Chapter Twenty-Eight - She Kept Going

For a while, Tiara said nothing.

The room had grown quieter around them.

Outside, a motorcycle passed somewhere beyond the compound, its engine fading into the distance. The curtains stirred gently with the evening breeze, brushing against the wall before settling again. Daniel remained where he was, listening.

Tiara's gaze had drifted somewhere beyond the room.

Not toward the television.

Not toward the balcony.

Somewhere much farther away.

Back home.

Back to a house that no longer existed in the same way.

“My mother…”

Her voice came out low.

She rubbed her thumb slowly over the edge of her palm.

“She tried.”

Two words.

That was all she managed at first.

Daniel waited.

Tiara swallowed.

“She really tried.”

There was no bitterness in her voice when she said it. If anything, there was something more difficult to listen to—a kind of loyalty that had survived everything.

“My mother wasn't educated. She didn't have a big job. She didn't have anybody waiting for her with money whenever things became difficult.”

She gave a small, humourless breath.

“But she could work.”

And work she did.

There seemed to be no honest job she considered beneath her.

She cleaned people's houses.

Washed their clothes.

Scrubbed floors until her knuckles became rough.

She swept compounds in the early morning while the owners of the houses were still asleep. Sometimes she helped people cut grass. Sometimes she stayed behind to watch over a gate when somebody needed a temporary gatekeeper.

There were days she came home smelling of detergent.

Other days, she returned with dust clinging to the hem of her wrapper.

Sometimes she carried a basin.

Sometimes a broom.

Sometimes nothing at all because she had gone somewhere simply to ask if there was work available.

“She used to tell us that work was work,” Tiara murmured. “As long as it was honest.”

Daniel's fingers tightened slightly around his own knee.

Tiara continued.

“There were times she looked exhausted before she even entered the house.”

The memory seemed so clear that Tiara could almost see it.

Her mother's slippers scraping against the floor.

The tired way she lowered herself onto the old wooden chair.

The slow removal of her headscarf.

And yet, somehow, when one of the children called her name, she would still answer.

“Mummy…”

Tiara paused.

A faint smile almost appeared at the corner of her mouth before disappearing.

“She always answered.”

Then her voice became quieter.

“Until one day, she couldn't.”

Daniel looked at her properly.

Tiara's hands had stopped moving.

“She complained about her leg.”

“At first, we didn't think it was serious. She said it hurt. Sometimes she walked with a slight limp, but she still went out to work.”

She looked down at her fingers.

“She didn't know how to rest.”

A silence.

“Or maybe she knew. She just couldn't afford to.”

That sentence stayed between them.

Daniel lowered his gaze.

Tiara continued.

“Then it got worse.”

Her mother began struggling to walk.

What had once been a small discomfort became something that interfered with everything. She would hold onto walls when she moved around the house. She stopped walking as quickly as she used to. Eventually, even standing for long became difficult.

“And because we didn't have money for proper treatment…” Tiara's voice faltered. “My aunt took her to the village.”

Daniel's forehead creased.

“Her sister believed something else was wrong.”

Tiara hesitated.

“She said it wasn't just her leg.”

She drew in a slow breath.

“She believed somebody had sent a spiritual arrow into it.”

Daniel said nothing.

Tiara wasn't telling him that as a fact. She was telling him what her family had believed, what they had held onto when they didn't understand what was happening.

“They took her there because they thought maybe somebody could help her.”

Her fingers curled into the fabric of her dress.

“But she kept getting worse.”

The house had changed after that.

The woman who once carried heavy buckets began needing help to move.

The woman who could work from morning until evening began spending more time lying down.

The woman who had always been the one making sure everyone else had eaten began struggling to eat herself.

“And people…”

Tiara stopped.

Daniel waited.

“People were terrible.”

The words came out differently this time.

Sharper.

Not loud.

Just tired.

“Some people stopped coming around.”

She looked toward the floor.

“Some acted like her sickness was something they could catch.”

Her mouth tightened.

“Some people who used to ask her to come and clean their houses suddenly didn't know her anymore.”

Daniel's expression hardened.

Tiara noticed but kept going.

“They would see her sitting outside and walk past.”

She gave a small shake of her head.

“She had spent years cleaning their homes. Washing their clothes. Helping them with things they didn't want to do themselves.”

Her voice thinned.

“But when she became the one who needed help…”

She stopped again.

The sentence didn't need finishing.

Daniel looked away for a moment.

His jaw had tightened.

Tiara continued before the silence could swallow her courage.

“Some even said she wasn't taking care of herself.”

Her eyes glistened.

“They didn't know she had nothing.”

She wiped beneath one eye quickly.

“They didn't know how many times she had gone without food so we could eat.”

Her voice shook.

“They didn't know she had worked when she was tired because if she didn't work, we wouldn't eat.”

Daniel inhaled slowly.

“Tiara…”

She lifted one hand.

“Please.”

He stopped.

She took another breath.

“I need to finish.”

Daniel nodded.

“Okay.”

Tiara looked down again.

Her voice had become softer.

“She became very sick.”

The words seemed to cost her something.

“And that was what…”

She swallowed.

Her lips parted.

“That was what…”

The sentence broke.

She tried again.

“That was what…”

Her breath caught.

Daniel leaned forward instinctively.

“Tiara—”

She shook her head.

“Don't.”

He fell silent.

Her eyes filled completely now.

“That was what…”

Her voice trembled.

“…killed her.”

Daniel went still.

For several seconds, neither of them moved.

Tiara blinked rapidly, but the tears escaped anyway.

