Schoolgirls Secret

[Peter Ssemakula]

Schoolgirl’s Secret
Chapter Nine – The Father’s Pain
The house was too quiet.
Brenda sat at the dining table, staring blankly at a page in her revision book. The words were dancing. Nothing made sense.
Across the room, her father paced. Back and forth. Slowly. No radio playing. No phone calls. Just silence—and the creaking of the floor beneath his weight.
He had come home early. That alone was strange. But what had shattered the air like a bottle smashing on concrete was the envelope he came holding.
A letter from school.
Subject: Academic Performance and Behavioral Concerns – Student: Brenda Namulondo
He hadn’t spoken a word to her since he walked in. Just unsealed the envelope, read the letter silently, and sat still for nearly ten minutes.
Now, he was pacing.
Brenda’s stomach twisted. Her palms were damp. Her body throbbed with fear.
Finally, he spoke—his voice low, flat, and dangerous.
“Brenda.”
She looked up slowly.
“Is there something you want to tell me?” he asked.
She swallowed. “About what?”
He picked up the envelope again, holding it with shaking hands. “Your grades have dropped. You’ve missed assignments. You’ve left early without permission. Teachers say you’re no longer the same girl.”
Brenda looked down.
“Brenda,” he repeated, firmer. “I asked you a question.”
Tears blurred her vision.
“Daddy…” she whispered, “I didn’t mean for it to happen.”
He stared at her. “What happened?”
Her hands shook. Her lips moved slowly. “I’m… I’m pregnant.”
Time froze.
His face turned blank. Then disbelief. Then something harder.
“No,” he said, his voice suddenly louder. “No. You—you can’t be.”
“I didn’t plan it,” she pleaded. “I didn’t want—”
“Who?” he snapped. “Who did this to you?”
She paused. “Brian.”
“Who is Brian?”
“He… he was our debate mentor. From the speech network.”
He laughed bitterly. “A university student? Brenda, he’s a grown man!”
Brenda flinched.
“I trusted you,” he said, voice cracking. “I trusted you! I raised you better than this!”
“I’m sorry,” she cried. “Please—I’m so sorry, Daddy.”
He turned away, hands on his head. Pacing again.
“I gave you everything,” he said, almost to himself. “Books. School. A future. And now this?”
“I didn’t throw my future away,” she sobbed. “I just— I made a mistake.”
He turned to her, his face dark with emotion. “A mistake? Do you know what this means for you? For me? Do you know how hard I’ve worked so you wouldn’t become… this?”
His words hit harder than any slap.
She shrunk into the chair, every tear a knife down her cheeks.
Then—silence again.
He walked to the door and stood there for a long moment. “I need to think,” he said.
And he left.

Brenda collapsed onto the table, sobbing into her arms.
In that moment, she didn’t care about school, debate, Brian, or the future.
She just wanted her father back.

[Peter Ssemakula]

Schoolgirl’s Secret
Chapter Nine – The Father’s Pain
The house was too quiet.
Brenda sat at the dining table, staring blankly at a page in her revision book. The words were dancing. Nothing made sense.
Across the room, her father paced. Back and forth. Slowly. No radio playing. No phone calls. Just silence—and the creaking of the floor beneath his weight.
He had come home early. That alone was strange. But what had shattered the air like a bottle smashing on concrete was the envelope he came holding.
A letter from school.
Subject: Academic Performance and Behavioral Concerns – Student: Brenda Namulondo
He hadn’t spoken a word to her since he walked in. Just unsealed the envelope, read the letter silently, and sat still for nearly ten minutes.
Now, he was pacing.
Brenda’s stomach twisted. Her palms were damp. Her body throbbed with fear.
Finally, he spoke—his voice low, flat, and dangerous.
“Brenda.”
She looked up slowly.
“Is there something you want to tell me?” he asked.
She swallowed. “About what?”
He picked up the envelope again, holding it with shaking hands. “Your grades have dropped. You’ve missed assignments. You’ve left early without permission. Teachers say you’re no longer the same girl.”
Brenda looked down.
“Brenda,” he repeated, firmer. “I asked you a question.”
Tears blurred her vision.
“Daddy…” she whispered, “I didn’t mean for it to happen.”
He stared at her. “What happened?”
Her hands shook. Her lips moved slowly. “I’m… I’m pregnant.”
Time froze.
His face turned blank. Then disbelief. Then something harder.
“No,” he said, his voice suddenly louder. “No. You—you can’t be.”
“I didn’t plan it,” she pleaded. “I didn’t want—”
“Who?” he snapped. “Who did this to you?”
She paused. “Brian.”
“Who is Brian?”
“He… he was our debate mentor. From the speech network.”
He laughed bitterly. “A university student? Brenda, he’s a grown man!”
Brenda flinched.
“I trusted you,” he said, voice cracking. “I trusted you! I raised you better than this!”
“I’m sorry,” she cried. “Please—I’m so sorry, Daddy.”
He turned away, hands on his head. Pacing again.
“I gave you everything,” he said, almost to himself. “Books. School. A future. And now this?”
“I didn’t throw my future away,” she sobbed. “I just— I made a mistake.”
He turned to her, his face dark with emotion. “A mistake? Do you know what this means for you? For me? Do you know how hard I’ve worked so you wouldn’t become… this?”
His words hit harder than any slap.
She shrunk into the chair, every tear a knife down her cheeks.
Then—silence again.
He walked to the door and stood there for a long moment. “I need to think,” he said.
And he left.

