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Living In Shadow Of Death 3

Then, one afternoon while I was at work, my aunt called and told me to come home immediately. I asked her to let me inform my madam first, but she snapped:

> “That’s not my business.”

I rushed home, only to find out she wanted me to pick her children from school and cook for them. I was deeply hurt. I had my own responsibilities, yet I followed her instructions without complaint.

From that moment, something shifted.

She began treating me differently—with coldness, with bitterness. The words she said one day still echo in my heart:

> “Your uncle has never given me money for myself—but now he’s spending everything on you.”

Every time my uncle left for work, she would unleash her anger on me. I cried for days… then weeks… then months. I eventually told my uncle how my aunt had been treating me, but he didn’t seem to believe me. Maybe I had wronged her at some point—I don’t deny that—but I had asked for forgiveness. Still, the atmosphere in the house remained heavy and strained.

Then came the day that changed everything.

It was a Sunday afternoon. We had just returned from church and made a stop at ShopRite to buy some things for the house. When we got back, a customer came by the house wanting to buy something from the shop.

My aunt asked me to attend to her, and I did.

But what I didn’t know was that this moment—this single transaction—would shatter whatever trust remained between me and my aunt and uncle.

I sold the item to the customer at a higher price… and I kept a part of the money for myself.

So there I was, standing behind the counter, trying to keep the shop running as best I could. The customer had paid, and I had handed her the goods. But as I watched her leave, I saw the money sitting there, just a bit too much—more than I had expected. For a moment, my mind raced.

I was desperate. Desperate to help my siblings, desperate to escape the oppressive weight of my home. The small voice in my head tried to reason with me, but the temptation was too strong. I took a part of the money—just a little, I told myself. It wasn’t much, not enough to raise suspicion. But it was enough to get me through the week, enough to buy food for us, something to ease the hunger that gnawed at my stomach.

I thought no one would notice. I thought I could keep it hidden. But I was wrong.

Later that evening, my aunt confronted me. Her eyes were cold, sharp, full of disbelief and anger.

> “You took the money,” she said quietly, her voice heavy with accusation. “What do you think you’re doing, Deborah?”

My heart sank. She didn’t need to raise her voice; her presence was enough to make me feel small. My mind went blank. The words didn’t come out. All I could do was stare at her, guilt flooding my chest.

I tried to explain.

> “I… I didn’t mean to. I just needed it for—”

But she cut me off, her voice rising now.

> “Needed it for what? To feed your siblings? To feed yourself? You think stealing is the answer to all your problems?”

Her anger stung more than any slap. I could feel my face burning with shame. She was right. I had betrayed the trust she had placed in me. In a moment of weakness, I had taken something that wasn’t mine.

She didn’t wait for my apology. She didn’t want it.

> “You’ve spoiled everything for me, Deborah. You’ve made me question my decision to take you in. I thought you were better than this.”

Her words felt like daggers, each one cutting deeper than the last. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know how to fix it.

I begged her for forgiveness.

“I’m sorry, Aunt. I was wrong. Please… I’ll make it right. I’ll work harder. I’ll pay you back. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

But my apology wasn’t enough.

She shook her head.

“You don’t get it. This isn’t just about money. It’s about trust. You’ve lost mine.”

And with those words, I could feel the distance growing between us. The family I had clung to—the people who had once offered me shelter, who had once seemed like my salvation—now felt like strangers. I had burned the last bridge.

That night, I stayed in my room, alone with my thoughts. I couldn’t sleep, couldn’t stop thinking about everything I had done, everything I had lost.

I wanted to leave. I wanted to run away and never look back. But where could I go? Who would take me in? My heart felt heavy, my future uncertain.

And as the hours passed in the dark, I realized that what I had done wasn’t just about the money. It was about desperation, about feeling invisible, about not knowing where to turn. But now, I had lost whatever shred of trust I had left. There was no going back from this.

The guilt gnawed at me, and the fear of facing the consequences kept me up all night. I knew I had to find a way to make things right, but how? Could I ever fix this? Or had I gone too far?