A Night In March

The Tragic Beginning

March 7: Front of magistrate office - 2010

The gunshot shattered the air, for one horrifying moment, everything else disappeared, all he could do was watch as Abigail crumpled to the ground. Time seemed to slow, stretching every agonizing second of her fall until she lay motionless before him.

"No..." He dropped to his knees beside her, his hands trembling as he gathered her into his arms. Her body was frighteningly still, the warmth already beginning to leave her skin.

"Wake up," he whispered, his voice breaking. "Abigail... please, wake up." She didn't move, his panic erupted into desperate screams. "Wake up! Abigail, please! Don't leave me!" Today was supposed to be the happiest day of their lives, how had it ended like this?

"Get away from my daughter!" Her father's roar cut through his cries. He was shoved aside so violently that he nearly lost his balance. "This is your fault!" the older man shouted. With shaking hands, he pressed a piece of cloth against the gunshot wound, desperately trying to stem the relentless flow of blood.

"Abigail..." His voice cracked into a sob. "You can't leave me. What about your sister?" He pulled her lifeless body against his chest, rocking back and forth as grief consumed him. And he could only watch. The love of his life was gone.

The truth settled over him with crushing finality, stealing the breath from his lungs. There was nothing he could do to bring her back. Then another thought struck him, the police. If they found him here, he would spend the rest of his life trying to prove his innocence.

His eyes lingered on Abigail one last time, tears blurred his vision.

"I'm sorry, my love." The words barely escaped his lips before he turned and ran.

*******A Year Later*******

A loud crash jolted Cynthia awake. She blinked against the morning light spilling through the curtains, her vision slow to adjust. For a few moments, she lay motionless, staring at the ceiling as though gathering the strength to face another day. The shattered glass caught her attention. She turned toward the opposite wall, the family portrait had fallen, its frame lying in pieces across the polished marble floor. Jagged shards of glass surrounded the smiling faces trapped inside the photograph, she stared at it in silence, somehow, it felt fitting.

A sharp knock sounded at her bedroom door, Cynthia groaned, dragging herself out of bed before making her way across the room. She opened the door to find Anna standing outside with her usual cheerful smile.

"Good morning, Cynthia."

"Morning to you too, Anna." Anna's smile never faltered, but her eyes swept over Cynthia's wrinkled pajamas and unkempt hair.

"You should be getting ready for school."

"I know." The reply came flatly. Cynthia stretched, suppressing a yawn before leaning lazily against the doorframe.

"Breakfast is ready," Anna said warmly. "I thought I'd let you know before it gets cold."

"Thank you. I'll be down in a minute."

She began closing the door, but Anna stopped it with a gentle hand.

"Uh, before I forget..." she said. "Your father wants to see you."

Cynthia's expression fell "Of course he does."

Anna offered an apologetic smile before heading downstairs, Cynthia watched her disappear, then sighed as the bedroom door clicked shut.

"So much for a peaceful morning." She glanced once more at the broken family portrait before walking into the bathroom. A long soak in the Jacuzzi suddenly felt less like a luxury and more like preparation for whatever awaited her downstairs.

The soft creak of the study door drew Andrew's attention from the book in his hands. Without looking up immediately, he already knew who it was. A moment later, Cynthia peeked her head around the half-open door, wearing an exaggerated smile that looked more guilty than charming.

"Can I come in?" Andrew didn't answer. He simply turned another page.

Taking his silence as permission—or perhaps surrender—Cynthia stepped inside. She clasped her hands behind her back and flashed him an innocent grin.

"You know," she said, "ignoring people is actually very rude." Nothing, only the quiet rustle of another turning page.

Finally, Andrew spoke "Aren't you supposed to be in school?" When no answer came, he removed his reading glasses and looked at her over the top of the book.

"I asked you a question, Cynthia." She shifted awkwardly.

"There wasn't really anything happening today," she said. "Most of the teachers aren't even taking their classes, so I figured staying home would save me a long, stressful day." She avoided his eyes.

School wasn't somewhere she looked forward to. Surrounded by classmates, she had never felt more alone. She had no real friends, only people who tolerated her at best and mocked her at worst. Home wasn't much better but at least here, no one pretended to like her.

Andrew closed his book. "How many times have I told you not to make excuses?" His voice remained calm, but disappointment weighed every word. "Every day you miss is a day you can't get back." Cynthia rolled her eyes.

Here we go again.

"Go upstairs," he said. "Stay in your room and study." She turned without another word "And bring me all your gadgets." Cynthia froze.

She looked over her shoulder as though she'd misheard him.

"Dad... seriously?"

"Yes."

"But that's not fair."

"It wasn't a suggestion." A groan escaped her lips.

"I wasn't even planning to use them." Andrew raised an eyebrow, the silence called her bluff.

"Fine," she muttered.

"And no complaints." She folded her arms across her chest.

"You know, sometimes I think you're determined to make my life miserable."

"And sometimes," Andrew replied evenly, "I think you're determined not to have a future."

The words hung heavily between them.

Cynthia's jaw tightened. Without another word, she stormed out of the study, slamming the door hard enough to rattle the picture frames in the hallway. She rested her forehead against the closed door for a brief moment, squeezed her eyes shut, then pushed herself away and hurried upstairs.

