose when he comes?” Mercy once asked.
“I don’t know, my dear,” Elizabeth replied thoughtfully. “But that’s why you girls must always look rich. You know how wealthy men are. They like women who look like them.”
She paused, then added with a sly smile, “Even if he chooses your sister, Chioma, you must make sure to connect your sister to his wealthy friends as well.”
The girls would laugh and giggle, already imagining a life of luxury.
Day after day, they waited patiently for the rich man to arrive. If only they knew he would not come in the way they expected.
One afternoon, a knock sounded at their gate. Standing outside was a young man, his clothes tattered, his face worn with hunger and exhaustion.
Elizabeth sprang up immediately, her daughters trailing behind her.
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