Trials Of Thelma: Unbroken

Thelma's Childhood

“Thelma, come here!” Flo's voice cut through the air like a whip, sharp and unyielding. Twelve-year-old Thelma froze for a moment, her heart pounding in her chest before she rushed into the kitchen, dreading what was to come. “Yes, Mummy,” she murmured, barely audible, her gaze locked on the floor as if looking at her mother would only make things worse.

“Why are the dishes unclean? Didn’t I tell you to wash them?” Flo’s voice was tight with anger, her eyes cold and demanding.

Thelma swallowed, her throat dry, knowing that any answer she gave wouldn’t change the outcome. “I’m sorry, Mama. I was going to do it, but I’m still cooking,” she explained, her voice small and pleading.

Before the words even left her mouth, the slap came. Sharp and fast. The pain burned across her cheek, but it was nothing compared to the ache her mother’s words left behind.

“Is this how you’ll behave when you get married? Or will you call me to help you with the house chores? Oh! you will be waiting for a very long time as I won't be there? Useless!” Her mom spat, turning away in disgust.

Thelma felt the weight of those words settle into her bones. Useless. That word clung to her, defining her in a way she couldn't shake. It wasn’t just the slap, it was the constant reminder that she wasn’t enough—not for her mother, and certainly not for this family.

I was born into a modest family, and when I was little, my mother used to tell me, “You brought us luck, Thelma. Your father found work the day you were born.” She said it like it was a blessing, but now it felt more like a curse.

Dad had lost his job while I was still in the womb, but on the very day I entered the world, he got a call with a new job offer. “He was at the interview when you were being born,” she’d say, smiling as if that moment had sealed my fate.

For the first five years, I enjoyed being the only child, the center of attention. But that changed the day Jayden was born. My mother had always wanted a son, so she prayed and begged God for one, and when he came, my place in her world disappeared. That’s when the torment started.

"Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Jayden... happy birthday to you!”

The chorus of voices filled the house, and I watched as Jayden, now three, blew out the candles on his cake. His face lit up with pure joy, a sight that should have made me happy. It did make me happy, but instead, it also reminded me of how tired I was. I had spent the entire weekend preparing for his party, cooking, cleaning, running errands, and now I was facing a sleepless night ahead. School was the next day, and I hadn’t even touched my assignment.

Mr. Ari’s voice echoed in my head, “Assignments must be submitted by 10 a.m. on Monday. Late submissions will be met with serious implications.”

The thought of starting my week with punishment filled me with dread. But what choice did I have? Sleep wasn’t an option. “Thelma! Wake up early to make lunch for everyone tomorrow! Your dad needs his lunch for work,” my mother’s voice called out from her room.

I sighed, already feeling the exhaustion settle deep into my bones. “Yes, Mummy,” I muttered.

At school, I clung to the only bright spot in my life—my friends. Seeing Blessing at the gate made me feel a little lighter. “Hey, Thelma! How are you today?” she asked, her usual energy buzzing.

“Same old, same old. I didn’t finish Mr. Ari’s homework,” I admitted, the weight of my life pressing down on me.

“Don’t worry, you can copy from mine,” Blessing offered without hesitation.

I let out a breath of relief. “You’re a lifesaver, Blessing.”

“Hey, what are friends for?” Blessing answered. “Although, I think you should try doing your assignments during break hours or free periods."

The bell rang, signaling the start of class. Ms. Precious, our English teacher, entered the room with a stack of papers. She was a tall woman with a kind face and an encouraging smile, known for making even the most difficult topics seem manageable. “Good morning, class! Today, we’re going to learn about triphthongs,” she announced, writing the word on the board.

“Can anyone tell me what a triphthong is?” She says. John’s hand shot up as always. “A triphthong is a complex vowel sound that begins with one vowel and glides into two others within the same syllable.” “Very good, John,” Ms. Precious said with a nod.

“Examples of triphthongs in English are found in words like ‘fire’ and ‘our.’ Let’s practice pronouncing these.”

I tried to focus, but the morning’s chaos clung to me, making it hard to concentrate. When Ms. Precious called on me to read, my heart pounded. “Fire... our,” I said, my voice trembling just slightly.

“Excellent, Thelma!” she praised, and for a fleeting moment, I felt seen, like maybe I wasn’t as useless as my mother always made me feel. Blessing nudged me with a grin. “See, you’re a natural.”

After school, as the final bell rang, and we walked home, Blessing’s question cut through the silence. “Why didn’t you finish the assignment?”

I hesitated before answering. “It was Jayden’s birthday... I spent all of Saturday helping out. By the time we were done, I was too tired to even think about homework.”

Blessing nodded in understanding. “That’s a lot. Did he have a good time at least?”

I smiled faintly, remembering the joy on my brother’s face. “Yeah, he did. He loved the cake. All his friends came over.”

As we reached the corner where we’d part ways, Blessing gave me a quick hug. “You’ll catch up. See you tomorrow?”

“Definitely,” I replied, watching her walk away. I wished I could take the comfort she offered home with me. But I knew that once I stepped through that door, I’d be back to being Thelma, the invisible daughter who never did enough.

********************

"No, she couldn’t be my mother," I whispered to myself. “What kind of mother does this to her child, especially on her birthday?”