CRIES OF A LITTLE MAID

EPISODE 6

Amara sat on the cold floor of the kitchen, her tiny arms wrapped around her knees. Her eyes were red and heavy from crying, but she refused to let the tears fall again. Not now. Not after everything she had seen and heard today.

Earlier that morning, Madam Stella had visitors—three glamorous women in high heels and thick makeup. Their laughter echoed through the hallway like sharp knives. Amara peeked from behind the doorframe as they sat in the living room, sipping wine and gossiping.

“She’s still keeping that village girl?” one asked.

Madam Stella scoffed. “My dear, you won’t believe how dirty she is. I regret bringing her here.”

Amara’s chest tightened. Her hands shook.

“The driver and I went to that God-forsaken village and picked her up,” Madam Stella continued. “Her mother even knelt, begging me to take care of her.”

Amara clutched the edge of her wrapper. Her heart shattered into pieces.

That evening, Madam Stella stormed into the kitchen.

“Why is the pot not washed? What have you been doing?” she barked.

“I was peeling the yam for tomorrow’s breakfast,” Amara said softly.

“You’re talking back at me?”

Before Amara could blink, a hot slap landed on her cheek. She stumbled backward.

“Lazy, useless thing. Go and scrub the backyard now. Useless child!”

Aunty Rose, who was frying plantains, looked away and said nothing.

Amara walked slowly to the backyard. The stones bit into her bare feet. Her stomach growled loudly—she hadn’t eaten anything since morning. Not even water. She bent down and began scrubbing the tiles with trembling hands.

The sky was turning grey. Thunder rumbled in the distance.

She stopped and looked up.

“I Will Not Die Here,” she whispered.

Then louder: “I WILL NOT DIE HERE!”

The words came from deep within her—pain, anger, hope, and defiance all wrapped in one small voice.

Suddenly, someone cleared their throat. She turned quickly. It was the driver.

He walked slowly toward her, then paused.

“I didn’t bring you here for this nonsense,” he muttered.

Amara stood up, surprised. “You brought me?”

He nodded, shame clouding his face. “Yes. I drove Madam Stella to your village. I remember your mother crying. She looked so tired… but hopeful.”

Amara’s lips trembled. “She said I should be strong.”

The driver sighed. He brought out a small nylon bag and handed it to her.

Inside was a sachet of water and a piece of bread.

“It’s not much, but eat. You need strength.”

She took it gently, like it was a treasure. “Thank you, sir.”

He started to walk away, then turned back. “Don’t lose yourself, little girl. You’re stronger than this place.”

When he was gone, Amara sat back down. She drank the water slowly and nibbled the bread. Her stomach relaxed just a little.

She opened her pocket and brought out the folded photo of Mama. Her mother’s eyes smiled at her through the paper.

“I will not die here,” she whispered again. “Mama, I will be strong.”

Then she leaned against the wall and let her tears fall freely, knowing deep down—

Her story was just beginning.