The gate creaked open with a slow groan, and the car's headlights swept over the familiar compound before flicking off. In the back seat, Betty had finally dozed off, her little head resting peacefully against Esther's shoulder. She looked so small, so trusting, her tiny fingers still loosely curled around Esther's hand.
Esther stepped out carefully, adjusting Betty's dress as she carried her across the compound. The night air was still, almost heavy. The Cole house stood tall and quiet ahead, lit only by the yellow porch light.
She hadn't warned anyone she was coming. There'd been no time, and no need, really. And she had hope her mother would be asleep caused she wasn't prepare to have a conversation as to why Daniel's child was at their house.
The front door opened just as she reached the steps.
Her mother stood in the doorway, a scarf tied around her head, house robe wrapped tightly around her body. Her eyes went immediately to the child in Esther's arms, and for a long moment, she didn't say a word.
Her expression shifted too quickly to pin down, shock, confusion, a flicker of something close to disapproval.
"Esther…" Musu's voice was low and hesitant. "What's going on? Whose child is that?"
Esther met her mother's gaze calmly. "She's Mr. Lewis's daughter," she said, adjusting her hold on the child in her arms.
"What do you mean his daughter?" Musu's voice trembled under the weight of restrained emotion. She had spent hours waiting, worrying about her daughter being out late, only for her to return with a child.
"What's his daughter doing in our house?"
"She'll be staying with us," Esther replied, her voice hushed so as not to wake the girl. "Just for the holidays."
Musu blinked, stunned. "Staying? Here?"
Esther nodded once, then moved past her gently and entered the living room. The familiar scent of lemon polish and incense greeted her as she walked in with quiet purpose, placing Betty gently on the couch and adjusting a cushion beneath her head.
Musu remained rooted by the doorway, arms crossed tightly over her chest.
"Esther," she said again, more firmly now, "what are you getting yourself into?"
Esther smoothed Betty's hair back before turning to face her mother. Her voice was steady. "Nothing I can't handle."
A long silence followed, filled only by the ticking of the hallway clock.
"You're not her mother," Musu said quietly, not harsh, just pointed.
"No," Esther replied. "But she needs someone. And I'm going to be there for her. Ma… it's just a week or so. She just wants a family, please."
Musu sighed, the sound weary and resigned. She leaned against the doorframe, her tone softening. "You're not obligated to fix everyone else's mess, Esther."
"I'm not fixing anything," Esther said, managing a faint smile. One hand rested gently on the back of the couch. "I'm choosing this. Please… just try to accept it."
"Accept what?" Musu snapped, her voice rising slightly. "Accept my daughter becoming a caretaker for another man's child? Esther, you don't have to play the.."
She didn't get to finish.
Zianab emerged from her room, still half-asleep, her hair wrapped in a scarf. "What's going on?" she asked, rubbing her eyes as she approached. "Esther…"
Her gaze drifted to the couch, and froze.
"Who's child is that?"
"Why don't you ask your sister?" Musu muttered, exasperated.
She wasn't trying to be cruel. Her frustration was born of worry, fear that Esther's life would be consumed too soon, caged in responsibility and sacrifice before she'd lived her own story.
"She's Betty," Esther said before Zianab could ask again. "Mr. Lewis's daughter."
Zianab fell silent, her eyes lingering on the child a moment too long. A realization settled over her, the depth of trust Daniel must have in her sister to let her take his daughter home.
"I'll take her to your room," Zianab said gently. She moved to the couch, lifted Betty carefully into her arms, and cradled the girl against her chest.
"You two should finish this quietly," she added, her voice soft but firm. "You don't want the poor child waking up to hear your debate."
She turned and disappeared down the hallway, leaving the living room in stillness.
"Ma, please," Esther said, cutting in before her mother could speak again. "Just this once. She's a sweet girl. You'll like her, I know you will."
Musu didn't answer. She simply turned away and walked down the hallway, her silence not of defeat, but of reluctant restraint. She had more to say, but tonight, she chose not to.
The first croak of the day echoed faintly in the distance, and soft grey light crept through the kitchen window. Musu was already up, sleeves rolled, a scarf tied neatly over her head as she moved with practiced ease between the counter and stove. The familiar rhythm of home settled into her bones, oil heating in the pan, flour and mashed bananas folded together with gentle care. She was making puff puff and light gravy, comfort food. Something her daughters liked. And hopefully, the guest brought by Esther would too.
