Amber eyes in the dark

Chapter 4 The struggles

Annabelle’s POV

Tears blurred my vision as we dragged ourselves to the shop where we usually sold water. The night wind bit through our thin dresses, carrying the echoes of my aunt’s insults. We curled up on the hard floor, holding each other tightly for warmth. Our stomachs were empty, our hearts heavy. That night, for the first time in my life, I understood what it truly meant to have no home.

When dawn broke, we could no longer bear the shame or the hunger. We gathered what was left of our hidden savings ,a few crumpled notes, barely enough for transport . Bella looked at me, her eyes tired but determined.

“We can’t stay here anymore,” she said quietly. “Let’s go far away… somewhere no one knows us.”

I nodded. There was nothing left for us in that house only pain.

We boarded the first bus heading out of town, clutching our small bag between us. The journey was long and silent. Through the window, I watched the scenery change thick forests, dusty roads, and endless stretches of sky. By the time we reached another state, our money was gone, spent on transport and a few scraps of food along the way.

When we stepped off the bus, the sun had dipped behind the clouds, painting the sky with streaks of orange and purple. We stood by the roadside, lost and frightened, with no one to call and nowhere to go.

Bella turned her head and pointed toward a building across the street. “Look,” she whispered. “That school over there… maybe we can sleep there tonight. Tomorrow, we’ll figure something out.”

I was too weak to argue. My feet ached, and my stomach felt hollow. So we crossed the road, crept into the school compound, and found a dark corner behind the classrooms. The cement floor was cold, but exhaustion won. We lay down beside each other and drifted into uneasy sleep.

Before dawn, we woke to the sound of birds and distant voices. Terrified of being seen, we slipped out quietly and walked toward a nearby river. The water was icy against our skin, but washing there gave us a strange sense of renewal ,a tiny reminder that we were still alive.

Hunger soon returned, sharp and unbearable. Bella suggested we ask for work, anything that could fetch us food. So we began knocking on doors, offering to scrub floors, wash dishes, fetch water, or clean yards in exchange for a plate of food or a few coins. Some people pitied us; others turned us away harshly. Still, we refused to give up.

Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months. That school compound slowly became our secret home. We learned its rhythm , when the gates opened, when the classrooms emptied, when the watchman slept. At night, we sneaked into one of the empty classrooms, curling up under desks. Before sunrise, we disappeared like shadows, only to return when the last teacher left in the evening.

It was a fragile existence, but it was ours. For the first time in a long while, no one shouted at us, no one called us names. We had peace — even if it came with hunger and fear.

The seasons changed. Rain fell through the leaking classroom roofs, drenching us some nights. Still, Bella found ways to protect me — tearing old posters off the walls to cover our heads or using her wrapper as a blanket.

In the mornings, we continued doing odd jobs for nearby families. We cleaned compounds, fetched firewood, and sometimes helped vendors in the market. Bella always made sure we ate something, even if it was just garri soaked in water.

Four long years passed that way. We grew taller, thinner, stronger — survivors molded by hardship. The school walls became our world, our shield from the cruelty we had known. Yet deep down, I knew no secret lasted forever.

And soon, our day of reckoning came.

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That night had been especially hard. Bella and I had worked all day scrubbing floors for a woman who had barely given us leftover rice in return. Our hands were sore, our feet blistered. When we returned to the classroom, we collapsed on the cold floor, too tired to talk. The world around us faded as sleep took over.

Then a scream shattered the silence.

“Aaaaaah!”

My eyes flew open. A little girl stood a few feet away, her schoolbag hanging from her shoulder, eyes wide with fear.

We had been caught.

“Who’s there, Emelda?” came a sharp, commanding voice. An elderly woman appeared at the doorway, wearing a patterned blouse and skirt. Her steps were firm, her gaze alert — the kind of authority only a teacher could carry.

The little girl didn’t speak. She simply pointed a trembling finger toward us — two strangers crouched under the desk.

My heart pounded wildly. Bella shot me a look — calm but firm — and slowly stood up with her hands raised. Her voice was soft. “Please, don’t be afraid.”

The teacher’s eyes widened. “What are you girls doing here?” she asked, her tone more curious than angry.

Before we could answer, another voice rang from the hallway — deeper, confident, and authoritative. “Miss Emily, what’s going on?”

It was the principal. She entered with quick, deliberate steps. Her tall figure, elegant glasses, and composed face told me instantly that she was in charge. She studied us quietly for a few seconds before speaking.

“Bring them to my office,” she said firmly.

We followed in silence, heads bowed. My hands shook as I clutched the hem of my dress. The principal’s office smelled of old books and polished furniture. There were certificates framed on the wall, and a vase of fresh flowers on her desk.

She gestured toward the wooden chairs. “Sit down.”

We obeyed, sitting nervously on the edge.

“So,” she began, folding her hands on the table, “what are your names?”

“My name is Bella,” my sister said bravely, then touched my shoulder. “And this is my younger sister, Annabelle.”

The teacher, Miss Emily, leaned forward with concern. “That’s nice… but how did the two of you end up sleeping in a classroom?”

Bella inhaled deeply, her voice trembling slightly. “It’s a long story, but I’ll try to make it short.”

And she began to tell it all

Miss Emily wiped her eyes with the edge of her handkerchief. “Oh, dear,” she murmured. “You poor children.”

The principal sighed softly, her voice calm but heavy. “You two have suffered far more than anyone your age should.”

Bella nodded, her eyes glistening. “We didn’t mean to hide here. We just had nowhere else to go.”

The principal leaned back in her chair, deep in thought. “You did the right thing coming here instead of the streets,” she said finally. “But you can’t live like this anymore. We’ll find a better way.”