The morning air in Hilltop Town was unusually still, the kind of silence that hinted at rumors waiting to spread like wildfire.
Sarah Jackson stood in the middle of the small trading center, a headscarf tightly wrapped around her head, eyes red as though she'd spent the night crying. Her voice, hoarse and cracked, trembled as she spoke to the cluster of women at Mama Janeti's stall.
"…I don't know where she went," Sarah sniffed. "Zaria ran away. I woke up and she was gone. The store was open… and her clothes were missing. I've searched everywhere."
The women gasped in sympathy.
"Eh! That poor girl," Mama Janeti said. "But she's been quiet these days. Was there any sign she was planning to leave?"
Sarah let out a theatrical sob, dabbing her eyes with the edge of her gomesi. "No! She didn't even say goodbye. I treated her like my own child."
A few women nodded sympathetically. Others exchanged skeptical glances, but no one spoke up.
"I even reported to the chairman," Sarah added quickly. "And I told the police officer who stays up the hill. I've walked to the market, the church, her friends' homes… nothing. It's like she disappeared into thin air."
As expected, the gossip spread. By mid-morning, all corners of Hilltop were buzzing:
> "Zaria has run away from home."
"That ungrateful girl. Sarah tried for her."
"Maybe she joined bad company."
"Children of nowadays!"
Sarah basked in the attention. She had learned long ago that in order to cover evil, one only needed a good performance and a louder voice than the truth.
Later that day, she called her husband.
The line connected after two rings.
"Hello?" his deep voice came through.
Sarah instantly broke into a fake cry. "She's gone! Zaria ran away!"
"What?" came the tired reply.
"I've searched everywhere—she left in the night. She didn't even say goodbye. After all the food, the shelter, the clothes I've been giving her. This is how she thanks me?"
Zaria's father grunted on the other end. "Don't waste your tears on that ungrateful child. She's never brought us peace. If she left, let her go."
Sarah quickly wiped away the fake tears now staining her cheeks. "But people are asking questions… what should I tell them?"
"Tell them the truth," he replied carelessly. "She left. No one chased her."
Then the line went dead.
Sarah leaned back in the chair, satisfied. Everything was going according to her plan.
She had even walked past the church compound crying dramatically, telling the Reverend's wife how she feared something had happened to Zaria, how she couldn't sleep, how she was praying that she was found safe.
And slowly, the town began turning against Zaria.
People who had once admired her intelligence now whispered that she was wild. Shopkeepers who once greeted her kindly now shook their heads in pity and judgment. "That's what happens when a child is raised without discipline," they murmured.
But not everyone was fooled.
---
Linda sat quietly under the mango tree behind her house, her schoolbag tossed at her feet. She stared down the dusty road where Zaria used to walk from every evening, hoping—just maybe—her friend would appear again.
But she never did.
The words Sarah had spread across Hilltop rang in her ears, but none of them made sense.
Zaria? Run away?
No goodbye?
No note?
It didn't sound like her at all.
Linda remembered their last conversation. Zaria had been tired but hopeful. She was going to start school soon, excited to begin a new chapter. She had even said things were finally starting to look up.
So why would she just leave?
Linda hugged her knees. Something felt wrong.
Desperately wrong.
She hadn't seen Zaria for over four days now, and each hour that passed without word, the pit in her stomach grew heavier. Her friend wouldn't just vanish.
She wanted to go and confront Sarah herself, but her mother had warned her not to get involved.
"Stay out of people's business," her mother had said. "You never know what families hide behind their doors."
But Linda didn't care.
Her mind ran with questions.
What if Zaria had been taken?
What if she had been harmed?
What if—God forbid—she had died?
The thoughts haunted her.
She remembered Zaria's bruises. The way she sometimes limped or winced when sitting. The days she had no lunch. The tears she tried to hide in class. The letters she always wrote.
Zaria had been suffering.
And now she was gone.
No one seemed to care—except her.
"I need to find out what really happened," Linda whispered to herself.
She didn't know how, and she didn't know who to trust—but she was sure of one thing:
Zaria did not run away.
---
Back at Sarah's house, things were unusually quiet. For the first time in years, there was no sound of Zaria scrubbing the veranda, no clang of buckets, no clatter of firewood being split.
Mary Florence and Claire Rina barely noticed. They were used to being served. But even they were beginning to ask questions.
"Mummy," Mary said lazily, lounging on the couch, "so who's going to be cooking now that that one is gone?"
Sarah turned sharply. "Just say Zaria. And I'm trying to figure it out. You people are grown. Can't you do anything for yourselves?"
Claire rolled her eyes. "As if you didn't love having a free maid."
Sarah ignored them and walked out to the backyard. She stared at the empty store where Zaria used to sleep. The mat was still rolled in the corner. The small basin still sat under the shelf.
She sighed.
Zaria might have been a burden—but she had been useful.
Now, she was gone.
Sarah looked up at the setting sun, painted orange against the hilltop horizon.
No one would find her.
Or so she believed.
---
But in a private ward many kilometers away, Zaria's chest rose and fell slowly, her body weak but healing. Machines kept her breathing steady. Nurses checked her every hour.
And by her bedside, Sally Raymond watched quietly, reading a letter aloud to her unconscious form.
"...Mom, do you still love me? I'm sorry if I ever wronged you. I just want to be loved… like a real daughter."
His voice broke on the last line.
And somewhere, deep inside her body, Zaria's fingers twitched slightly.
The truth was on its way back.