The Girl They Left in the Dark

On the soft bed lay a pretty girl, fast asleep, her chest rising and falling gently. Suddenly, voices stirred her from her slumber. It sounded like an argument—harsh tones, raised voices, tension. Zaria sat up, stretched her limbs, and tied her long, curly black hair into a loose knot. She yawned, then walked into the bathroom to take her bath. When she came out, towel wrapped around her body, she was surprised to hear that the argument hadn’t stopped. She dressed quickly and stepped out of her room, descending the spiral staircase that curved elegantly down into the living room—the source of the noise. As she drew closer, her mother’s voice rang out, filled with anguish. “Eric! How could you do this to me? And of all people... it had to be a close friend of mine?” Then a sharp sob followed. Zaria’s heart sank. When she reached the living room, her mother wiped away her tears the moment she saw her. “Zaria, you're awake! Come, I prepared breakfast for you,” her mother said with a forced smile. Zaria smiled back and hugged her gently. She leaned in and whispered, “Mom… did he refuse to follow you to the banquet?” She was puzzled. In all her fifteen years, she had never seen her mother cry like this. But when she turned to look at her father, she froze. His face was cold—stone cold. He was always warm, always smiling, but this time, something was different. Something was wrong. Miranda’s smile faltered. “Come on, Zaria. Let’s go eat. Your father is leaving my house first thing tomorrow morning.” Zaria didn’t ask further questions. Her mother wasn’t the kind of woman you pressured when she wasn’t ready to talk. But something inside her began to tremble. Her mother looked pale, more so than usual. Miranda had been battling a mysterious illness for years—an illness that never showed up in any lab tests. Despite her condition, she remained strikingly beautiful. Her hazel eyes held warmth, her cherry blossom lips curled gently when she smiled. Her long, silky black hair framed her now-pale brown skin. Miranda was once a self-made billionaire. A gifted doctor with healing hands—there was no sickness she couldn’t cure. She had built an institution for empowering women, especially single mothers and widows, and taught them about their rights. She was the definition of success and strength. After lunch, Zaria quietly slipped away to the balcony. She had slept in today because she had been up late, working on a school project. As she looked out into the evening sky, a strange loneliness crept into her chest. Something was going to change. She couldn’t explain how she knew. She just did. She stayed there until darkness fell, then had dinner and went to bed. Her mother came in, kissed her forehead, and tucked her in. It wasn’t the first time Miranda kissed her daughter. But somehow, this kiss felt like the last. Zaria tried to shake off the feeling and closed her eyes. --- In the middle of the night, muffled sounds woke her. She got out of bed and followed them, tiptoeing quietly. As she reached the corridor, she caught sight of two figures—intertwined. Her breath hitched. It was her father… and a woman she didn’t recognize. Her hands trembled. She turned and ran straight to her mother’s room to tell her—but when she entered, the room was eerily still. “Mom?” she whispered. No response. She walked over to the bed and gently touched her mother’s arm. Cold. Zaria blinked. “She’s just cold,” she murmured, pulling the blanket up to cover her. But then she noticed it—red. Dark red. Blood. Soaked into her mother’s clothes. Her heart slammed against her ribs. Her hands started shaking violently as she pulled at her mother's arm. “Mom… wake up. Please, wake up…” But Miranda didn’t move. Her mother… was dead. Her backbone. Her strength. Her role model. Zaria screamed silently, the sound stuck in her throat. She stared at her mother’s beautiful, lifeless face and sobbed until her lungs burned. She wasn’t a child anymore. No one had to tell her—her mother had been murdered. But what could she do? She was just fifteen. Quietly, she returned to her room, locking the door behind her. She cried into her pillow, unable to look at her mother’s corpse again. Moments later, she heard the maid’s panicked scream as she discovered Miranda’s body. Hours passed in a blur. The house was filled with whispers and movement. Then her mother’s body was taken to the morgue. Still wrapped in grief, Zaria sat alone in her room. But it wasn’t over. Her father walked in—not alone, but with the woman from earlier and a girl around Zaria’s age. The woman was light-skinned with flawless features, green eyes, and perfectly styled dark auburn hair. The girl had dyed blonde wavy hair, wore blue contact lenses, and had light brown skin. Her father cleared his throat. “Zaria, this is your stepmother, Elira, and your stepsister, Saphina.” Zaria’s world spun. She had suspected her father was having an affair, but nothing could have prepared her for this. Her mother’s best friend? And they already had a daughter her age? She looked both of them dead in the eye… then turned away coldly. Her father opened his mouth, but Elira raised a hand, silencing him. Once he left, Elira stepped forward, a smirk playing on her lips. “Who do you think you are to give me the cold shoulder?” she sneered. “Let me make one thing clear: your mother is dead. I am now the madam of this house. And my daughter, Saphina, is the young mistress—she’s the heiress of this family now. So stop acting like you matter and go mourn your mother quietly.” She threw a final, disgusted look at Zaria and walked out with Saphina. Zaria collapsed to her knees. It wasn’t just that this wicked woman was trying to steal her mother’s legacy. It was the fact that her mother wasn’t even buried yet… and her father had already replaced her.