The day began with commotion.
"Amanda! Angela, get up! Are you hard of hearing or something?!"
Angela jolted upright, her heart racing. Her mother's voice had pierced the quiet of early morning like a knife. Panic was her first reaction. What have I done now? she wondered, thoughts spinning.
She rubbed her eyes and swung her legs off the bed. Her small room was still dark, wrapped in the quiet gloom before dawn. The peeling calendar on the wall rustled as a breeze slipped in through the broken window. The air smelled of cold and unwashed clothes.
Her mother's voice roared again from downstairs.
"Angela! You'd better get down here before I come up there myself!"
Angela jumped to her feet, still groggy from sleep, and hurried down the stairs.
Her mother stood in the center of the living room, phone in hand, wrapped in her scarf and wrapper—half dressed for the day, fully dressed in irritation.
Angela stepped forward carefully. "Ma… what happened?"
At first, her mother said nothing. She simply looked at her daughter with a strange expression—anger mixed with something else. Sadness? Regret?
Then she shoved the phone into Angela's hand.
"Your brother wants to talk to you."
Angela blinked. "Brother?"
She hadn't spoken to her brother in weeks. He was away at university, living in another city, and rarely called. And when he did, it was always the same—brief, polite conversations. Quick "how are yous" and "take cares." Still, hearing his voice always sparked a small flicker of joy inside her.
She took the phone and held it to her right ear—her only good ear.
"Angela?"
His voice came through, crackling slightly with poor reception.
Her face lit up. "Brother! Morning!"
"How's my little sister?" he asked, his tone warm but tired. "Are you okay?"
Angela hesitated. Her eyes flicked to her mother, who had now turned away, arms crossed, pacing near the front door.
"I'm alright," she said softly. "Getting ready for school."
"You sure?"
"Yes." She forced a smile, though he couldn't see it. "Everything's fine."
"You sound tired."
"I just woke up, that's all."
He paused, as if he had more to say, but instead he simply said,
"I'll call again soon. Take care of yourself, okay?"
"Okay. Bye, Brother."
She handed the phone back to her mother, who took it without looking at her.
Angela stood there for a moment, watching her mother. The silence in the room grew thick and heavy. Then her mother spun around sharply.
"You'd better go get dressed," she snapped. "If you're not ready in ten minutes, I'm leaving without you."
Angela's heart sank. "But Mom—"
"I'm serious, Angela." Her voice rose. "Do you think I don't have things to do? You think I can wait on you every morning?"
"I was just talking to—"
Her mother waved a hand dismissively.
"I beg, move. Go and get ready."
Angela turned and dashed upstairs. Her eyes stung, but she didn't cry. She had learned to hold the tears back. She dressed quickly—putting on her uniform, brushing her teeth in silence, combing her hair with fast fingers. She didn't eat. There was no time.
When she grabbed her bag and rushed downstairs again—stomach rumbling, shoelaces untied—the house was quiet.
The front door was open.
The car was gone.
Angela froze in the doorway, staring at the empty driveway. Her mother had left her.
Again.
She looked up at the sky. The sun was rising, golden light pouring through the trees in long beams. Birds chirped cheerfully, as if all was well.
As if the world hadn't just reminded her that she didn't matter.
She let out a quiet, tired sigh and closed the door behind her.
She had more than thirty minutes of walking ahead just to get to school.
Her backpack felt like bricks, and her shoes were already rubbing the backs of her heels raw. But she walked.
She walked because she had to.
She walked with one good ear and a thousand heavy thoughts.
And not a single soul asked if she was okay
Chapter Two (Part 2): Things Left Unsaid
Angela arrived at school just after the second bell.
She slipped through the gate quietly, head down, hoping to avoid the security man's eyes. Her legs ached, and her socks were damp with sweat. She knew she looked a mess—hair barely combed, shirt creased, and her backpack sliding off one shoulder. But no one noticed. Or if they did, they said nothing.
