In the quiet of the therapy room, Roslin's voice dropped to a whisper. Her words were fragile, as if each syllable could shatter at any moment.
"He asked me to take off my clothes," she murmured. "I didn't want to, but I did. I stood there… naked." Her voice trembled, and then broke. She buried her face in her hands, sobs shaking her slender frame.
Mrs. Agbor, seated close, immediately rose and crossed the small space between them. She held out a tissue, her expression one of quiet strength. "It's okay," she said softly. "Let it out."
Roslin's shoulders heaved, the memories spilling from her in painful waves. Slowly, she regained her composure, and her hands dropped into her lap. Her voice, when she finally spoke, was rough and filled with a bitterness that belied her years.
"He told me to point at my breasts," she said quietly, avoiding eye contact. "Then… he told me to point at my… vagina." She paused, her whole body taut, until she could no longer hold back. Her hands balled into fists, and a fleeting flash of anger crossed her tear-streaked face.
"He made me touch him," she whispered, her voice trembling. "Until he… until he released." The bitterness was back, sharper now. "He called me a good girl, gave me a thousand naira, and told me to keep it a secret. Said it was my 'special talent.' And if I told anyone…" She shook her head, her voice dropping to barely a whisper. "If I told anyone, they'd use me."
The room was silent, filled with the weight of her words. Mrs. Agbor sat quietly, her hand resting on Roslin's shoulder as a steady, silent source of comfort.
"Did you ever tell your father?" she finally asked, her voice gentle.
Roslin shook her head. "I couldn't."
"Why? What happened?"
Roslin straightened slightly, a breath of determination coming into her bearing. "My father had a stroke," she whispered. "My uncle and cousin moved in permanently. My uncle… he kept molesting me—at night, during the day while my father slept." Her fists clenched, and her voice grew defiant. "One day, after learning about puberty in school, I confronted him. I told him I'd tell my father everything. But he…" Her voice faltered, trembling as she added, "He threatened to poison my father if I spoke."
Her gaze drifted to a distant point in the room. Mrs. Agbor's voice was steady as she asked, "What about your cousin? Couldn't you confide in him?"
Roslin's eyes took on a hollow look. "He was worse," she said flatly. "Much worse."
A long silence filled the room, dense with unspoken pain and heavy memories. Mrs. Agbor, sensing Roslin's exhaustion, leaned forward and spoke gently.
"It's okay," she said softly. "You don't have to continue."
Relieved, Roslin nodded, her shoulders relaxing just slightly. Mrs. Agbor stood and extended her hand with a warm smile.
"Let's take a walk, shall we? There's a garden nearby. Fresh air might help."
Roslin rose, the weight of the conversation visibly lifting as they stepped out into the light of the hallway. They passed Dave in the waiting room, who looked up from his phone, his face softening as Roslin brushed a hand across his shoulder.
"We're going for a walk. We'll be back soon," she said softly.
Mrs. Agbor nodded at him. "There's a canteen and a gaming room in the building if you get bored. We'll be back in about an hour."
Dave gave her a hopeful look. "Please, take good care of her."
"Trust me," Mrs. Agbor assured him with a kind smile. "She's in safe hands."
As they exited the building, the air felt fresh and rejuvenating. Roslin inhaled deeply, and a slight, almost imperceptible easing of tension crossed her face. They found a quiet bench in the garden, surrounded by green, and sat down together, enveloped by the quiet peace of the moment.