The last school bell of the term rang loud and clear at Orbit International School, echoing through the sunlit courtyards and bouncing off the excited voices of students packing up their bags for the holidays. Teachers smiled tiredly, some already planning to rest, while students ran in every direction, pulling suitcases, exchanging numbers, and saying hurried goodbyes.
Zaria sat quietly on her neatly folded bedsheets, her heart calm and grateful.
For the first time in her life, she wasn't dreading the holidays.
There would be no orders from Sarah. No pots to scrub. No stones to pound vegetables on. No silent hunger. No sleeping on the cold floor outside the kitchen.
This time, she had a home to go to.
---
Angela arrived in the late afternoon, her presence as warm and gentle as ever.
"Ready, sweetheart?" she asked, helping Zaria lift her suitcase.
Zaria nodded, clutching her sketchbook under one arm and her lion drawing for Dexta under the other. "I'm ready."
Angela placed a protective hand on her shoulder. "We're going to have a peaceful time in Bukoto. I bought some books, and I even found that art set you mentioned."
Zaria's eyes lit up. "Really?"
Angela winked.
They got into the car, and as it pulled out of the school gates, Zaria looked back one last time, a soft smile resting on her face.
This is what freedom feels like.
---
Angela's house in Bukoto was simple but beautiful — a warm two-bedroom bungalow tucked in a quiet corner of the neighborhood, surrounded by flower pots, freshly trimmed hedges, and a small swing set Angela had picked up at a yard sale "just in case."
Inside, the house smelled of vanilla air freshener and fresh linen. The walls were painted soft cream, and a colorful painting of Lake Bunyonyi hung in the hallway.
Zaria was given the guest room — but it felt more like a dream room. A pink mosquito net hung over the bed, a study table stood by the window, and new bedsheets with little star patterns welcomed her.
"Thank you, Aunty," Zaria whispered that night, as they finished dinner.
Angela looked up from her cup of tea. "For what, my girl?"
"For giving me a home."
Angela's eyes softened. She reached over and squeezed Zaria's hand. "You are not a mistake, Zaria. And this is just the beginning of your healing. There's so much more waiting for you."
---
True to his promise, Sally visited every weekend.
He came with shopping bags — sugar, bread, milk, cereals, sometimes even grilled chicken and ice cream. But more than that, he came with Dexta, and it slowly became their tradition.
Each Saturday morning, the doorbell would ring, and Zaria would rush to open it, already guessing who it was.
"Dexta!" she would call out joyfully, as the boy came running in.
"Zaria!"
Their bond was natural, innocent, and immediate. They played with toy blocks on the carpet, built blanket forts, watched cartoons, painted together, and sometimes just lay on the grass in the backyard, staring at clouds.
Angela and Sally would sit on the porch sipping tea, watching the two children laugh.
"He's changed," Angela said one Saturday. "Since the first time you brought him. He's smiling more."
Sally nodded. "He needed someone. A friend. Someone to pour that love into — the love he never got from Beatrice."
"And Zaria?"
"She needs him too," Sally replied. "They're healing each other without even knowing it."
Angela glanced sideways at him. "And you?"
Sally looked up slowly. "I don't know yet. I just know I can't let either of them feel abandoned again."
---
One Sunday afternoon, Angela took Zaria to the market, leaving Sally and Dexta alone at home.
Zaria had drawn another picture — this time of the two of them under a tree, holding hands — and given it to Dexta as he sat on the couch. The boy stared at the picture, smiling, running his fingers over the crayon strokes.
"Daddy?"
"Yes, son?"
"Zaria is like… my best friend."
Sally's heart swelled. "I'm glad."
"She always smiles at me. And she shares her crayons."
Sally smiled. "She has a big heart."
"Can we bring her to our house one day?"
Sally's face stiffened for a second. "Not yet, Dexta."
"Why not?"
"Because sometimes… people don't understand good things when they see them. They try to ruin them."
Dexta didn't fully understand, but he nodded. "Okay."
Sally put a hand on his son's shoulder. "Promise me you'll keep our Saturdays a secret."
"I promise," Dexta replied, hugging the drawing to his chest.
---
Meanwhile, in Owino a vibrant market, Angela and Zaria were weaving through stalls, picking vegetables and a few treats. Zaria spotted a stall with sketchpads and paintbrushes.
Angela saw her eyes light up and smiled.
"You want one?"
Zaria shook her head. "No, it's okay."
Angela turned to the vendor. "We'll take two."
Zaria looked at her with amazement. "Really?"
"Yes. If you have a gift, it must be nurtured."
Zaria felt her chest warm. "You're like the mother I always dreamed of."
Angela blinked fast, her throat tightening.
"And you're the daughter I never knew I needed," she whispered.
---
As the days passed, the weekends continued — full of laughter, toys scattered across the floor, and Dexta's chatter.
Sometimes, Zaria would tell him stories about imaginary kingdoms. Other times, Dexta would teach her the lyrics to his favorite silly songs. They danced, played football in the backyard, shared juice and snacks, and even made a "club" under the mango tree with a paper sign that read: "Team Lion Heart."
Neither knew they were brother and sister.
But something deep inside both of them already did.
---
One Friday evening, as Sally prepared to come over the next morning, he stood in his study staring at an old photo of Beatrice, him, and baby Dexta. Beatrice's smile in the photo looked forced. Her eyes cold.
He opened a drawer and took out another photo — one of Zaria, taken secretly by Angela during a school art exhibition. Her smile was full. Real. Grateful.
Sally ran a hand over his face.
"I failed them both in different ways," he whispered. "But I won't fail them again."
He packed the bags and left his house, the night quiet around him.