Renee

The air was dry and heavy as I stepped through the front door. My boots left faint marks on the tiled floor, a detail I prayed he wouldn’t notice. The faint hum of the generator from the neighbor’s house buzzed in the background, mingling with the muffled commentary from the TV in the living room. I hung my jacket on the rack, careful not to make a sound, but his voice cut through the stillness like a knife. “Renee!” My chest tightened. “Yes, sir?” I called back, stepping into the living room where he sat, beer in hand. “Where have you been?” he demanded, his eyes narrowing. “I went for a walk,” I replied, keeping my voice steady. “A walk?” He slammed the bottle onto the side table, the sound reverberating through the small house. “Did I not tell you to have my food ready when I got home?” “I’m sorry,” I said quickly, hoping to placate him. He stood up, unbuckling his belt. “Sorry doesn’t cook dinner, does it?” I didn’t flinch as the first blow landed. Years of enduring his temper had taught me that resistance only made things worse. When it was over, I retreated to the kitchen, my body aching. My hands moved automatically, cutting vegetables and stirring a pot of rice. The soft hiss of frying plantains filled the silence, a brief reprieve from the chaos. Once his plate was ready, I set it on the dining table and knocked on his door. “Dinner’s ready,” I said, retreating to my room with my own portion before he could say anything else. In the safety of my room, I locked the door and sat on my bed. The small space felt more like a cage than a sanctuary, its walls bare except for a peeling calendar from last year. I picked at my food, barely tasting it. Outside, I heard him eating, the scrape of utensils on ceramic echoing through the house. The memories came unbidden as I lay down, staring at the ceiling. My mother’s laughter, warm and full, played in my mind like an old recording. Back then, this house had felt alive. My father used to come home with sweets for me, his face lighting up when my mom kissed him on the cheek. But after the accident, everything changed. The next morning, my alarm buzzed under my pillow, the faint vibration waking me before the sun rose. I dressed quickly in my school uniform—a crisp white blouse and navy skirt—and tied my hair back into a simple bun. The mirror on my dresser reflected a tired girl with light skin and dark circles under her eyes. I dabbed a bit of powder on my cheeks to hide the faint bruise on my jaw before grabbing my bag and slipping out of the house. At school, Kara and Kalim were waiting by the gate, their identical faces breaking into smiles when they saw me. The twins were my closest friends, their boisterous energy a stark contrast to my quiet nature. “Renee, what’s wrong with your arm?” Kara asked, her sharp eyes catching the way I winced when I adjusted my bag. “Nothing,” I said quickly, pulling my sleeve down. Kalim frowned but didn’t press. “Let’s just get to class,” he said, leading the way. Their argument began not long after we sat down. “I’m telling you, Kalim, that movie was trash,” Kara said, rolling her eyes. “Who even likes superhero sequels?” “You’re just salty because the lead wasn’t a woman,” Kalim shot back, grinning. I laughed despite myself, their bickering cutting through the heaviness I carried. “Can’t you two go one day without arguing?” Their teacher’s arrival put an end to their debate, but the warmth of their banter stayed with me throughout the day. After school, I headed to the restaurant where I worked. The small eatery was tucked away in a busy shopping district, its tables always crowded with customers looking for affordable meals. Joe, the manager, was leaning against the counter when I arrived. His sharp features and narrow eyes made him look like a predator stalking its prey. “Renee,” he called, smirking. “You’re late.” “I’m not,” I replied, keeping my voice steady. “You think I don’t know my own schedule?” He stepped closer, his presence suffocating. “You should be grateful I’m even letting you keep this job.” I nodded quickly, not wanting to provoke him further. Joe always found ways to remind me of my place, his comments laced with innuendo. The shift dragged on, each minute stretching into an eternity as I tried to avoid his gaze. When he wasn’t watching me, I could still feel his presence, like a shadow lurking just out of sight. By the time I clocked out, I was drained—not from the work but from the constant effort of staying invisible. When I got home, the house was silent, but the tension was palpable. My father’s voice rang out as soon as I walked in. “What’s this?” he growled, holding up my savings jar. I froze. “It’s just my tips,” I said quickly. “For emergencies.” He sneered, shaking the jar. “You think I’m stupid? Are you selling yourself for this?” “No!” I shouted, the words tumbling out before I could stop them. “I’m saving so I can leave! I’m saving so I don’t have to live under your roof anymore!” His slap was swift and brutal, leaving my cheek burning. He dumped the jar’s contents onto the floor, crushing the naira notes under his feet before setting them on fire. “No one’s leaving,” he said coldly. “Not while I’m alive.” I ran from the house, the cool night air biting at my skin. My feet carried me to the bridge overlooking the river, a place I hadn’t visited since my mom died. The water rushed below, dark and endless. I climbed onto the railing, the wind whipping at my face. “Don’t do it, child,” a voice called behind me. I turned to see an old woman standing there, her short, silver hair gleaming under the streetlights. Her sharp eyes softened as she took in my trembling figure. “Come down,” she said gently, holding out a hand. I hesitated but climbed down, my legs shaking. She pulled me into a firm hug, her touch grounding me. “Come with me,” she said softly. “Let’s talk.” We walked to her small home, tucked away in a quiet neighborhood. The space was cozy, filled with books and the faint smell of lavender. As I sipped the tea she offered, I told her everything—about my mom, my father, Joe, and the savings I’d lost. She listened silently, her gaze never leaving mine. When I finished, she reached for a small, tarnished mirror on the shelf. “This mirror has been in my family for years,” she said, running her fingers over its cracked frame. “It has the power to show you a different life—a better one.” I stared at the mirror, my reflection warped and distorted. “How does it work?” She leaned in, her voice low. “Say these words, but be warned—nothing comes without a price.” When I returned home, I locked myself in my room and stared at the mirror. Could it really work? I repeated the words she had whispered, my voice trembling. The air grew heavy, and the room spun around me, and I fell unconscious