Hajiya Juwairiyya quickly turned around, surprised by Khamal’s words from upstairs since she had not noticed his entry.
“I don’t understand you, Khamal. What do you mean? I dismissed her, and yet you claim you’ve employed her. I will not live with someone whose very presence in this house brings trouble and chaos!”
“Momy…” Khamal called her softly, lowering his voice while holding her hands. At the same time, he reached out to collect Sumayya’s dismissal letter just as Hajiya Juwairiyya stormed out of the kitchen angrily.
Sumayya, overwhelmed, fell to her knees, sobbing heavily and gasping for breath. “Oh life, what kind of life is this? Today I feel the sting of not knowing my family, my father. If I had them, even in their poverty, I would not have come here as a servant. And now, they give me a dismissal letter after months of servitude, where I only earned twelve thousand naira! What will I do? If I leave here, where will I go? Who will feed my mother?!”
Khamal’s mocking voice cut through her cries: “Why are you crying? … Raise your head!” She lifted her swollen, reddened eyes to him. He sneered, smiling wickedly. “This is just the beginning. Where’s the money you stole? So you’re a thief too?”
Sumayya shut her eyes tightly, her heart aching. He continued cruelly: “Do you even have parents? If you had, they would have raised you better. Whoever they are, they failed you…” But before he could finish, Sumayya’s hand struck his cheek with a loud slap. She then poured water from a jug onto his face — all just as Binafa entered and saw everything.
Binafa, enraged, stormed at Sumayya, slapping her repeatedly until the girl collapsed, wailing in pain. “How dare you insult my mother?! Why didn’t you insult me instead? You insulted my mother!” she screamed. “You have no family, no father. You’re just a bastard! Who knows if you’re even legitimate?”
As Binafa threatened to call the police, Khamal, to everyone’s shock, stopped her. “Leave her, Binafa,” he said firmly. “Don’t touch her again.” For the first time, he had seen a girl stand up to him without fear or regret.
Binafa, frustrated, shouted: “So this wretched servant slapped you, and you want her spared?!” But Khamal simply repeated, “Yes, that’s what I said,” and walked out. He later ordered the house security: “Do not let Sumayya leave this house without my permission.”
Injustice and Humiliation
At the same time, in another part of the household, Diyana was tending to her skin with expensive oils when Abdulfatah walked in, his face bruised from a recent brawl. She mocked him: “Tomorrow don’t you ever dare raise your hand against another woman again. Do you think I’m an object you can beat?”
Meanwhile, Fahad was having breakfast with his mother, Hajiya Juwairiyya. When their maid Nuwaira served the meal nervously, Fahad refused coldly: “I don’t want her. Change her. I don’t need her.” His mother obeyed without pity, ordering Nuwaira to pack her things.
Back in the main house, Sumayya tried to leave quietly through the gate, but a stern security guard stopped her. “Orders from Sir Khamal,” he said. Desperate, she pleaded: “Please, I just want to see my mother! Why is he doing this to me?!” The guard pointed upstairs — Khamal was watching everything from the balcony, smirking.
Sumayya rushed to Hajiya Juwairiyya’s apartment for help, but instead found herself scorned. In the living room, an apple struck Binafa’s face during a quarrel, and Sumayya tried to wipe her, but Juwairiyya only cursed her bitterly. “You shameless girl! You disrespect everyone in this house. You’re nothing but trash!”
Her words pierced Sumayya’s soul. Never before had she been called a bastard until now. Overwhelmed with shame, she nearly fainted. Jidda the maid whispered to her: “His room is on the right — Sir Khamal is waiting for you.”
Face-to-Face with Khamal
Shaking, Sumayya entered Khamal’s lavish apartment, its fragrance and elegance so unlike the rest of the house. He sat casually in a chair, ignoring her for ten minutes until finally closing his laptop and staring at her.
“Why are you crying? Is this how you stand before your employers? Or is this how you face my mother and Binafa?” he mocked.
Sumayya fell to her knees. “Here I am,” she whispered.
He leaned forward. “What’s next? Why are you still crying? You should have been beaten earlier. Now it’s too late.”
With a trembling voice, Sumayya said: “I’m not crying for myself… I’m crying for my mother. She was insulted… they called me a bastard. But that’s not true.”
Khamal’s eyes widened as though doubting her words. He studied her closely, half-smiling, half-curious, as her tears continued to fall.
