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#23255
Peter Ssemakula

    Schoolgirl’s Secret
    Chapter Eight – Mercy’s Discovery
    It was Monday morning, but Brenda felt like she was walking underwater. Every step toward school felt heavier than the last. Her uniform was tighter than usual, her shoulders slumped beneath the invisible weight only she could feel.
    Mercy had tried to keep her distance—out of respect, maybe, or frustration. But today, she couldn’t.
    During break, she found Brenda alone behind the library, arms folded, eyes glassy.
    “I’ve had enough,” Mercy said, voice trembling. “You’re my best friend, Brenda. But you’re scaring me.”
    Brenda looked away.
    Mercy stepped closer. “You don’t even talk to me anymore. You’re a ghost of who you were. And I keep asking myself—what happened to you?”
    Silence.
    Then, Mercy’s eyes widened. She stepped back slightly.
    “No,” she whispered. “Brenda… are you…?”
    Brenda didn’t answer. She didn’t need to.
    Mercy covered her mouth with her hand. “Oh my God.”
    Brenda felt the tears threaten her carefully held composure. “Please,” she whispered. “Don’t hate me.”
    Mercy shook her head slowly, her voice choked. “Hate you? No. I’m just… shocked. I didn’t want it to be true.”
    “I didn’t want it to be real either.”
    “Brian?”
    Brenda nodded.
    Mercy dropped to sit on the stone bench nearby, like her knees could no longer carry the weight.
    For a long while, neither of them spoke. Just the sound of birds, distant bells, and their slow breathing.
    Finally, Mercy broke the silence. “How far along?”
    “Two months, maybe more. I took a test.”
    “Have you told your father?”
    Brenda shook her head violently. “I can’t. He’ll never look at me the same.”
    “He loves you.”
    “Exactly. And I’ve failed him.”
    Mercy stood and walked over, placing her hand on Brenda’s shoulder.
    “You made a mistake. A painful one. But you’re not the mistake.”
    Brenda crumbled into her arms.
    For the first time in weeks, she allowed herself to cry—truly cry. Not the silent kind behind locked doors, but the raw, shoulder-shaking sobs of someone who had finally been found in their hiding place.
    Mercy held her.
    “I’m with you,” she whispered. “No matter what.”

    That evening, Brenda didn’t go straight home. Instead, she and Mercy sat on a quiet bench at the taxi stage, sipping cold soda and talking.
    “Do you want to keep it?” Mercy asked gently.
    Brenda looked up, eyes puffy. “I don’t know. I’m scared either way.”
    “You don’t have to decide alone. I’ll come with you. To the counselor. To the clinic. Wherever.”
    Brenda managed a faint smile. “Thank you.”
    “You’d do it for me.”
    They sat quietly for a while longer.
    The road ahead was still blurry, filled with fear and questions.
    But for the first time in weeks, Brenda didn’t feel alone.

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