Restored by grace

FRACTURED BONES

The sun blazed overhead, indifferent to the storm brewing in Nandi’s heart. She trudged across campus, her bag weighing down her shoulder as if it carried more than just books. The late afternoon breeze blowing her braids but she barely noticed. Her mind was elsewhere. She was thinking about the cutting remarks from Professor Mwale in anatomy lab.

“You’ll need to work harder, Ms. Banda,” he had said, his voice calm but laced with judgment. “At this rate, you’ll be a liability in the medical field.”

The words rang in her ears as she walked. She could still feel the weight of the class’s stares, the whispers behind her back. Even as she tried to focus on the path ahead, her thoughts spiraled. She had always been the smartest person in the room until now. Here, at university, everyone was brilliant. For the first time, she felt small.

Why can’t I keep up? she thought bitterly. Why does it feel like I’m drowning?

The pressure wasn’t just academic. It was the relentless need to prove herself to her professors, her classmates, and especially her parents. Everyone seemed to be looking at her.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket, breaking her thoughts. She glanced at the screen and groaned. Mom.

Nandi hesitated. She could ignore it, pretend she was still in class, but she knew her mother would only call again and she would be angrier this time. Sighing, she swiped to answer.

“Hello?”

Her mother’s sharp voice cut through the line. “Nandi, where have you been? I’ve been calling all day!”

“I was in class, Mom,” Nandi replied, her voice low.

Her mother scoffed. “Class? Is that your excuse? You can’t even spare five minutes to answer your own mother? What if it was an emergency?”

“I’m sorry,” Nandi said, gripping her bag strap tighter. “I’ve just been a little busy.”

“Busy failing, from what I hear,” her mother snapped. “Do you know how embarrassing it is to have people ask me about you, only for me to hear rumors that you’re struggling? Struggling, Nandi? After all the money your father and I have spent on you?”

The words hit her like a punch to the gut. “I’m trying, Mom,” she said, her voice trembling. “Medical school is hard—”

“Don’t you dare give me excuses,” her mother interrupted. “Do you think life is easy? Do you think I had it easy raising you? No one cares about your excuses. You either succeed, or you don’t.”

Nandi closed her eyes, her breath shaky. “I’m doing my best.”

“Well, your best isn’t good enough,” her mother said coldly. “You’re supposed to be a genius, aren’t you? That’s what everyone says. Start acting like it.”

The line went dead before Nandi could respond. She stared at her phone, her chest tight with a mix of anger and shame shortly before making her way to her dorm room.

---

The dorm was quiet when Nandi returned, save for the hum of a distant generator. She dropped her bag on the floor and collapsed onto her bed, staring at the ceiling. She was too drained to study, but the guilt of not doing so gnawed at her.

Her phone buzzed again, and she sighed. “What now?”

She answered without looking at the screen. “Hello?”

“Nandi,” her father’s voice came through, low and uneven. She could tell immediately that he had been drinking.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “What do you want, Dad?”

“What kind of greeting is that?” he slurred. “Is that how you talk to your father? I was just calling to check on my little girl.”

“I’m fine,” she replied flatly, already bracing herself for whatever was coming.

“Fine, huh?” he said with a dry laugh. “Because I’ve been hearing things. People are saying you’re not doing so well. Struggling, they said.”

Nandi’s hand tightened around the phone wondering who has been talking to her parents. “I’m handling it,” she said through gritted teeth.

“Handling it,” he repeated mockingly. “That’s what your mother used to say before she started throwing her tantrums and blaming me for everything. Look where that got her.”

Her jaw clenched. “I don’t have time for this, Dad.”

“Don’t you dare hang up on me,” he snapped, his tone shifting. “You think you’re better than me, don’t you? That you can just ignore me?”

“I don’t think I’m better than anyone,” she said, her voice shaking. “But I can’t deal with you right now.”

“Deal with me,” he said, his voice low and venomous. “I’m your father, Nandi. Show some respect.”

“Respect?” she shot back, her anger boiling over. “You haven’t earned it. All you’ve ever done is make my life harder.”

There was a heavy silence on the other end of the line. When her father finally spoke, his voice was icy, almost devoid of feeling. “You’ll regret talking to me like that.”

She hung up, her hands trembling, and tossed the phone onto her bed. The tears came quickly, hot and unstoppable.

Nandi curled up on her bed, the ache in her chest growing heavier with each passing moment. The weight of her parents’ expectations, her professors’ criticism, and her own spiraling thoughts felt unbearable. She glanced at her desk, where a small blade lay hidden in the drawer beneath her notebooks.

The temptation was there, as it always was. The thought of release, of escaping the pain, was seductive.

But something stopped her.

Her eyes fell on the Bible that sat beside her bed. Her fingers trembled as she reached for it. She flipped it open, desperate for something—anything—that could anchor her. The pages fell to Psalm 34:18: “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.”

She read the verse again and again, the words sinking into her soul. For the first time in what felt like forever, she felt a glimmer of hope.

---

The next day, Nandi met Thandi at the campus café. The smell of fresh coffee mingled with the hum of conversation around them, but Nandi barely noticed.

“You look like you haven’t slept,” Thandi said, concern etched on her face.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Nandi replied dryly, stirring her tea.

Thandi frowned. “Nandi, what’s going on? You’ve been off for weeks.”

Nandi hesitated, her gaze fixed on the table. “It’s my parents,” she said finally.

Thandi leaned forward. “What happened?”

“My mom called yesterday. Said I’m an embarrassment. And my dad…” She trailed off, her throat tightening. “He’s drunk half the time. And when he’s not, he’s just as toxic.”

Thandi reached across the table, squeezing Nandi’s hand. “You don’t have to go through this alone, you know.”

Nandi shook her head. “You don’t get it, Thandi. I’m supposed to be the strong one. Everyone expects me to have it all together. I can’t let them see me like this.”

“Who cares what people think?” Thandi said firmly. “You’re human, Nandi. You’re allowed to struggle.”

Nandi’s voice was barely a whisper. “What if I can’t handle it?”

Thandi’s eyes softened. “You can. And I’ll be here for you every step of the way.”