Description
The Confrontation in the Kitchen
Hajiya Juwairiyya quickly turned around, surprised by Khamal’s words from upstairs since she had not noticed his entry.
“I don’t understand you, Khamal. What do you mean? I dismissed her, and yet you claim you’ve employed her. I will not live with someone whose very presence in this house brings trouble and chaos!”
“Momy…” Khamal called her softly, lowering his voice while holding her hands. At the same time, he reached out to collect Sumayya’s dismissal letter just as Hajiya Juwairiyya stormed out of the kitchen angrily.
Sumayya, overwhelmed, fell to her knees, sobbing heavily and gasping for breath. “Oh life, what kind of life is this? Today I feel the sting of not knowing my family, my father. If I had them, even in their poverty, I would not have come here as a servant. And now, they give me a dismissal letter after months of servitude, where I only earned twelve thousand naira! What will I do? If I leave here, where will I go? Who will feed my mother?!”
Khamal’s mocking voice cut through her cries: “Why are you crying? … Raise your head!” She lifted her swollen, reddened eyes to him. He sneered, smiling wickedly. “This is just the beginning. Where’s the money you stole? So you’re a thief too?”
Sumayya shut her eyes tightly, her heart aching. He continued cruelly: “Do you even have parents? If you had, they would have raised you better. Whoever they are, they failed you…” But before he could finish, Sumayya’s hand struck his cheek with a loud slap. She then poured water from a jug onto his face — all just as Binafa entered and saw everything.
Binafa, enraged, stormed at Sumayya, slapping her repeatedly until the girl collapsed, wailing in pain. “How dare you insult my mother?! Why didn’t you insult me instead? You insulted my mother!” she screamed. “You have no family, no father. You’re just a bastard! Who knows if you’re even legitimate?”
As Binafa threatened to call the police, Khamal, to everyone’s shock, stopped her. “Leave her, Binafa,” he said firmly. “Don’t touch her again.” For the first time, he had seen a girl stand up to him without fear or regret.
Binafa, frustrated, shouted: “So this wretched servant slapped you, and you want her spared?!” But Khamal simply repeated, “Yes, that’s what I said,” and walked out. He later ordered the house security: “Do not let Sumayya leave this house without my permission.”
Injustice and Humiliation
At the same time, in another part of the household, Diyana was tending to her skin with expensive oils when Abdulfatah walked in, his face bruised from a recent brawl. She mocked him: “Tomorrow don’t you ever dare raise your hand against another woman again. Do you think I’m an object you can beat?”
Meanwhile, Fahad was having breakfast with his mother, Hajiya Juwairiyya. When their maid Nuwaira served the meal nervously, Fahad refused coldly: “I don’t want her. Change her. I don’t need her.” His mother obeyed without pity, ordering Nuwaira to pack her things.
Back in the main house, Sumayya tried to leave quietly through the gate, but a stern security guard stopped her. “Orders from Sir Khamal,” he said. Desperate, she pleaded: “Please, I just want to see my mother! Why is he doing this to me?!” The guard pointed upstairs — Khamal was watching everything from the balcony, smirking.
Sumayya rushed to Hajiya Juwairiyya’s apartment for help, but instead found herself scorned. In the living room, an apple struck Binafa’s face during a quarrel, and Sumayya tried to wipe her, but Juwairiyya only cursed her bitterly. “You shameless girl! You disrespect everyone in this house. You’re nothing but trash!”
Her words pierced Sumayya’s soul. Never before had she been called a bastard until now. Overwhelmed with shame, she nearly fainted. Jidda the maid whispered to her: “His room is on the right — Sir Khamal is waiting for you.”
Face-to-Face with Khamal
Shaking, Sumayya entered Khamal’s lavish apartment, its fragrance and elegance so unlike the rest of the house. He sat casually in a chair, ignoring her for ten minutes until finally closing his laptop and staring at her.
“Why are you crying? Is this how you stand before your employers? Or is this how you face my mother and Binafa?” he mocked.
Sumayya fell to her knees. “Here I am,” she whispered.
He leaned forward. “What’s next? Why are you still crying? You should have been beaten earlier. Now it’s too late.”
With a trembling voice, Sumayya said: “I’m not crying for myself… I’m crying for my mother. She was insulted… they called me a bastard. But that’s not true.”
Khamal’s eyes widened as though doubting her words. He studied her closely, half-smiling, half-curious, as her tears continued to fall.