> Some people get chosen with flowers.
I was almost bought — like a gift on a shelf.
A daughter, with a cost attached.
It was a weekend.
My mom hadn't gone to work, which was already rare enough.
She said she wanted me to escort her somewhere. No details. Just a request —
the kind you don't say no to when you're the "strong" daughter.
The "quiet" one.
The "hard-hearted" one.
I said yes.
Because I always do.
---
We drove to one of those upscale neighborhoods.
You know the type.
Tall gates. Houses with glass that shined like money.
Kids with clean shoes and accents that didn't come from the same kind of streets I walked.
They welcomed us inside.
Someone told me to go play with the kids my age.
But I didn't.
Because that's not me.
I'm the girl who watches.
The girl who listens from shadows.
The girl who always feels too big or too small for rooms like that.
So I sat somewhere I wasn't meant to be.
Close enough to hear.
Far enough to be forgotten.
---
> And that's when I heard it.
The man — him.
He said he wanted to take me back.
He didn't want his daughter growing up poor.
That I could have anything I wanted.
That I deserved more.
And for a second — just one — I felt a flicker of warmth.
A dangerous flicker.
Like a match lit in a house soaked with gasoline.
But then my mother answered.
> "If you want her… give me 52 million shillings."
And just like that, the warmth turned to fire in my throat.
---
> I had a price.
Not a birthday.
Not a love language.
A price.
They were talking about me like I was a house.
Like I was land.
Something to be transferred.
Something to be paid for.
---
I didn't wait for the rest.
I stood up.
I walked quietly to the gate.
And then I ran.
I ran down a road I didn't know.
With shoes that didn't belong in neighborhoods like that.
With a heart that was breaking louder than my steps.
I don't remember how long I ran.
I just remember the sound of cars.
And how empty everything felt.
I don't remember collapsing.
But I do remember a stranger —
pulling me out of the middle of a busy road.
Holding me like I was something human again.
---
> I wasn't crying for what they did.
I was crying for what they didn't see.
That I wasn't an asset.
Or a trophy.
Or an investment.
Just a girl —
who wanted to be kept, not claimed.
---