Barrister Ada

Chapter 2: Safe

Chapter 2: Safe

The first thing I felt was a deep, biting cold.

It didn't just touch my skin; it seeped past my damp clothes and settled directly into my bones, making my teeth chatter uncontrollably.

I slowly peeled my eyes open, my vision blurry. For several seconds, I simply stared at the ceiling above me, trying to understand where I was.

The ceiling was made of neat corrugated iron, completely different from the sagging, cracked plaster of my family's house. There were no stains spreading across it from years of leaking rainwater. No cracks that looked as though they might collapse at any moment.

The comforting smell of camphor and boiling ginger tea filled the air.

I took a slow breath.

Then panic spiked instantly in my chest.

This was not my room.

I tried to sit up.

A sharp pain shot up my spine, and I immediately dropped back onto the mattress.

"Aaah..."

My voice sounded weak, almost unfamiliar.

My body ached as if I had been beaten. Every muscle felt bruised and exhausted. My legs were heavy, my shoulders hurt, and my head felt hollow, heavy, and dizzy all at once.

I looked around the unfamiliar room.

It was small but clean. A narrow bed occupied most of the space. Beside it stood a small wooden stool with an enamel cup resting on top. A plastic chair sat against one wall, and a few folded clothes were neatly arranged on it.

Where was I?

How did I get here?

I tried to remember.

At first, there was nothing.

Only the cold.

Only the strange ceiling.

Only the smell of ginger.

Then the memories hit me like a physical blow.

The shouting.

The terrifying crash of breaking plates.

My father's voice.

My mother's frightened face.

Her fragile body standing between me and his raised hand.

The rain.

The darkness.

Running.

I remembered running barefoot into the pitch-black street, the rough tar and sharp pebbles tearing at the soles of my feet. I remembered the rain hitting my face so hard that I could barely keep my eyes open.

I had been so weak, driven only by adrenaline.

I hadn't eaten a proper meal in days. My stomach had been twisted into tight, painful knots, but I hadn't cared. At that moment, all I could think about was finding help.

I had to find someone who could stop my father.

Someone who could protect my mother.

Someone who could go back with me.

I remembered making it as far as the outskirts of Wuse Market.

The bright streetlights and closed shop signs had blurred into a watery mess. Everything around me seemed to be moving even though I was the one stumbling forward.

My legs were trembling.

My breathing was becoming difficult.

I had wanted to keep going.

I had told myself I would rest for only a minute.

Just one minute.

I remembered reaching toward the wall of a closed shop to steady myself.

Then my knees gave way.

The world tilted.

Spun.

And then went completely black.

"Drink this, my child."

A gentle voice suddenly broke through my panic.

I flinched, snapping my head to the side.

A woman was sitting beside the narrow bed.

She had a warm, round face, a faded wrapper tied securely around her waist, and eyes so soft they made my chest ache.

"You’re awake," she said.

She picked up the steaming enamel cup from the wooden stool.

Her tone was soothing.

It was the exact opposite of the harsh barks I was used to at home.

"Don't be afraid. You’re safe here."

Safe.

The word felt strange.

I stared at her.

"I’m Aunty Ngozi," she added.

She held the cup toward me.

"Drink. It will warm you."

I hesitated before taking it.

The enamel was hot against my freezing fingers.

"What is it?" I asked.

"Ginger tea."

I took a small sip.

The taste was strong and slightly spicy, but the warmth spread down my throat and into my chest.

I took another sip.

Aunty Ngozi smiled.

"Better?"

I nodded.

She reached out, her warm hand gently resting on my freezing forehead.

"You were very cold when I found you."

I stiffened.

"When you found me?"

"Yes."

She withdrew her hand.

"I was packing up my provisions stall late in the night when the storm started."

I listened silently.

"I wanted to go home before the rain became worse, so I started closing everything. I was already on my way when I saw something beneath one of the shop canopies."

Her expression softened.

"At first, I thought it was a pile of clothes."

My fingers tightened around the cup.

"Then I saw your feet."

I looked down at my legs.

"You were lying there completely unconscious," she continued. "Your clothes were soaked. Your body was shaking so badly that I was afraid you might not survive the night."

My throat tightened.

"I called you several times, but you didn't answer."

She paused.

"I touched your shoulder, and you were freezing."

I lowered my eyes.

Aunty Ngozi had found me when I couldn't even find myself.

"I didn't know who you were or where you came from," she said. "But I couldn't leave you there."

