Schoolgirl’s Secret
Chapter Seven – The Collapse
The days blurred.
Brenda moved through them like a shadow—present, but dimmed. Her bright smile faded into a fixed, polite mask. Her teachers noticed but chalked it up to exam fatigue. Her classmates whispered, but no one dared ask.
Except Mercy.
“Brenda,” she said one lunch break, cornering her near the water tank. “You’re scaring me.”
Brenda shrugged, her voice flat. “I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not. You’ve gone quiet. Your eyes don’t look like you anymore.”
“I said I’m fine, Mercy.”
Mercy didn’t press further. But she didn’t walk away either.
She just whispered, “You don’t have to carry it alone,” and walked off.
At home, her father remained blissfully unaware. He was working overtime, saving for her A-Level tuition. He talked of dreams—of scholarships and law schools and big futures. Brenda nodded and smiled when he did, but inside, every word felt like another needle in her chest.
Because she knew something he didn’t.
Those dreams were slipping away.
In class, her performance nosedived.
The top scorer in English Literature failed a comprehension paper. During debate practice, she froze mid-argument, forgetting her lines. Her coach stared in disbelief.
“Are you okay, Brenda?”
She nodded, eyes brimming, and walked out before they could fall.
At night, she lay awake with her hands on her stomach, imagining something growing—tiny, silent, uninvited. She couldn’t picture a baby. All she could see was judgment.
From her father.
From Mercy.
From her teachers.
From the world.
And from herself.
She avoided Brian’s calls.
He had texted twice:
“You okay?”
“Miss you. We need to talk.”
But she couldn’t bring herself to respond.
Because deep down, she knew:
He was part of the reason.
And yet, she wasn’t sure if she could blame him entirely. After all, she had said yes.
On a quiet Thursday afternoon, the school counselor, Madam Ruth, called her in.
“I’ve noticed the drop in your performance,” she said gently. “Your teachers are worried. Your friends are too.”
Brenda sat stiffly.
“I’m not here to punish you,” Madam Ruth added. “I’m here if you want to talk.”
Brenda said nothing.
Not yet.
That evening, Brenda stood outside her gate, staring at the sunset as if searching for answers in the sky.
A boda boda whizzed past. A mother walked by holding a toddler’s hand.
And in that moment, something cracked.
She wasn’t ready to be that mother.
She wasn’t ready for judgment.
She wasn’t ready for anything.
She just wanted to go back—to being Brenda the debater. Brenda the star. Brenda with the plan.
But she couldn’t.
Because something had collapsed inside her.
And secrets, no matter how deeply buried, always left cracks.