Fumi awoke to the faint smell of bread warming over a small charcoal stove. For a brief moment, she didn't remember where she was. The mattress beneath her was thin, and the single room was bare, but it felt like heaven compared to the cold streets she was used to.
Adora was already up, moving around the small apartment with practiced efficiency. She hummed softly as she prepared a simple breakfast, the tune blending with the distant sounds of Lagos waking up.
"You're awake," Adora said with a warm smile when she noticed Fumi sitting up. "Come, eat."
Fumi hesitated. She had spent so long fending for herself that trusting someone felt foreign. But hunger won out, and she slowly made her way to the small table by the window where Adora had set out a plate of bread and some watery tea.
"Thank you," Fumi murmured, her voice barely audible.
"You don't have to thank me," Adora said gently. "You're safe now."
The days that followed were filled with small but significant changes for Fumi. Adora taught her how to wash her clothes, clean the house, and prepare simple meals. These weren't chores to Fumi—they were acts of belonging, things that made her feel like she had a home again.
Adora also gave Fumi space to grieve. There were nights when the little girl would wake up crying, haunted by the memory of her parents' deaths. Adora would sit beside her, holding her hand and whispering soothing words until she fell asleep again.
"Pain doesn't go away overnight," Adora told her one morning as they sat together peeling yams. "But it becomes easier to carry when you have someone to share it with."
Fumi nodded, her heart swelling with gratitude for this woman who had shown her more kindness in a week than she'd experienced in the entire year since her parents died.
Facing the Neighborhood's Prejudice
Despite the warmth inside their home, life outside was not as welcoming. The neighborhood was a tight-knit community where gossip traveled fast, and Adora's reputation as a "witch" had followed her.
People whispered behind their backs as they walked to the market. Vendors refused to sell to Adora, claiming her touch would curse their goods. Children shouted cruel words at Fumi, calling her "the cursed girl."
One day, as Fumi was returning from fetching water, a group of boys blocked her path.
"Hey, cursed child!" one of them jeered. "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be in the forest with the other witches?"
Fumi clenched her fists, her face burning with anger and humiliation. Before she could respond, Adora appeared.
"That's enough!" Adora said sharply, her voice carrying an authority that silenced the boys.
She stepped in front of Fumi and glared at the group. "Shame on you. Picking on a child who's done nothing to you. Go home."
The boys scattered, their bravado evaporating under Adora's stern gaze. Fumi looked up at her, tears brimming in her eyes.
"Why do they hate us?" she whispered.
"They fear what they don't understand," Adora said, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. "But their fear doesn't define you. You are more than their words."