Brenda collapsed onto the table, sobbing into her arms.
In that moment, she didn’t care about school, debate, Brian, or the future.
She just wanted her father back.

[Peter Ssemakula]

Schoolgirl’s Secret
Chapter Ten – Choices and Consequences
The school hall felt colder than usual.
Brenda sat stiffly on the wooden bench outside the headteacher’s office, her uniform neat but her heart in chaos. She could hear murmurs from inside—voices of teachers, administrators, and a representative from the school board. Words like “school image,” “discipline,” and “example to others” floated faintly through the closed door.
Mercy sat beside her, silent and tense.
“You don’t have to be here,” Brenda whispered.
Mercy looked at her. “I do. You’re not facing this alone.”
The door creaked open.
A teacher stuck her head out. “Brenda Namulondo, please come in.”

Inside, the room was stern. Formal. The headteacher, Mr. Okumu, sat at the center of the table, flanked by three other teachers, the deputy, and—unexpectedly—a woman Brenda had never seen before.
Mr. Okumu folded his hands. “Brenda. We’re here today because of reports concerning your recent behavior, sudden academic decline, and the confirmation that you are… expecting.”
Brenda nodded faintly.
“Do you have anything to say for yourself before we proceed?”
She took a shaky breath. “I didn’t mean for this to happen. I take full responsibility. I made a mistake.”
There was silence.
Then the woman Brenda didn’t recognize spoke gently. “I’m Madam Grace. I was invited to sit in today as part of our new school counseling pilot. I’m also an alumna of this school.”
Brenda blinked.
“I was sixteen when I sat where you’re sitting now,” Madam Grace said. “I too was pregnant. I too thought it was the end of everything.”
Mr. Okumu cleared his throat. “With all due respect, Madam Grace, we are here to discuss disciplinary action.”
“Yes,” she said calmly. “But also, we are here to shape a child’s future. Not end it.”
The room grew quiet.
“She didn’t commit a crime,” Grace continued. “She needs consequences, yes. But more than that—she needs guidance. Support. And above all, the chance to rise.”
One of the male teachers nodded thoughtfully.
Mr. Okumu leaned back in his chair. “The school cannot ignore this, Brenda. You broke rules. You misrepresented yourself. We are suspending you for the remainder of the term.”
Brenda bit her lip. She had expected worse.
“But,” he added, “you will not be expelled. When the baby is born, and when you’re ready, you can return. You’ll be on a support and academic recovery program. If you’re serious about returning.”
“I am,” Brenda said quickly, eyes filling with tears. “I want to come back.”
Mr. Okumu gave a long sigh. “Then make this time count. Because second chances are rare.”
Brenda nodded, overwhelmed.
Madam Grace smiled gently at her. “We’ll meet again. You and I.”

Outside, Brenda collapsed into Mercy’s hug.
“I’m not expelled,” she whispered in disbelief.
“Nope,” Mercy smiled. “Turns out even schools can surprise you.”