By some small miracle, the teacher hadn't yet started taking attendance.
Angela walked into class and slid into her seat near the back window. She lowered her head onto her desk, resting it gently on the crook of her arm. Her whole body felt like it was sinking.
She closed her eyes, trying to disappear for just a moment.
"Angela," a familiar voice whispered beside her.
She opened her eyes, slowly lifting her head. Gabriel was staring at her, his expression caught between concern and curiosity.
"Uh-uh," he said, squinting. "Why are you late like this?"
Angela tried to shrug it off. "Traffic," she muttered.
Gabriel frowned. "Traffic ke? You dey go school with trailer?"
She chuckled softly despite herself. He always had a way of making even her darkest mornings a little lighter.
"Was it your mom again?" he asked, lowering his voice.
Angela paused. The smile faded from her lips. She looked down at her desk.
"No, it's nothing," she said quickly. "Don't worry. I'm fine."
Gabriel didn't buy it, but he didn't push. He just sighed and turned his attention back to his notebook. Angela was grateful. She wasn't ready to explain that her mother had left her behind again… that she'd walked for nearly an hour in worn shoes and silence, hoping the whole time that maybe, just maybe, this wasn't her life.
Classes moved slowly. The teachers talked, students responded, the whiteboard filled with notes. Angela copied them mechanically, her hand moving while her mind drifted elsewhere.
She thought of her brother's voice on the phone that morning.
"You sound tired."
She was tired. More than tired. But it wasn't the kind of tired that sleep could fix.
By lunchtime, the sun was high and hot. Angela and Gabriel sat on the concrete ledge near the school field, their lunch packs unopened beside them. The other kids were running around, screaming and laughing, footballs bouncing, jump ropes flying. It was loud, but somehow she still felt alone in it all.
Gabriel was tossing pebbles into the dust in front of them. Angela was watching the clouds.
"I don't like seeing you like this," Gabriel finally said.
Angela didn't answer.
He turned slightly toward her. "Is it your mom again?"
She exhaled sharply through her nose and offered a tired half-smile. "You always ask that."
"Because it's always true."
Angela didn't say anything for a while. The noise of the playground faded in her ears. Then she whispered, "I don't know what I did to deserve it."
Gabriel looked at her, his smile gone.
"I try, Gabriel. I try to be quiet. I do what she asks. I clean. I study. I don't talk back. But she still shouts. She still looks at me like I'm a mistake. Like I ruined her life."
Gabriel swallowed. "You didn't ruin anything."
Angela stared at the ground. "Sometimes I wonder… if I disappeared… would anyone even notice? Maybe it would be easier. Maybe then she'd be happier."
Gabriel sat up straighter. "Angela, stop."
"I'm serious."
"No," he said. "Don't talk like that."
She looked up at him, eyes watery now. "You don't understand."
"I don't have to understand everything to care," he said gently. "And I care. A lot."
Her lips trembled, and her voice broke. "I want it to stop. The shouting. The silence. The pretending. I'm so tired of pretending."
Gabriel reached out, uncertain at first, then gently touched her shoulder. His voice was low, but firm.
"You are not alone, Angela. Even if it feels like it."
A tear rolled down her cheek. Then another. She wiped them away quickly, embarrassed.
"I don't want to die," she whispered. "I just… I want the pain to go away. I want to be somewhere safe. Somewhere soft. Somewhere where I don't feel like a mistake."
Gabriel didn't respond with words. He just leaned in a little closer and sat with her.
For a long time, they stayed there. Just breathing. Just being.
Around them, the school playground continued—kids laughing, games being played, teachers calling names—but it all seemed far away, as if the world had made a little pocket of quiet just for them.
"I don't know how to help," Gabriel said finally. "But I'm here. I'm not leaving."
Angela nodded slowly, swallowing the lump in her throat. She didn't smile. But she didn't cry anymore either.
For now, that was enough.