Chapter one
The sun barely peeked over the horizon wher Vdidi arrived at the Okoro family home, carrying her small basket of laundry. It was still early, the world outside still bathed in soft, muted light, but there was a heavy feeling in her chest one she hadn't expected. She was excited, sure. Her mother had sent her here with hopes for a better life, a life beyond the village, beyond the struggles that had been so familiar to her. But now that she stood in front of this large, intimidating house, the weight of her mother's hopes felt too much for her small shoulders to bear.
She stood there for a moment, frozen, unsure of what to do next. The house seemed too large, its walls stretching high above her. She had always lived in a mud hut, where the roof was low and the walls were made of clay. There was no space between her and the world, no boundary between her and the ground beneath her feet. But now, she was surrounded by walls that seemed too tall, too cold, and she couldn't help but feel small and insignificant.
A door opened, and out stepped Mrs. Okoro, the lady of the house. She was tall, elegant, and impeccably dressed. Her skin was smooth and glowing, her eyes framed with perfectly applied makeup. She was the kind of woman that Ndidi had always imagined, the kind of woman who didn't have to lift a finger to clean or cook or wash clothes.
"Welcome, Ndidi," Mrs. Okoro said, her voice smooth like silk. "We're so happy to have you here."
Her words were kind, but there was something about the way she said them that made Ndidi feel uneasy. It wasn't the warmth that her mother had
promised. It felt more like a polite formality, a statement of duty rather than genuine care.
As she followed Mrs. Okoro inside, Ndidi's feet felt heavy, as though the ground was pulling her down. The house smelled of expensive perfumes, of polished wood and fresh flowers. It was clean and immaculate, and everything in it
seemed to shine with perfection. But the coldness of the walls and the absence of life in the house sent a chill through her bones.
Mrs. Okoro led her down a long hallway, her heels clicking against the floor with each step. They reached a small room at the end of the hall a room sparsely furnished with a single bed and a wooden chair. It wasn't much, but it was a bed, and for now, it would have to do.
"Here you'll sleep," Mrs. Okoro said, her tone a little too final. "There's a bathroom down the hall. You'll clean it when you get the chance. Don't forget your duties, Ndidi. I expect you to be on top of everything."
Ndidi nodded, but she felt a lump form in her throat. She had never lived in such a sterile, empty place before. It was as though the house itself had no soul, no warmth.
As Mrs. Okoro left, Ndidi stood by the door, staring at the bed, unsure of what to do next. She had expected this to be a fresh start, but now, it felt like she had simply been thrown into a cold, unfamiliar world. The silence in the house pressed against her, thick and suffocating. There were no sounds of children playing,no laughter,no warmth in the air.just silence.