Home Isn't Always Safe
875 Words
"Welcome, baby."
Aisha barely had time to step through the door before her father pulled her into a quick, warm hug. He smelled like sweat and the faint spice of whatever he had been cooking.
She sighed into his shoulder, allowing herself one moment of comfort before pulling away.
"You’re home early," she said, trying to keep her voice light.
Her father chuckled, heading back to the tiny kitchen where an old pot was bubbling on the stove.
"Had to leave work a little early. I figured you’d want something hot after a long day."
Aisha sat on the arm of their ancient, lumpy couch, watching him.
"It wasn’t just long," she muttered. "It was hell."
Her father glanced over his shoulder, concern immediately creeping onto his face.
"What happened?"
Aisha hesitated.
She wanted to tell him. To let out everything the bullying, the insults, the way Bianca and her i***t boyfriend had used her own mother as a weapon against her.
But her father had enough to worry about,and also she would end up opening an old wound.
She forced a small smile.
"Nothing I couldn’t handle."
Her father didn’t look convinced.
"Aisha."
She sighed. "Fine. The rich kids were just being themselves. Making fun of my shoes. My bag. My whole existence."
Her father’s jaw tightened.
"Did you say anything back?"
She hesitated, then nodded.
"Yeah. I did."
His expression softened, and to her surprise, a hint of pride flashed in his tired eyes.
"Good."
Aisha blinked.
"Wait, you’re not mad?"
Her father turned down the stove, shaking his head.
"Of course not. You stood up for yourself."
Aisha stared at him.
Her whole life, he had told her to stay out of trouble, to avoid fights at all costs. But now, he was glad she had fought back?
"But, listen," he continued, stirring the pot. "Fighting back doesn’t mean fighting dirty. You don’t need to become like them."
Aisha sighed, crossing her arms. "So I should just let them to keep walking all over me?"
"No," her father said, turning to look at her. "You should make them regret ever doubting you without losing who you are."
Aisha chewed on his words.
She didn’t fully understand, but something about them stuck.
Her father suddenly grinned and reached behind the couch, pulling out a small shoebox.
"Here."
Aisha’s eyes widened. "What’s this?"
"A little surprise."
She hesitated before opening the box then gasped.
A brand-new pair of black sneakers sat inside.
Not designer. Not expensive. But new. Perfect.
"Dad…"
"I saw your old ones falling apart," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Figured you deserved better."
Aisha’s throat tightened.
They barely had money for rent, and he had still bought her shoes?
She lunged forward, wrapping her arms around him in a tight hug.
"Thank you so much papa "
"You’re welcome, baby."
For the first time that day, she felt safe.
Memories That Won’t Fade
She placed the shoebox carefully on the couch and looked around their small home. The cracked walls. The old fan that whined every time it moved. The single, dusty bookshelf where her father kept his old engineering books, ones he never got to use because life had been unfair to him.
Aisha bit her lip.
Her father had worked so hard, yet here they were struggling while kids like Bianca had everything handed to them.
She glanced at the faded picture on the wall.
Her mother.
She was smiling in the photo, looking like the perfect wife, the perfect mother. But it was a lie.
Aisha’s stomach twisted.
How could she leave them? How could she marry someone else and then raise another girl while pretending Aisha didn’t exist?
She clenched her fists, swallowing down the bitterness.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
The door shook under heavy knocking.
Aisha’s stomach dropped.
"Stanley! Open up!"
Her father stiffened, already knowing who it was.
Aisha watched as his shoulders slumped before he slowly made his way to the door.
He cracked it open, revealing Mr.Fred, their bald, heavyset landlord. His face was twisted in a scowl, and his beer belly pressed against the doorway.
"Rent was due two weeks ago," he snapped. "Where’s my money?"
Her father sighed, his grip tightening on the doorknob.
"I just need a little more time"
"Time?" Mr. Fred laughed dryly. "You’ve been saying that for months!"
Aisha’s hands curled into fists.
"I’ll have it soon," her father said, his voice firm.
Mr. Fred’s beady eyes flicked to Aisha.
"Maybe if your daughter wasn’t in that expensive school, you’d have enough to pay your damn rent!"
Aisha felt her face burn.
"She earned her place there," her father snapped. "Don’t talk about things you don’t understand."
Mr. Fred snorted.
"I understand this if you don’t have my money by the end of the month, you’re out. Both of you."
And with that, he stomped away, slamming the door behind him.
The silence that followed was thick.
Aisha turned to her father, her chest aching.
"Dad… what are we gonna do?"
He let out a slow breath, forcing a smile.
"We’ll be fine, baby. We always are."
But Aisha knew better.
They were barely holding on.
And if something didn’t change soon…
They’d lose everything.
- Writer
