HIDDEN SCARS✓

One.

My heart sank as I sat in the backyard, lost in a whirlwind of thoughts. The world seemed upside down, and in that moment, I longed for someone to lean on, someone who understood. Unfortunately, I hadn't found that person yet.

The weight of my loneliness grew heavier as I reminisced about life six years ago, when my father was still alive. His final words to me before he left this world echoed vividly in my mind.

"Yumna!" The sound of my name being called snapped me out of my reverie. I quickly wiped away my tears and composed myself before making my way back into the house, my heart trembling with fear.

"Yes, Mom?" I half-yelled, sensing urgency in her voice as she called me again from the parlor.

My mother, a regal Hausa Fulani woman in her late fifties, sat on the couch, engrossed in a Hausa film.

I cautiously approached her, taking measured steps, unsure of her mood. As I stood by her side, my mother abruptly stood up and, consumed by anger, delivered a sharp slap across my face.

"Never keep me waiting like that!"

The sting of her words and the physical pain searing through my cheek brought fresh tears to my eyes. I struggled to form coherent words as I stammered, "I'm sorry..."

My mother's grip tightened around my wrist, causing me to wince in pain. Her eyes filled with disdain as she sneered at me, her voice filled with venom. "Apologize to yourself. Put on your hijab and go to Hajiya Hau'wa's house."

A pleading tone laced my voice as I whispered, "Please, Mom, you're hurting me." A tear escaped my eye, tracing a path down my cheek.

"Never call me Mom again!" Her words reverberated through the room, cutting deep into my wounded heart. With an outburst of anger, she released her grip on my wrist.

I hurriedly retreated to my room, my emotions spiraling uncontrollably. I grabbed my hijab and wiped away the tears that continued to flow. Gathering the items my mother had instructed me to take, I prepared to leave for Aunt's house.

Asma'u, the woman I reluctantly called Mom, explained everything to me and provided the items I needed to deliver. Her warning, laden with a mix of threat and desperation, hung heavily in the air as she walked out of the room.

"I swear by Allah, if you don't come back early, I will make sure to break your legs, you wretched child!" Her words pierced my heart, leaving me with a sense of foreboding.

As I picked up my bag and made my way out, the Luggah mansion stood before me, an hour's walk away.

As I approached the mansion, a warm and inviting atmosphere enveloped me. However, instead of a pleasant welcome, I was met with Nabila, who greeted me with disdain and hostility. Undeterred by her negative energy, I replied maturely, brushing off her offensive remarks. "I don't have time for this, Nabila. Please, is your mom home?" I asked calmly.

Enraged by my composed demeanor, Nabila couldn't control her anger. She unleashed a torrent of insults, calling me a low-class gold-digger. Fearing that she might physically harm me, I braced myself. But before the situation escalated, a voice called out from inside the house, causing Nabila to pause abruptly.

"Who's at the door?" the voice inquired, sounding curious and surprised.

Relieved by the interruption, I released a sigh of relief. It was Aunt's, who appeared at the doorway and pulled me into a warm hug. As she embraced me, a momentary wince of pain crossed my face, catching Aunt's attention and sparking concern in her eyes.

Never one to reveal my vulnerabilities, I quickly masked my pain behind a forced smile. "I'm fine," I reassured her, doing my best to hide my true emotions.