“That was what killed her.”

She said it again, this time barely above a whisper.

Daniel's chest tightened.

He had heard stories about difficult childhoods before. He had known people who had struggled.

But listening to Tiara describe it like this was different.

Because she wasn't telling him about something she had read.

She had lived it.

She had watched her mother become weaker.

Watched the woman who had carried everyone else begin to need carrying herself.

And there had been so little anybody could do.

Daniel wanted to say something.

Anything.

But every sentence that came to him sounded inadequate.

I'm sorry.

He had already said it.

It wasn't fair.

Of course it wasn't.

You shouldn't have gone through that.

True.

But none of those words could return her mother.

None could give Tiara back the years she had spent watching her family struggle.

He shifted closer.

Tiara's breathing had become uneven.

Daniel opened his arms without making a production of it.

She looked at him for half a second.

Then whatever was holding her together finally gave way.

She leaned into the embrace.

Daniel held her firmly but gently, one hand resting between her shoulders.

He didn't tell her to stop crying.

He didn't tell her to be strong.

He didn't tell her everything would be fine.

He simply stayed.

Tiara's shoulders trembled against him.

Daniel stared ahead, blinking hard.

He refused to let his own emotions take over.

If he broke down too, who would help her?

So he swallowed everything.

The anger.

The helplessness.

The sadness.

The questions.

His hand moved slowly over her back.

“Take your time,” he murmured.

Tiara breathed shakily.

After a while, she pulled back slightly and wiped her face with both hands.

“I've tried not to remember it.”

Daniel nodded.

“I know.”

“But sometimes…”

She looked at him.

“Sometimes I remember everything.”

Daniel's gaze softened.

Tiara drew her knees closer.

“My mother died.”

She said it plainly this time.

No decoration.

No attempt to make it sound smaller.

“She died, and everything changed.”

Daniel listened.

“The house became different.”

She paused.

“Even my father.”

Her eyes dropped.

“He was already drinking before she died, but after she died…”

She shook her head.

“I don't even know how to explain him.”

“You don't have to.”

“I want to.”

Daniel nodded.

She continued.

“He was just there.”

The words sounded almost cruel, but Tiara wasn't trying to be cruel.

“That was the problem. He was there, but he wasn't really there.”

She rubbed her palms together.

“He didn't teach us anything.”

No Tiara, don't do this.

No David, stop.

No Sarah, come here.

No proper conversations.

No guidance.

Nothing that made them feel like somebody was watching over them.

“Sometimes he played with us,” she admitted. “Especially when he had no money for alcohol.”

Daniel almost smiled at the absurdity of it, but the moment didn't allow it.

Tiara noticed anyway.

“Don't laugh.”

“I wasn't.”

“You were about to.”

“I wasn't.”

She gave him a look.

Daniel lifted both hands.

“Okay.”

A tiny pause.

Then Tiara's voice softened again.

“My mother was always busy too.”

That was the part she had struggled to understand for years.

“She loved us. I know she did.”

She swallowed.

“But she was always trying to survive.”

There it was.

The difference between being loved and feeling loved.

“She didn't have time to sit down and teach us everything.”

Her eyes became distant again.

“Sometimes parents are so busy trying to keep their children alive that they forget children also need attention.”

Daniel said nothing.

Tiara continued.

“We didn't have that.”

Her fingers tightened together.

“We didn't have anybody saying, ‘How was your day?’”

A pause.

“Or sitting down with us to explain life.”

Another pause.

“We just grew.”

She let out a small, bitter breath.

“And somehow, everybody expected us to know how to behave.”

Daniel's eyes lowered.

Tiara looked at him.

“We weren't properly taught.”

Her voice cracked.

“We weren't properly loved…”

She stopped.

The words hung in the air.

“Or maybe…”

Her lips trembled.

“Maybe they loved us.”

She inhaled.

“Maybe they just didn't know how to show it.”

Her voice disappeared at the end.

Daniel reached for her again.

This time she didn't hesitate.

She rested against him, and he held her quietly.

There was nothing romantic in the gesture.

Only comfort.

Only the simple human instinct to keep someone from feeling alone while they were carrying something too heavy.

Daniel stared at the wall.

For the first time since knowing Tiara, he wished he had met her earlier.

Not because he believed he could rewrite her life.

He couldn't.

But he wished someone had been there.

Someone who could have told her she didn't have to carry everything herself.

Someone who could have noticed how young she was beneath all that responsibility.

Someone who could have given her a little room to simply be a child.

His throat tightened.

Seventeen.

That number suddenly felt different.

He had known her age.

But now he understood what it meant.

She had been seventeen while carrying responsibilities that should never have belonged to one person alone.

Tiara eventually lifted her head.

Her eyes were swollen.

She wiped her cheeks.

“I still haven't told you everything.”

Daniel stared at her.

“You're joking.”

She shook her head.

He exhaled through his nose.

“Tiara.”

“What?”

“I've asked you to stop this story about five times.”

“I know.”

“And you ignored me.”

“Yes.”

“You're stubborn.”

“I know that too.”

Daniel shook his head.

A faint smile finally appeared.

“Of course.”

Tiara adjusted herself on the sofa.

“My mother died.”

Her voice steadied.

“And after that, I knew things couldn't continue the same way.”

She paused.

Then, slowly, she began telling him what came next.

Because her mother's death had not ended the struggle.

It had simply removed the one person who had been standing between her children and the full weight of it.

And Tiara had been one of those children.

Only, somehow, she had become the one who stood up next.