Morning came gently, not with light, but with a tap on the shoulder and a familiar voice. "Angie… Angie," her uncle Joseph whispered, crouched beside her curled body on his doorstep. Her eyes blinked open slowly, confused, her mind still stuck somewhere between last night's silence and the hyena cries that haunted her sleep. She'd fallen asleep guarding her own existence, freezing, starving, and forgotten, but safe, at least for the moment. Safe from the wild, but not from Catherine. She was never safe from her.
Joseph's face was twisted with something Angie hadn't seen before, concern. Deep, aching concern. She knew faces well. She studied them with the quiet desperation of a child who learned to read danger in eyes and fear in frowns. Joseph's eyes weren't angry. They weren't confused. They were… broken. Like he had just found something precious that the world had tried to throw away. He helped her up and pulled her into the tightest embrace she had ever felt. It was warmth her small body wasn't used to, and for a second, she let it hold her. Joseph didn't ask questions. He didn't need to. The night had spoken its own story: the cold on her skin, the torn blue skirt, the silence in her eyes.
He walked her home in silence.
Catherine was there. Waiting. As if she had known Angie would return.
As if her cruelty had been patiently pacing in circles all night, waiting for a second chance. But Joseph didn't give her one. Not yet. He waited while Angie bathed, then took her hand again and led her down the dirt path to the tuckshop nearby. There, he bought her scones, juice, and a small bag of cheese snacks. They walked back together, slow and quiet, as the sun climbed higher, pretending everything was normal.
Joseph made her eat right in front of Catherine. Every bite. And when she was done, he stood, placed his hand on her head gently, then turned to leave. "Touch this kid, and we're going to have a problem," he said flatly to Catherine, his eyes sharp. Then he left. Angie caught that look, the one Catherine wore when someone interrupted her power. A storm was brewing behind that silence, and Angie knew. She would pay for staying out. For the bowl. For daring to run. But strangely, she didn't feel fear. Not this time. Only… hollowness. The same emptiness from the night before. The same wish to disappear. The moment Joseph was gone, the storm arrived. Catherine walked toward her, grabbed the cheese snacks from her hand and crushed them into the dirt with a slow, deliberate stomp. Angie didn't flinch. Then came the hand, digging into her scalp, between her threaded loops, yanking her up like a rag doll.
She didn't cry. Catherine dragged her toward the small thatched room they used as a kitchen. Inside, a mountain of dishes waited, yesterday's meals, leftovers Angie never tasted, and even dishes from Catherine's house added just to break her spirit. She shoved Angie through the door with a blow to the head. Angie stumbled, losing her footing, crashing against the cold iron pot.
For a moment, everything vanished. No pain. No voices. Just… nothing. And that nothing felt beautiful. But it didn't last. The pain came flooding in, sharp, pounding, on the side of her head. Catherine's voice pierced the silence like a jagged knife: "Don't leave this room until every dish is clean." Angie looked up, slowly. Her face blank, but her eyes darker than before. She didn't answer. She didn't need to. Her silence was a rebellion. Catherine stormed off, slamming the door behind her. Angie sat in the stillness. Dusted herself off. Pulled a broken chair from the corner and sank into it. She stared ahead, eyes unfocused. Her small hands resting in her lap, her chest rising and falling slowly, like a machine that forgot why it kept breathing.
The little voices were louder now. Not screaming, not whispering, just speaking. Telling her stories of how the world works. Of what happens when you care. Of what happens when you trust. She didn't feel scared anymore. Not even hurt. She felt tired. So, so tired. And that's when it hit her, not the pot, not Catherine, but the truth:
She had stopped hoping.
Since the day Angie was betrayed by the bowl, something in her had dimmed. A light once faint but burning had flickered out quietly, without fanfare or protest. She no longer sought to impress, no one was watching, or so it seemed. The idea of being noticed had become foreign, almost ridiculous. Silence became her comfort, solitude her language. She drifted like smoke through the spaces she occupied, seen but never felt. She pulled further into herself, stubborn and withdrawn, a shadow among others. Something in her hated people now, a hatred not loud or wild, but cold, disappointed.
At school, things continued much the same as they always had. She competed for the top spot in class, her usual rivals, the twins, and now Hope, who had quickly risen in rank. The classroom was full of brilliant minds, but Angie's was different. Mrs. David noticed it. She noticed the shift, how Angie no longer lit up when praised, how she no longer flinched when corrected. She noticed the way Angie sat, stiff yet absent, her eyes fixed on the chalkboard but her mind elsewhere. Mrs. David's questions came more frequently now, her eyes clinging longer to Angie's face, searching for some kind of doorway into the girl's silence.