She turned to grab a wooden spoon and nearly jumped.
A small figure stood just behind her, barefoot and quiet, blinking up at her with innocent eyes.
"Good Lord!" Musu flinched, pressing a hand to her chest. "What are you doing here, up so early?"
"Good morning, Aunty," Betty said politely, rocking on her heels. "You must be Esther's mom. You're much prettier in real life than in pictures."
Musu blinked, caught off guard. The child's compliment stirred something, a laugh, maybe even a smile, but she tamped it down, restrained by her lingering disapproval of the girl's father.
"Thank you," she said, cautious. "But shouldn't you be asleep? It's barely past five."
"I usually wake up at this hour," Betty replied, her eyes scanning the kitchen curiously. "I used to have a strict routine… but Esther helped loosen it up a little."
She paused, watching Musu stir the mixture. "Do you need help?"
Musu frowned, skeptical. "No, no. You should go back to sleep. I doubt you've ever set foot in a kitchen, let alone know how to help." Her tone was more judgment than concern. The girl was a rich man's daughter, likely pampered, sheltered, probably couldn't tell salt from sugar.
But Betty only smiled.
"Hmm… Actually, I've been in a kitchen before. I help my Aunt Bell sometimes. And you're making puff puff, right?"
Musu paused mid-stir, surprised.
Betty pointed at the mixture. "Bananas, flour, sugar… and I saw nutmeg." She reached for the packet and handed it over with both hands. "You should probably add this now. Esther said the timing's important, not too early, not too late."
Musu took the packet slowly, her eyes narrowing as she studied the girl. "You know that?"
"Esther made it for us once. I helped her mix. She even let me do the scooping part." Betty smiled, clearly proud of that memory. "She said it tastes better when you mix it with a happy heart."
That stopped Musu. Her hand stilled in the bowl.
The words struck somewhere quiet and unspoken, something that reminded her of a younger Esther, one who used to trail her in the kitchen asking questions about pepper and palm oil.
"Hmph," Musu muttered, trying not to show she was impressed. "Let's see if your mixing is as good as your talking. Wash your hands properly."
Betty's eyes lit up. "Really?"
Musu nodded toward the sink. "Go on."
Betty rushed to wash her hands, humming softly as she scrubbed. When she came back, Musu handed her a spoon and gestured to the bowl.
"Mash the bananas well, make sure they're smooth, or the puff puff will turn out lumpy when fried," she instructed, her watchful eyes following every motion with practiced precision.
The girl did exactly as told, clumsy at first, but listening carefully. For the next few minutes, the kitchen filled with soft conversation. Betty asked questions, real, thoughtful ones, and Musu found herself explaining things she hadn't taught anyone in years.
"You have good instincts," she muttered after Betty corrected her grip on the spoon. "Not bad for a child who's supposed to be spoiled."
"I'm not spoiled," Betty said, grinning. "Well… maybe just a little. But not in the way you think."
Musu chuckled quietly, the sound surprising even herself. "You're a smart one. And cheeky too."
Betty leaned closer and whispered like she was telling a secret. "Esther says it's my superpower."
Musu looked at her, really looked, and for the first time, saw not the child of Daniel Lewis, but a sweet, sharp little girl who adored her daughter and wasn't afraid to get her hands messy in the kitchen.
Maybe it was the smell of banana and spice in the air. Or the memory of Esther at that same age. Or maybe it was the way Betty looked up at her, with no fear, no agenda, just wide-eyed sincerity.
Whatever it was, Musu felt the ice around her chest crack, just a little.
"Well then," she said, wiping her hands on her apron, "you and your superpowers can stay, but only if you promise to help me clean up afterward."
"Deal!" Betty chirped, beaming.
And just like that, Musu smiled, a real one this time. Not because she had to, but because something about this small guest had disarmed her without even trying.
Maybe, just maybe… this wouldn't be so bad after all.
In less than an hour, breakfast was ready, puff puff golden and crisp, the gravy rich with peppers and onions. Just as Musu was wiping down the last corner of the counter, Esther and Zianab emerged from their rooms, still stretching the sleep from their limbs.
"Good morning, Ma," Esther greeted, adjusting the scarf on her head.
"Good morning," Musu replied, walking out of the kitchen with plates in her hands. Behind her, to Esther's astonishment, was Betty, carrying cups with careful balance and an air of quiet pride.