That evening, Brenda sat quietly on the veranda at home. Her father hadn’t said much in the days since their confrontation. He barely looked at her. But that night, he finally joined her outside, holding a cup of tea.
They sat in silence for a while.
Then, in a gruff voice, he asked, “So… you’re not expelled?”
She shook her head. “Suspended. But I can return.”
He sipped quietly.
“I still don’t know how to feel,” he said. “But you’re my daughter. And as long as you still want your future—I’ll do what I can to stand with you.”
Brenda looked at him, tears streaming down her cheeks again. But this time, they came with hope.

[valentine]

It keeps getting better and interesting 😊😊

[Peter Ssemakula]

That means a lot to me! I’m doing my best to keep it engaging. Hope you’ll stay with the story till the end!

[Peter Ssemakula]

Schoolgirl’s Secret
Chapter Eleven – The Letter to Brian
The holidays arrived, but Brenda didn’t feel like celebrating.
She had traded her school bag for quiet mornings, prenatal clinic visits, and long afternoons in thought. Her world had narrowed—no more debates, no bells ringing between lessons, no friends waving from hallways. Just her, Mercy’s visits, her father’s quiet support, and the weight of a future she was still learning how to carry.
Brian hadn’t contacted her in weeks.
No calls. No messages. Nothing.
At first, she checked her phone obsessively.
Then… she stopped.

One morning, after her third prenatal visit, Brenda sat under the mango tree in their compound with a pen, a sheet of lined paper, and an envelope. Her hands trembled slightly, but her mind was clear.
She was done waiting for Brian.
She was ready to speak.

Dear Brian,
I hope this letter finds you well—though I no longer know where you are or what you’ve been doing. And maybe that’s okay.
I’m not writing to curse you. I’m not writing to beg. I’m not even writing to remind you of what you already know.
I’m writing to close a door that I left open too long.
You saw a girl who spoke like she knew the world. I did. At least, I thought I did. But I was still sixteen, still learning, still vulnerable.
You knew that. And you crossed the line anyway.
Still—I take responsibility for my part. I trusted you. I let myself believe that attention meant love. That admiration meant safety.
It didn’t.
Now I’m here. Pregnant. Out of school. And rebuilding myself from the inside out.
But I’m not writing from a place of shame anymore. I’m writing from strength. Because even though this journey has shattered parts of me, it’s also shown me who I really am.
A fighter.
You’re not part of my story moving forward. I’m not doing this to hurt you. I’m doing this to heal myself.
I don’t need your apology.
I don’t need your money.
I don’t even need your name.
What I need—and what I now have—is clarity. And peace.
I will raise this child with the help I have. I will return to school. I will argue in courtrooms one day. And when I stand to speak, it will be with the voice I found in my darkest hour.
Goodbye, Brian.
Brenda Namulondo.

She folded the letter slowly, placed it into the envelope, sealed it shut—and then burned it in a small tin behind the house.
Because it wasn’t meant for posting.
It was meant for letting go.

That night, she slept with a lightness she hadn’t felt in months.
And for the first time since that quiet afternoon in Brian’s cousin’s flat, she dreamed of standing behind a courtroom podium—pregnant, yes—but powerful.
Speaking truth.
Commanding attention.
Winning again.
Only this time, the voice wasn’t just her talent.
It was her freedom.

[Peter Ssemakula]

Schoolgirl’s Secret
Chapter Twelve – Finding Her Voice Again
The sun was high over Victoria Hill High when Brenda stepped back onto school grounds for the first time in months.
She wasn’t in uniform. She wasn’t here as a student.
She was here as a speaker.
The Girls’ Empowerment Club had invited her—on Mercy’s quiet recommendation—to share her experience at a mentorship seminar titled “My Voice, My Power.” The theme couldn’t have been more fitting.
Brenda stood in the back of the main hall, her hands damp with nervous sweat, her baby bump carefully hidden beneath a loose kitenge blouse. A row of girls—students, some even younger than she was—waited in metal chairs, chatting and giggling. But their eyes widened when they saw her.
“She’s the one,” someone whispered. “Brenda.”
“She used to debate.”
“I heard she…”
Brenda inhaled deeply. She’d prepared herself for the whispers.
What mattered now wasn’t what they said behind her back—
It was what she was about to say in front of their faces.

Madam Grace, the counselor who had helped her during the disciplinary hearing, stepped to the podium.
“Ladies,” she said warmly, “today we hear from a young woman who once stood where you sit—top of her class, full of promise, respected by her peers. Then, something happened. Something real. And like many girls across this country, she was forced to choose: hide in shame, or rise in strength.”
She gestured toward Brenda.
“Please welcome—Brenda Namulondo.”
Applause. Hesitant at first. Then stronger.
Brenda walked to the front, her heart p******g, her palms cold. The microphone crackled gently as she adjusted it.
She looked at the sea of young faces before her—some curious, some cautious, some filled with quiet admiration.
She began.

