Irony of life.

IRONY OF LIFE By Zainab Ibrahim Shuaibu CHAPTER ONE A Night of Suffering The night was cold. Nabilah lay helplessly on the cold floor, her body trembling as waves of severe abdominal pain swept through her. She curled up, pressing her hands against her stomach, desperately wishing the pain would disappear. Every movement felt unbearable, and even the simplest attempt to sit up seemed impossible. Outside, the night remained quiet, but inside the house, Nabilah’s suffering was far from unnoticed. “Nabilah!” The sharp voice of her stepmother pierced the silence. “Nabilah! Are you deaf? Can’t you hear me calling you?” Nabilah heard her, but she couldn’t bring herself to respond. She tried to move, hoping she could somehow force herself to stand, but the pain was too much. Her body refused to cooperate. “Nabilah!” Her stepmother called again, her voice growing louder and more impatient. Still, Nabilah couldn’t get up. Moments later, heavy footsteps approached her room. Before she could gather the strength to say anything, the door flew open. Her stepmother stood at the entrance, holding a bucket of cold water. “What kind of useless girl are you?” she snapped. “I’ve been calling you, and you have the audacity to ignore me?” Nabilah tried to speak, but the words barely escaped her lips. “Mummy, please…” Before she could explain herself, her stepmother lifted the bucket and poured its contents over her. The icy water struck her body, soaking her clothes and sending a shock through her already trembling frame. Nabilah gasped. “Mummy, please!” she cried, struggling to catch her breath. “Get up!” her stepmother shouted. “Do you think you can lie there all night while the work in this house remains unfinished?” Nabilah stared at her through tear-filled eyes. Her body was cold, her stomach ached terribly, and she could barely move. “Please, Mummy. I’m in pain,” she whispered. But her stepmother showed no sign of sympathy. “Pain? What pain? You are nothing but a lazy girl! Get up and finish your chores!” Nabilah lowered her head, tears slipping down her cheeks. She wished she could explain how much she was hurting, but she already knew that her words would mean nothing to the woman standing before her. To her stepmother, Nabilah’s suffering was merely an excuse. “Look at you!” the woman continued. “You ungrateful bastard! You think you can live in this house without doing anything?” The insult cut deeply, but Nabilah remained silent. What could she say? Who would listen to her? She was in her father’s house, yet she had no one to run to. The woman who should have cared for her treated her like a burden, and the pain in her stomach seemed insignificant compared with the pain of being unwanted. “Nabilah, I said get up!” Her stepmother’s voice echoed through the room once more. With trembling hands, Nabilah tried to push herself off the floor. Her body ached, and the cold water clung to her clothes, making her shiver uncontrollably. She wanted to cry out. She wanted someone to notice her pain and ask if she was all right. But no one came. That night, as tears streamed down her face, Nabilah was left to endure her suffering alone. She had done nothing to deserve such cruelty. She was simply a young girl who needed kindness, protection, and love. Instead, she was given humiliation, pain, and a life in which even being ill was treated as a crime.