"Good morning, sleepy beauty!" Betty chirped, grinning.
Esther blinked in disbelief. "Betty? How are you up already? Weren't you asleep?"
"I was," the girl said sweetly, "but I woke up early and found Aunty in the kitchen. So I helped."
Esther turned to her mother, completely thrown off. "Ma?"
"What?" Musu said matter-of-factly. "The child's a master chef in the making. She volunteered to help, and I gave her a chance to prove herself."
She placed the plates neatly on the table, while Betty set down the cups with precision, clearly proud of her morning's work.
"You… and her?" Esther's voice was laced with disbelief as she watched them move in sync, her mother and the same child she was hesitant about just last night.
"You two should sit," Musu said, casting a rare playful grin at Betty. "Head Chef and I will serve you shortly."
Esther stared, mouth slightly open. "Did that just happen?"
"Yup," Zianab said, taking a seat and adjusting her wrapper. "The girl has superpowers. To turn our grumpy mother into a sweet fairy before sunrise? That's some serious magic."
Esther glanced at her sister, arching a brow. "Isn't she also your mother?"
"My point exactly," Zianab replied, smirking.
Betty beamed through it all, basking in the light of unexpected acceptance, while Musu's expression, though still laced with caution, carried something far gentler than the night before. Maybe trust wasn't fully earned yet, but the door had cracked open.
And Esther, still standing, could only smile at the strange and wonderful start to her morning.
Just as laughter echoed around the dining table and Betty reached for another puff puff with sticky fingers, the front door creaked open.
The moment Sarah stepped inside, the air shifted, like someone had tugged a curtain across the morning sun.
Her heels clicked against the tiled floor, and her makeup, though slightly faded, suggested she hadn't spent the night at home. Her eyes scanned the room with practiced disinterest until they landed on the people seated at the table.
And before she could open her mouth to greet, Musu's voice cut through the quiet. "Where are you coming from?"
Sarah paused, only slightly thrown. "I was at a friend's," she lied, her voice smooth but her appearance betraying the truth.
In reality, she had spent the night at a stranger's house, someone she'd met at the club. With everything unraveling around her, she'd convinced herself that a wild night out would ease the weight she'd been carrying. Instead, it ended in disappointment. She'd gotten drunk, made out with someone whose name she barely remembered, and by morning, the man had tossed her out like discarded trash.
"A friend's," Musu echoed, her voice cool and unimpressed. "One who doesn't own a phone or a clock, clearly."
Sarah ignored the jab and turned toward her room, but then she stopped cold. Her eyes locked on Betty, who was sipping warm tea from the mug and whispering something to Zianab.
Her expression shifted. "Is that… Mr. Lewis's daughter?"
Esther straightened slightly in her seat, her fork hovering midair.
Zianab didn't miss a beat. "Yes. Esther's boyfriend trusts her enough to leave his daughter in her care."
The words landed like darts, sharp and deliberate. Sarah blinked, momentarily stunned, but she quickly composed herself, masking the sting behind a practiced smile.
"How… sweet," she muttered, brushing a hand through her hair. "Though I must say, it's a little odd serving a child like that plain puff puff and gravy. You do know she's not just any girl, right? Her kind are used to imported cereals and food that comes with a price tag."
Esther opened her mouth to speak, but Zianab was already leaning forward, chin propped on one hand.
"And yet, here she is, happily eating with us. No complaints, no fuss." Her tone dripped with sarcasm. "Funny how a so-called rich kid can be more real than someone raised in this house."
Sarah narrowed her eyes, but Zianab didn't stop.
"Unlike some people who fake everything, smiles, personalities, qualifications, background. This one," she gestured toward Betty, who was now quietly observing the adults, "is simple. And kind. She doesn't need labels to know who she is."
A flicker of emotion crossed Sarah's face, hurt, maybe anger, but she simply rolled her eyes.
"I don't have time for this." And with a flip of her hair, she walked off to her room, shutting the door a little harder than necessary.
A beat of silence followed.
"Well," Zianab said, picking up her fork, "that was therapeutic."
Esther chuckled softly, and even Musu let out a long, amused exhale. Betty, unaware of the full history but sensitive enough to read the room, leaned close to Esther and whispered, "Is that the sister you said was difficult?"
Esther just smiled and gently patted her head. "You catch on quick."