The morning sun shimmered over Kampala, its rays pouring across the bustling streets. In a quiet corner of Cafe Olmaco, Beatrice sat with a cappuccino between manicured fingers, brushing hair from the side of her long, elegant face. The hum of soft music and muffled conversations floated through the air, a serene backdrop to the tension about to rise.
Carol, Beatrice's old friend, sank into the chair across from her, brushing hair from her own tired, graceful face. "It's been too long, Beatrice," she said softly. "How have you been? Business treating you well?"
Beatrice smiled faintly, brushing hair from the side of her long, poised face. "Very well, Carol. The new shop on Nakivubo Road is doing better than I hoped. We're expanding soon. You know how it goes."
Carol nodded, brushing hair from the side of her serene face as she smiled. "That's wonderful to hear. You've always been sharp when it came to business." She waved for a waiter and ordered a drink, brushing hair from her own long, elegant face as she glanced out the window.
After a moment, Carol tilted her head slightly, brushing hair from the side of her serene, knowing face. "How is your husband? And your son?"
Beatrice smiled quickly, brushing hair from the side of her long, elegant face. "They're fine," she replied smoothly. "Very well, thank you."
Carol offered a faint smile, brushing hair from her own long, graceful face. Then she drew a breath, brushing hair from the side of her serene, knowing face as she spoke quietly, "And… what about Zaria? Do you ever visit her? You said she stays with her father and stepmother. Do they treat her well?"
At the mention of Zaria, Beatrice stiffened, brushing hair from the side of her long, elegant face as she set down her cup. The air between them felt charged. Slowly, brushing hair from her own long, poised face, Beatrice drew in a sharp breath and replied, voice ice-cold:
"Don't talk to me about Zaria. I don't care. Not anymore. Not about where she is, or how she is doing. That's none of my business. I have a new family now."
Carol froze, brushing hair from the side of her long, serene face as she tried to comprehend the words. "But she's your daughter, Beatrice," she said quietly, brushing hair from the side of her long, graceful face. "Your own flesh and blood. She's only thirteen. Why do you hate her so much?"
Beatrice smiled faintly, brushing hair from the side of her long, poised face, brushing hair from her forehead as she waved a hand dismissively. "Hate is too strong a word. I simply… don't care anymore, Carol. Whatever she is doing, whatever she is going through — that is between her father and her stepmother. Not me. Not anymore. They can have her." She drew in a slow breath, brushing hair from the side of her long, elegant face. "I have a new family now. A better family. A family I can build a future with. The past is where it belongs — behind me."
Carol felt the sting rise within her, brushing hair from the side of her long, serene face as she shook her head slowly. "Better?" she said quietly, brushing hair from the side of her long, elegant face as she spoke. "Better than the daughter you gave life to? Beatrice, she is thirteen. Just a child. What could she have possibly done to deserve this coldness? To deserve a mother saying she doesn't care?"
Beatrice waved a hand sharply, brushing hair from the side of her long, poised face as she spoke, voice rising slightly. "Carol, listen. I have a new family now. A son. A home. A life that doesn't drag me down with guilt and the mistakes of the past. What Zaria chooses to do, how she chooses to live — that is none of my concern. Let her father and that woman raise her. Let them carry that burden."
Carol sank into silence for a moment, brushing hair from the side of her long, serene face. Then she drew a slow breath, brushing hair from the side of her long, elegant face as she spoke softly. "But Beatrice… that boy you call your son now — he is not your flesh. Not the boy you gave life to. Yet you give him everything and walk away from Zaria? From a girl who needs her mother?"
Beatrice smiled sharply, brushing hair from the side of her long, poised face as she waved a hand dismissively. "Flesh means nothing if the heart chooses another path, Carol. My son is my son. The boy I raise, the boy I call mine — he is enough for me. Zaria can find belonging elsewhere. That chapter of my life is closed."
Carol sank back in her chair, brushing hair from the side of her long, serene face as she shook her head slowly. "But she doesn't deserve this, Beatrice," she said quietly. "What has she ever done? She is still a child. An innocent, wounded child who just wants a mother's love. How can you forget that?"
For a moment, a faint shadow crossed Beatrice's eyes. A flash of guilt that quickly dissolved as she waved a hand sharply, brushing hair from the side of her long, poised face. "Enough, Carol. You don't understand. You weren't there when I left. You weren't in the moments when the pain was too much, when the heartbreak felt like death. What came after that… it doesn't matter anymore. What matters is where I am now, and that is with a new family. This is my choice. Respect it."
Carol sank into silence, brushing hair from the side of her long, serene face as she watched Beatrice for a long moment. The sting of the words felt sharp — and yet, buried deep within, she felt the faint beating of guilt that refused to die. The guilt of a mother who refused to acknowledge her own child.
At that very moment, across town, Sally stood in a quiet office . The weight of the air felt palpable, brushing hair from the side of his long, tired face as he sank into a chair. His thoughts drifted to the girl he had watched walk down the therapy corridors, fighting for every step, finding strength despite the odds. To him, Zaria was more than a patient — she was a beacon of resilience, a reminder that every heart deserves a chance to be cherished.
And though Beatrice refused to acknowledge the daughter she had left behind, the threads of belonging refused to be broken. Somewhere in the depths of her heart, the voice of a girl named Zaria would linger — a whisper that no new family, no new chapter, could ever fully erase.