Chapter 12: The Mistreatment Begins
Life in her aunt's house, already difficult, became unbearable after her father's visit.
Now that it was clear no one would intervene—no one would ask questions, no one would check in—her aunt's cruelty deepened. The little restraint she once held vanished. Mary had become invisible in her own suffering, and everyone in that house took full advantage of it.
The mistreatment was constant.
From the moment Mary woke up, her life became a tight routine of service and silence. She wasn't just asked to do chores—she was ordered, insulted, humiliated. She cleaned the compound before sunrise, fetched water multiple times a day, prepared every meal but was often denied enough food to satisfy her own hunger.
And if she was slow? A slap.
If she forgot something? A beating.
If she looked tired? "Why are you pretending to be weak?" her aunt would bark.
Mary became a shadow in her own body—working tirelessly, hiding her pain, saying nothing even as her limbs ached and her stomach rumbled. Her cousins, emboldened by their mother's attitude, began to treat her as less than human. They threw their clothes at her to wash. They mocked the single dress she wore every day. They laughed when she walked barefoot to school.
Sometimes, when Mary made a mistake—or simply when her aunt was in a bad mood—she would be forced to kneel on the hard cement floor for hours, stones placed on her arms to keep them raised in pain. It didn't matter how young she was. In that house, there was no room for mercy.
At night, Mary curled up on a thin mat in the kitchen corner, her body bruised and her spirit bruising deeper still.
She didn't cry anymore. The tears had dried somewhere along the way.
What hurt the most wasn't even the beatings—it was the feeling of being unwanted. Of being treated like a burden in the one place that was supposed to be her refuge.
Still, somewhere deep inside her, something refused to break.
She told herself, This is not where my story ends.