Shattered Innocence

Shadows of the Past

“Sophia! Where are you coming from?"

The sharpness of her father’s voice sent a chill down Sophia’s spine as soon as she stepped into the living room. Her grip tightened on the strap of her bag as she carefully chose her words.

“I...I was at the library, Daddy,” she said, trying to keep her voice even.

John, who was lounging on the couch, scoffed. “Library?” He turned to Osagie. “She’s lying. I saw her outside campus yesterday talking to a guy.”

Sophia’s head snapped toward her younger brother, anger and disbelief flashing across her face. “That’s not true! I was...”

“Enough.” Osagie’s deep voice cut her off. His cold, scrutinising gaze bore into her. “John, are you sure about this?”

John smirked. “Yes, Daddy.”

A long silence stretched between them. Sophia’s heart pounded.

“Go to your room,” Osagie finally said.

She exhaled in relief, about to move when his voice stopped her again.

"After your medical check-up tomorrow, we’ll discuss this further.”

Sophia’s stomach twisted. Not again.

She turned, her face void of expression, and walked toward the staircase. As she passed Peter, she caught his hesitant gaze. He looked like he wanted to say something, but John was watching. He lowered his head instead.

Sophia swallowed the lump in her throat.

She had no allies in this house.

Her room felt smaller than usual, suffocating in its silence.

There was no TV, no phone, nothing but stacks of religious and academic books her father forced upon her. Books that told her how to be pure, how to be obedient, how to be everything he wanted her to be.

She threw her bag onto the bed and sat down, reaching for the one thing that was truly hers—her diary.

She opened it, flipping past pages filled with lonely words and unshed tears.

"I hate this house. I hate my life. I wish Mom was here."

A knock at the door made her snap the diary shut. "Sophia?” Peter’s voice was soft.

"Come in,” she said.

Peter slipped inside, looking over his shoulder before closing the door. He pulled out a chocolate bar from his pocket and handed it to her. “I got this for you.” Sophia stared at it, her eyes stinging. “You know John will tell Daddy if he sees this.”

Peter sighed. “I know. But you didn’t eat dinner, and… I just thought you’d want something sweet.”

She took the chocolate, gripping it tightly. “Thank you.”

Peter sat beside her. “Why is Daddy like this?”

Sophia looked down. “Because he thinks he’s protecting me.”

"But from what?” Peter frowned. “You’re not doing anything wrong.”

Sophia swallowed hard. “It doesn’t matter. He sees me and thinks of Mama. And Mama left him. Now he’s scared I will too.”

Peter sighed. “Do you think he blames you?”

Sophia hesitated. Then, with a voice barely above a whisper, she said, “I do.”

The next morning was as dreadful as she expected.

Osagie barely spoke to her as he drove her to the hospital. She sat stiffly in the passenger seat, staring out the window, her mind numb. She had lost count of how many times she had been here. Every month. Every single month.

The doctor’s office was cold and sterile, the walls painted in dull shades of blue. Sophia sat on the examination table, her arms crossed over her chest, trying not to feel the shame creeping up her spine.

Dr. Ajayi entered, clipboard in hand. She was a middle-aged woman with tired eyes, eyes that had probably seen too many girls like Sophia. Osagie stood in the corner, his arms folded. “Proceed,” he said. Sophia clenched her fists.

She hated this. She hated every second of this. But she couldn’t fight it.

Not yet.

By the time they got home, Sophia felt like an empty shell.

John was waiting in the living room, a smug expression on his face. “How was your check-up, Sophia?” he taunted.

Sophia ignored him and started up the stairs.

“Dad," John said suddenly, “I saw Sophia talking to a lecturer at school last week. She was laughing and touching his arm.”

Osagie turned sharply. “Sophia.” She froze.

“That’s not true,” she said, her voice controlled, but inside, she was trembling.

John smirked. “It is. I even saw them walk toward the parking lot together.”

Sophia spun around, glaring at him. “Why are you lying?”

“I’m not.” John’s voice was light, casual, as if he were discussing the weather.

Osagie's expression darkened. “Upstairs. Now.”

Sophia swallowed hard and obeyed.

As she climbed the stairs, she felt the weight of her father’s rules, of her brother’s deceit, of her mother’s absence pressing down on her. How much longer could she survive this? How much longer before she shattered?

That night, she lay in bed, staring at the ceiling.

Sleep never came easy anymore.

Her mind drifted to Mom. Her laughter. Her warmth. The way she used to hold Sophia close, whispering stories of strong women, of freedom, of love.

And then...

That day.

The car. The impact. The blood.

Mom pushing her out of the way. She was lying on the ground.

The last time Sophia saw her, she was in the hospital, her beautiful face pale, her hands weak.

"Osagie… take care of her," Mom had whispered.

And then she was gone.

Sophia squeezed her eyes shut.

She wished she could turn back time.

She wished she had never run onto that road.

She wished she had died instead.