She gave me a small smile.

"So I brought you home."

I stared at her.

"Thank you."

The words came out barely above a whisper.

She nodded.

"You don't have to thank me."

I looked around the room again.

"Where am I?"

"My house."

"How long have I been here?"

"Since last night."

My eyes widened.

"Last night?"

She nodded.

"The rain stopped some hours ago. You slept for most of the night."

I looked toward the small window.

Morning light was beginning to creep through it.

For a moment, I forgot everything.

Then I remembered my mother.

My heart dropped.

"Mummy."

I pushed the blanket away.

Aunty Ngozi immediately stopped me.

"Easy."

"I have to go."

"Go where?"

"My house."

My feet touched the floor.

Pain shot through them.

I gasped and grabbed the edge of the bed.

Aunty Ngozi quickly supported me.

"Don't stand up yet."

"My mother is there."

"Your mother?"

I nodded.

"My father..."

The words caught in my throat.

I couldn't finish.

Aunty Ngozi looked at me carefully.

"What happened?"

I shook my head.

I didn't want to say it.

Saying it would make everything real.

But the memories came rushing back again.

My father's bloodshot eyes.

His clenched fists.

The insults.

The raised hand.

My mother's body protecting mine.

Tears threatened to spill over my eyelashes.

"I ran because he wanted to hurt me."

Aunty Ngozi's face changed.

"He wanted to hurt you?"

I nodded.

"And my mother was trying to protect me."

My voice broke.

"He was already hurting her."

Aunty Ngozi sat beside me.

"Did you come from Wuse?"

I nodded again.

"I ran there."

"Alone?"

"Yes."

"At night?"

I nodded.

She sighed deeply.

"Child..."

I looked away.

"I was trying to find help."

"For your mother?"

"For both of us."

A heavy lump formed in my throat.

"I thought I would find someone who could help us. Maybe the police. Maybe somebody who knew what to do."

I swallowed.

"But I couldn't even make it far."

The tears finally escaped.

I quickly wiped them away.

Crying wouldn't fix anything.

I had run into the storm to get help for my mother.

I was supposed to find someone to stop my father.

Instead, I had collapsed beneath a shop canopy.

Now, the harsh reality crashed down on me.

I had absolutely nowhere to go.

No money.

No plan.

And no way to help the woman I had left behind.

My mother's face appeared in my mind.

Was she safe?

Had my father calmed down?

Had he hurt her after I left?

The questions made my chest tighten.

"I have to go back," I whispered.

Aunty Ngozi shook her head.

"Not like this."

"My mother needs me."

"And you need to recover."

"What if something happens to her?"

"What if something happens to you?"

I had no answer.

Aunty Ngozi looked at me for a long moment.

"Listen to me."

I raised my eyes.

"You are only sixteen."

The words made me feel smaller.

"You ran through the rain in the middle of the night because you were afraid for your mother's life. That tells me you are a brave girl."

I looked down at my hands.

"But bravery doesn't mean you must keep putting yourself in danger."

I didn't respond.

She reached for the cup.

"Finish your tea."

I obeyed.

The warmth from the ginger slowly began to thaw my frozen fingers.

Aunty Ngozi stood.

"I'll make you something to eat."

"I'm not hungry."

She raised an eyebrow.

My stomach immediately growled.

She looked at me.

I looked at my stomach.

For the first time that morning, a tiny smile appeared on her face.

"Your stomach disagrees."

Despite everything, I almost laughed.

Almost.

She walked toward the door.

"Eat first. Then we'll decide what to do."

When she left, I remained alone.

I stared at the ceiling.

The room was quiet.

Not the frightening silence that came before my father's next outburst.

This was different.

Peaceful.

For the first time in years, silence did not mean I was waiting for something terrible to happen.

I pulled the blanket around my shoulders.

The warmth from the tea continued spreading through my body.

My fingers stopped trembling.

My breathing became steadier.

And then a strange realization washed over me.

For the first time since that terrible night began, I believed I had actually survived.

I didn't know what was next.

The future was a terrifying, empty road.

I didn't know where I would sleep the next night.

I didn't know how I would return to school.

I didn't know what would happen to my mother.

I didn't know whether I would ever see my home the same way again.

But I knew one undeniable truth.

The girl who ran to save her mother would have to learn how to save herself first.

And perhaps that was not selfish.

Perhaps survival was the first step toward freedom.