Breakfast was always ready by 8. Even though Monica, the housekeeper-in-charge, was still asleep, the other staff made sure everything was prepared. After all, Monica was more of a supervisor than a full-time worker. She handled cooking but avoided other tasks like laundry or cleaning.
I never particularly liked the other housekeepers—not because they were rude or unfriendly, but because of my introverted nature and the fact that they changed so frequently. Every four months, a new team would replace the old one, and the predecessors would never show up again.
All the housekeepers came from HOSTA, a renowned hospitality agency that supplied help to homes and businesses all over the city. Hassan, Molly, and Susan had been with us for three weeks now, and though they were efficient, I avoided interacting with them too much.
That morning, by the time Monica woke up at 8, the table was already filled with a variety of breakfast delicacies. Hassan and the others had made sure everything was perfect.
By 8:30, everyone was at the dining table except for me.
I woke up at 8:30, as usual. On days without school, that was my routine. Though school was in session, I had been skipping it for the past two weeks, owing to mom's passing and burial.
Still half-asleep, I shuffled to the bathroom, quickly taking a shower. The cold water woke me fully, and I rushed to my closet, pulling out clothes with little care for the mess I was making. Once dressed, I hurried downstairs, my thoughts racing.
I couldn't shake the curiosity that had gripped me since last night. Why had the boys and Emily been out so late? Jerry had promised me answers, and I wasn't about to let him off the hook.
As I entered the dining area, the air was thick with silence. Everyone was seated, quietly focused on their plates.
I made my rounds, planting quick kisses on each of them. "Good morning!" I chirped, my enthusiasm breaking the stillness.
Dad, seated at the head of the table, smiled faintly, his usual composed self. Monica and Jacqueline were beside him, each lost in their own thoughts. Mark and Jerry sat across from them, while Emily, as always, was next to Jerry.
Leaning toward Jerry, I whispered, "You promised."
He glanced at me, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Eat first," he whispered back, chuckling softly.
"Not fair," I muttered, but his lightheartedness calmed me slightly. If Jerry wasn't worried, maybe I didn't need to be either.
I took my favorite spot, nestled between Jacqueline and Emily.
The atmosphere was unusually quiet. Everyone seemed focused on their food, avoiding eye contact—especially between Dad, Emily, and the boys.
Dad didn't appear to notice the tension or perhaps chose to ignore it altogether. But Emily and the boys couldn't hide their unease. They prayed silently that no one would bring up last night's events, fearing the scrutiny and questions that would follow.
But Monica hadn't forgotten. Clearing her throat, she finally broke the silence. "Hmm... Why hasn't anyone talked about what happened last night?"
Emily's heart skipped a beat, her chest tightening as if the air had suddenly turned heavy. Her mind raced. *Why is Monica bringing this up now?* she thought, panic gripping her.
Mark quickly stepped in, his voice calm but firm. "Little Mom, I don't think this is the right time to talk about it."
But Dad raised his hand, cutting him off. "She's right, Mark. There's no better time than now. Care to explain what happened?" His tone was even, but the weight of his question was undeniable.
A tense silence filled the room, no one daring to speak. The air felt thick, and all eyes turned toward Mark, Jerry, and Emily. Jacqueline, noticing the hesitation, decided to take matters into her own hands.
"Emily was trapped into paying off her dad's debt of 60 million shillings," she said innocently, her voice clear and direct.
The room froze. The weight of Jacqueline's words hung in the air as everyone tried to process the revelation. Emily's face turned pale, and the boys exchanged uneasy glances.
"So you planned to keep this from us?" Monica finally broke the silence, her voice sharp with disbelief.
Emily looked down at her plate, her appetite gone. She knew the confrontation they'd been dreading was now inevitable. Mark and Jerry glanced at each other, silently deciding who would speak first.
"It's not like that little mom," Jerry said finally, his voice steady but cautious. "We didn't want to worry anyone unnecessarily. We had it under control."
"Under control?" Monica scoffed. "A 60-million-shilling debt doesn't sound like something you 'have under control.'"
Dad let out a deep sigh, his face a mixture of frustration and pride. After a moment, he finally spoke. "And how exactly do you kids plan to pay off such a massive debt?"
Mark answered almost immediately, his voice steady. "We already have the money."
Dad's brows furrowed. "And where on earth did you manage to get all that money?"
"Of course I work." Mark muttered under his breath.
Emily, her voice quivering, stepped in to explain. "Mark had 25 million shillings, Jerry added 15 million, and Jacqueline and I each contributed 10 million."
Dad shook his head in disbelief, running a hand over his face. "I'm disappointed that all this was happening under my roof, and none of you thought to involve me," he said. Emily's heart sank, guilt overwhelming her.
But then Dad's tone softened, and a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "That said, I'm also incredibly proud of you all. Standing up for each other like this—especially for your sister—shows how much you've grown. You've made me proud, truly."
Monica, who had been quietly observing, chuckled softly. "You kids really are something. I'm sure wherever she is, dada is smiling down on you right now."
Jerry grinned mischievously. "And you too, Little Mom. Look at you all grown up, acting like the head of the house."
Everyone burst into laughter, the tension finally easing. Even Monica, who normally entertained the boys teasing, joined in the giggles.
But Dad wasn't done. Once the laughter died down, he leaned forward, his expression turning serious. "Now, tell me—who is this man the debt is owed to?"
Mark's jaw tightened as he answered. "It's Mr. Bigoli."
Dad's face darkened, his lips pressing into a thin line. "That son of a—" He stopped himself, taking a deep breath. "Of course it's him," he muttered under his breath.
After a moment of silence, Dad straightened his posture. "You kids are not paying a single shilling of this debt. I'll handle everything myself."
"Wait, what?" Emily interjected, her voice shaky. "You shouldn't have to. This is all my father's mess, and none of you should be dragged into it. It's not fair."
Dad turned to her, his expression warm but firm. "Emily," he said gently, "you are my daughter. And family sticks together, no matter what. Blood doesn't define family—I've learned that lesson well. You've been part of this family for a long time now, and we take care of our own."
Emily's eyes welled with tears, her chest tightening at the unexpected kindness. She glanced at Mark, Jerry, Jacqueline and I, and we all nodded in silent agreement.
"Thank you," she whispered, her voice barely audible.
"No need to be thankful; we are family," Dad reassured, his tone calm but firm. "I'll settle everything today. And Emily, we'll have to visit Ronald soon."
Emily nodded silently, the weight of her worries lifting ever so slightly. Relief washed over her, but she couldn't deny the lingering unease about the situation.
"John, can I come with you?" Monica asked, her voice unusually soft, almost pleading.
"To where?" Dad responded, his tone slightly cautious.
"To settle the debt," Monica clarified.
Dad shook his head firmly. "No, Monica. It's dangerous. You can't be seen there."
Jacqueline, always sharp and curious, leaned forward. "Why can't she be seen there?" she asked, narrowing her eyes.
Dad hesitated, the silence hanging heavily over the table. "Ah… ah… because it's… it's dangerous there," he stammered, clearly scrambling for a convincing excuse.