The following morning was draped in heavy clouds, the sky threatened rain, yet the streets of Jos were already alive. Traders arranged their wares, buses blared impatient horns, and hawkers wove effortlessly through the traffic as though the weather had no say in how the day would unfold. Cynthia walked quietly, her thoughts louder than the bustling city around her.

Children no older than ten wandered between vehicles, balancing trays of groundnuts, oranges, and sachet water on their heads. Their clothes were too thin for the morning chill. She watched one little girl smile at a customer despite the cold.

Maybe Dad is right. Maybe I don't appreciate what I have.

At least she had a roof over her head, food, a bed to sleep in. Some of these children had none of those things.The thought lingered long enough to distract her, she collided with someone.

Books scattered across the pavement.

"Can't you watch where you're going?" The sharp voice pulled her back to reality.

"I'm so sorry!" Cynthia dropped to her knees immediately, gathering the books before the wind could carry them away. "I wasn't paying attention."

The young man crouched beside her, taking the books from her hands without so much as a smile. "Clearly."

Embarrassment burned across her face. She stood and held out the last book.

"I'm really sorry."

He accepted it with a curt nod "You should pay more attention next time."

She opened her mouth, unsure why she suddenly felt compelled to keep the conversation alive.

"I'm Cynthia." The words escaped before she could stop them. The young man frowned.

"...Why are you telling me that?" Heat rushed to her cheeks.

"I... I was just introducing myself."

He stared at her outstretched hand for a moment, as though debating whether it was worth the effort. Finally, he shook it.

"Jack." The handshake lasted only a second before he let go. He studied her briefly, neatly pressed uniform, expensive wristwatch, polished shoes. Definitely not someone who belonged on this side of town. Probably another rich man's daughter looking for an adventure.

"Jack," Cynthia repeated softly.

For the first time, she actually looked at him. He wasn't exceptionally tall, but he carried himself with quiet confidence. His warm brown complexion contrasted with striking light-brown eyes that seemed unusually bright beneath thick brows. A neatly trimmed beard framed a face that might have been handsome if he didn't look so perpetually annoyed.

Interesting.

"Hello?" Jack snapped his fingers in front of her face. She blinked. "You've wandered off again."

"I..."

He shook his head with a disbelieving laugh "I've never met anyone who daydreams this much."

Balancing the books against his chest, he walked away without another glance. Cynthia watched him disappear into the crowd.

Well... that was rude.

She adjusted the strap of her backpack and checked the time. Great! Now she was definitely late.

Her father had already punished her for missing the school bus by making her walk instead of using the family driver.

A bus rumbled to a stop nearby. Without another thought, she climbed aboard. Oddly enough... She couldn't stop smiling.

School passed without incident but home was another matter. Andrew arrived much earlier than usual, and from the moment he walked through the front door, the atmosphere in the house shifted. His footsteps were heavier, his face harder than usual.

Cynthia noticed, not that she cared, still, she had never seen him this furious—not even after her sister's death. By the time dinner was ready, an uneasy silence had settled over the house. Anna knocked softly on the study door.

"Sir?"

"What is it?" His voice was sharp enough to make her flinch.

"Dinner is ready."

"I'll be down." Anna turned to leave.

"And don't call Cynthia," Andrew added, she paused "I'll get her myself."

A few minutes later, Andrew knocked on Cynthia's bedroom door. No answer. He knocked again, but still nothing. With a sigh, he pulled out his phone and called her instead.

Cynthia frowned at the caller ID. Dad? That was unusual, he never called her for dinner.

"What happened to Anna?" she muttered. Shrugging, she slipped her phone into her pocket and headed downstairs. Dinner was as quiet as always, only tonight, the silence felt heavier.

Andrew barely touched the food on his plate. His attention drifted somewhere far beyond the dining room, his expression locked in a troubled frown. Cynthia watched him from across the table, curiosity got the better of her.

"So..." she began casually, pushing rice around her plate. "How was work?"

"Horrible." The answer came immediately.

"Really horrible." She blinked. That was unexpected.

"What happened?"

"The deal with Mr. Boniface fell through." He dropped his spoon onto the table with a dull clang and rubbed a weary hand over his face.

"Someone came along with a better offer." His jaw tightened.

"I poured money into that project." His voice grew quieter. "Everything was in place. I was supposed to make it all back... and then some." He shook his head.

"This couldn't have happened at a worse time."

Cynthia scooped up a spoonful of rice, stared at it for a moment, then let it fall back onto her plate. A faint smile tugged at the corner of her lips.

"I'm sorry, Dad." She paused just long enough for him to glance up. "But honestly..." "I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about." The smile never reached her eyes. Andrew looked at her for a long moment, disappointment flickered across his face before disappearing behind the familiar mask of indifference.

Without another word, he pushed back his chair and left the dining room. Cynthia watched him climb the stairs before turning to Anna with a satisfied grin. Anna slipped into the now-empty chair and shook her head.

"You really are naughty."

"Naughty?" Cynthia laughed.

Anna pointed her fork at her.

"Don't push your luck." Cynthia only laughed harder.