But Angie had turned her face away from even her. She stopped stealing stationery, stopped sketching spirals and soft faces in her notebooks. Her hands stayed still, her voice sealed. In the quiet moments of class, when others giggled or whispered, Angie sat there, eyes open but far away, like she was living in another place altogether. Her mind wandered in lessons, chasing thoughts too complex for her age, too dark for the daylight. Grief had layered itself over her like dust, too fine to see, too thick to ignore. She didn't want to be here. Not in this world. Not in the one that hurt and kept hurting.
Grace began visiting more. She no longer floated like a ghost from Angie's memory, she was there, more real, more grounded. Her voice carried warmth, like the sun in winter. Her presence was soft, but consistent, lingering like perfume long after she'd left. She'd talk to Angie, ask questions, nudge her to open up, but Angie had grown silent, even to her. She would listen, eyes low, her heart tucked behind ribs like secrets in an attic. Grace tried. She kept trying. But some doors in Angie's heart had rusted shut.
It was during third grade that the air around Angie began to shift. Not all storms come with thunder, some sneak in slowly, under your nose, like smoke in your lungs before the fire. At home, the mornings felt heavier, like the sun hesitated to rise. New men began to appear… strangers. Illegal immigrants, Catherine said, hired for the yard. But their presence was... off. They didn't just work the yard. They drifted through the compound like unfinished sentences, half-hidden in doorways, half-swallowed by the shadows. They existed in the edges of things, out of place, out of time. They never spoke to Angie, never smiled, but she could feel them, watching, waiting. Angie, ever the early riser, began to notice the pattern. She would wake at dawn, before anyone else, to sweep the yard. In the cool blue light of morning, she'd see the men stepping out of Catherine's house. Not the yard. The house. Slipping out like secrets. Always too early. Always too quiet. One time, she caught a glance exchanged between Catherine and one of them, a look that made her feel like she'd stepped into something she wasn't meant to see. She didn't understand it. But her body did. Her skin knew before her mind did: this wasn't right. And still, she said nothing. Just swept the ground like it was her silence that kept the house standing.
It was always the same few, rotating, but one came more than the others. He had a face she didn't like, a smile that didn't reach his eyes. She didn't know what was happening, didn't understand, not fully. But something about it gnawed at her. It felt wrong. It felt... unsafe. And though it chilled her, she buried it deep. She said nothing. She didn't care to know. Didn't want to know. It wasn't her business, not anymore. She'd already learned that speaking often made things worse. So, she swept the yard and swept the thoughts away with the dust.
Yet amid the unease, school began to bloom for her. She couldn't study at home, so she mastered the art of listening. Her ears replaced books, her mind sharpened like a blade. She didn't participate unless forced, didn't raise her hand, but she was always watching, always processing. She became sharp, calculating, a quiet fire. School didn't feel like an escape. It felt like control, something she could hold in her hands without it burning her.
Then came Jade, a new transfer, clever and unshaken. With Hope, the twins, and now Jade, the classroom shifted. It became a battlefield, of wits, of quiet rivalries, of subtle glances. They weren't quite friends, but they weren't enemies either. They competed with grace, and it gave Angie something she hadn't felt in a long time: direction. Meaning. They'd make bets on who would top the next test, who'd win the spelling bee, who'd finish the assignment first and cleanest. They laughed, sometimes, small bursts that echoed through Angie longer than she expected.
She used her pain as fuel. She turned the ache into momentum. And it worked.
Angie rose. Her name echoed in the prize-giving ceremony, again and again. Most Improved Student. Best in Mathematics. Top in the School. Applause after applause, rising like a tide. Catherine was the only parent there for her, Hope, and Jade. But when Angie's name was called, Catherine hesitated. Her face was sour, her hands frozen. Only after a nudge did she stand for the first three prizes. The rest, Angie claimed alone, her small arms carrying tokens of triumph that seemed heavier than they should. Catherine's stare tried to stain her joy, but Angie was untouchable in that moment. For once, she didn't need Catherine's pride. She had her own.
By the end, the weight of her winnings was too much for Catherine. Mrs. David offered a ride to help carry the load home. Angie, Hope, and Jade stayed behind for the day's celebrations, their laughter trailing off behind the car.
But Angie knew, deep down, this wasn't the end of it. Joy had a price in Catherine's house. And though her mind was now her armour, there was something coming, something brewing behind the mornings filled with strange men and the bitter eyes of a woman who couldn't stand her light.