When all the chores were finally done, the stepmother’s children went inside, each with their clean blanket and their share of dinner. Zedi stayed outside, staring at the hard ground where she would rest. An old rug frayed at the edges was laid out beside the chicken coupe. That’s where she had been sleeping ever since arriving at that house.
Sometimes she’d wake to the sound of clucking, other times to the strong smell rising from the straw, but she never complained. She knew that if she did, Ba would say she was getting too fancy. The girl lay down slowly, curling her legs to fit on the small patch she called a bed. The wind brought the smell of smoke from neighboring kitchens and the fading voices of people still laughing at that hour.
She looked up at the dark sky, searching for the stars her mother used to point out when she was little. Back then, her mother would say each star was a blessing God dropped upon the living. Zhoi tried to spot one, but the tears began to sting, blurring her vision. She turned her face to the side, hiding it in the crook of her arm, and let out a heavy breath.
Then, almost instinctively, she brought her hands together like she did every night. Her voice came out soft, a thread in the darkness, that her mother, wherever she was, wouldn’t forget her. That the strength she no longer had, would come from somewhere, that tomorrow would be less cruel than today. She didn’t ask for riches or rest or anything might notice, just courage.
The chickens grew quiet, and the night crept on slowly. Zoadi tried to sleep, but her body achd as if the entire day was still clinging to her. Hunger pressed in again, silent with no one to hear it. And while the cricket sang while the wind tapped against the half-cloed door, she thought of the sentence she had heard so many times.
Can’t even do that right, she tried to push it away, but it kept coming back sharp as ever. That night, once again, the girl fell asleep with her face damp, hugging her silence like it was the only thing that truly belonged to her. And without knowing it, she was already walking toward a destiny that would turn all that suffering into something no one in that house could ever imagine.
The next morning began heavy, as if the sky itself were exhausted. Low clouds covered the horizon, and the air carried that scent of damp earth that warns of a hard day ahead. Zedi left the house before the birds even began to sing with the sack of cassava resting on her frail back. She could still feel the marks of the night before.
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