“I used to think I had all the answers,” Brenda said, her voice clear. “I could tear apart any debate motion. I could convince anyone with logic. I was certain I’d become a lawyer. I was focused. I was admired.”
Pause.
“And then… I made a choice. A secret choice.”
The room quieted.
“One moment of weakness, one silent yes—and my world changed. I got pregnant. I lost my place in class. I broke my father’s heart. I lost my own confidence.”
“But what I didn’t lose…” she continued, her voice growing firmer, “was my right to dream.”
Some girls sat straighter. Mercy, from the back, smiled proudly.
Brenda went on. She didn’t glamorize the pain, but she didn’t drown in it either. She told them how shame had eaten at her. How Mercy had pulled her from the edge. How Madam Grace had advocated for her. And how—after everything—she was still here.
“I’m going back to school. I’ll raise my child. And one day, I’ll defend girls like me in court. Not because I was perfect. But because I survived.”
Applause erupted.
And for the first time, the applause didn’t feel like a reward for winning.
It felt like a thank you—for surviving.

After the talk, girls lined up to speak with her. Some shared their own stories. Others simply hugged her. A few cried.
One timid girl, barely fifteen, whispered, “I thought I was the only one.”
Brenda smiled and held her hand. “You’re not. You never were.”

That night, Brenda sat at home, her baby kicking gently inside her.
She opened her journal and wrote three words at the top of a clean page:
“I am ready.”

[Peter Ssemakula]

Schoolgirl’s Secret
Chapter Thirteen – A New Chapter
The day back felt nothing like her first day of Senior One.
There was no shiny new backpack, no excited butterflies, no wide-eyed dreams.
There was only Brenda—now seventeen—with a well-worn notebook in her bag, a sleepy newborn at home, and a quiet determination etched across her face.
Victoria Hill High hadn’t changed much.
But she had.

Her return had been carefully arranged. Madam Grace had helped negotiate her re-entry with the school board. She’d be attending a reduced number of classes for now—core subjects only—under a flexible recovery program.
She walked through the gate with her head held high, dressed in full uniform, blazer buttoned neatly. Students turned. Some whispered. Some stared. Others avoided eye contact completely.
Brenda kept walking.
Mercy met her halfway across the compound and offered a small salute. “Look who’s back.”
Brenda smiled. “Didn’t think I’d make it, huh?”
“I always knew you would,” Mercy said, looping her arm through hers. “But I also knew it wouldn’t be easy.”
“It’s not,” Brenda admitted. “This morning I changed two diapers and missed breakfast. I’m here on three hours of sleep.”
“And yet you look like a boss.”
Brenda laughed softly. The sound felt good. Free.

During her first lesson—English Literature—her favorite teacher, Mr. Mukasa, paused mid-sentence when she entered.
He looked at her for a long moment, then gave a slow nod.
“Brenda Namulondo,” he said, his voice calm. “Good to see you again.”
“Good to be back, sir,” she replied.
And just like that, the class continued. No announcements. No pity. No shame.
Just a page turned.

At lunch, she sat under the big tree near the basketball court with Mercy and two younger girls from the Empowerment Club.
They asked questions—about how she studied with a baby, how her dad had reacted, what it felt like to stand in front of the school and tell the truth.
She answered honestly.
No sugarcoating. No heroics. Just truth.

Later that week, she visited Madam Grace at the counseling room.
“I feel like I’m starting from zero,” Brenda admitted.
“You’re not,” Grace said. “You’re starting from experience.”
They sat in silence for a while.
Then Grace handed her a flyer. “We’re starting a peer support group next month. For girls who need someone to talk to. I think you’d make a great founding member.”
Brenda smiled, the kind that reached her eyes. “I’d like that.”

That evening, as she walked home, the wind danced through the jacaranda trees. The sky glowed with the soft pink of a fading sun. She thought of her child—Asher—sleeping at home with her aunt watching over him.
She thought of the courtroom she still dreamed of.
Of the speeches she would one day give.
And of the voice she had once nearly lost… now stronger than ever.

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