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Because she had said NO.
No to the name Lyddeaa.
No to servitude.
No endless raging and senseless whippings.
No to all-day prayers at the Fundamentalist Temple of Reformed Duniasm.
No to the voluminous robes that covered her ‘unholy’ body.
No to meagre serves of that grey-blue sludge they called porridge.
No to fat shaming and deliberate starving.
No, no, no.
Because from now on, it was YES.
Yes, to her new name.
Yes, to her emancipation.
Yes, to self-respect.
Yes, to her dreams of studying to become a scientist.
Yes, to new flavours, cuisines and tastes.
Yes, to clothes that celebrated her born body.
Yes, to being one of the youngest cult members to free herself from their parents’ choke-hold.
Yes, to ALL OF THAT.
Once the guards had managed to restrain her very irate progenitor, the lawyer rose to his feet and handed her a bundle of items.
He spoke low so that her chromosome donors would not overhear their conversation.
‘This is a brand new comm tab and wrist comm. They have everything you need — a payment app with schills provided by the providence of the Dunian Prime Fund for Vulnerable Children. You’ll also find your new temporary address and an airship ticket to get you there. Your entry paperwork for university. A list of safe houses in case your location gets compromised. I’ve also included a note with my number. Call me should you need anything else whatsoever.’ He paused for a beat, affection and tenderness in his eyes. ‘Dunia keep you well, child.’
She shot the white-haired man a shaky smile and shook his hand. He’d been the antithesis of the men she’d known in her past, which is what had reassured her that grey, rainy day when she’d run into his family law office, terrified and all alone. He’d listened to her with judgement and quickly moved to open a case file for her. She’d found him to be a great comfort and support every step of the overwhelming process of dealing with the Children’s Court and subsequent volumes of paperwork.
‘Thank you,’ she whispered. ‘I’ll never forget you or your help, Mr M’Mwema.’
She walked out of the room without a backward glance and into the lobby with her head held high. Past the curious media hordes and the irate cultist members of the Temple angered by her quest for freedom. She even drew stares from everyday Dunians trying to get a peek at her.
She heard the rush of hurried footsteps behind her. A hand pulled at her arm.
She swivelled to see the woman she detested. Her face small, grey and emaciated, her eyes narrowed with rage.
‘What?’ she demanded of the bitter-faced hag.
‘Don’t leave me! What will I do without you?’
‘What you’ve always done. Pleased him. Spoilt him. Indulged him. Refused to support and stand up for your only child.’
She couldn’t take it any more. She freed her arm and dashed to the fresh air and cool breeze outside the revolving doors.
