WHAT BLOOD REMEMBERS

CHAPTER SEVEN : SLAPS AND WORDS

CHAPTER SEVEN

Slaps and Words

That evening, Mama Rachael returned home later than usual.

The sun had already disappeared behind the compound walls, leaving long shadows stretching across the polished floors of her house. Her feet ached from walking, from carrying parcels from the market and running church errands. She barely had the strength to breathe.

Before she could fully step inside, Pa Fong followed.

His footsteps were heavy. Deliberate. His anger announced itself with every stamp against the floor.

“Don’t even try it!” he barked before she could speak.

“You and your daughter decided that I should fast today, eh? No food, no warmed water for my bath — and why are you coming back so late?”

“My dear… you know…” Mama Rachael began, her voice soft, careful.

“Save it! I don’t care!” he snapped.

Without waiting for her response, he turned and left, slamming the door behind him.

The house felt smaller somehow.

Doris stood in the hallway, trying to steady her heart. She had planned to confront her mother first — about the letters, about the name that had not left her mind — but now, that plan felt impossible.

Before she could move, Mama Rachael appeared in the doorway.

Hands on her hips.

Eyes sharp as knives.

“You were to get home early, cook for the family, then rest,” she said, her voice low but firm.

“What is this I hear about you lazing around, Doris?”

Doris swallowed.

The weight of everything rose at once — the chores, the silence, the unfairness, the questions she had been carrying alone.

Her chest tightened.

“Don’t I get to be tired, Ma?” she said, her voice trembling, but rising. “Am I his wife? I have my own issues…”

The slap came without warning.

Sharp.

Painful.

Final.

It landed across her cheek and echoed louder than her words.

Mama Rachael’s eyes burned — anger mixed with something deeper, something unresolved.

“Since when, Doris?” she snapped. “I knew your fooling around with that boy would make you grow wings!”

Her voice cut through the room.

“You better get your head straight before you make the same mistakes I did.”

She turned to leave, her heels clicking against the tiles.

Doris stood frozen.

Tears stung her eyes. Her hand slowly rose to her cheek, pressing against the place the slap had landed.

Her voice came out barely above a whisper.

“I… I am not you.”

Mama Rachael stopped.

Mid-step.

She turned slightly, looking over her shoulder.

A small chuckle escaped her lips — soft, but sharp enough to wound.

“Well,” she said, “time will tell.”

Silence settled over the room.

Doris’ chest rose and fell unevenly. The anger, the hurt, the defiance twisted inside her like a storm that refused to pass.

For the first time, she felt it clearly—

The divide.

Between mother and daughter.

Between what was expected of her… and what she wanted for herself.

And yet—

Somewhere deep inside her, another thought lingered.

A name.

Frank.

A quiet question.

A distant hope.

A truth waiting to be spoken aloud.