HER UNCLE PROMISED HER EDUCATION, BUT MADE HER HIS SLAVE WITHOUT KNOWING WHO SHE WOULD BECOME
Adaeze was nineteen years old when she realized some people do not steal your future all at once.
They take it morning by morning.
They take it before sunrise, when the house is still dark and your body is begging for one more hour of sleep. They take it through buckets of dirty water, piles of laundry, plates scraped clean by people who never ask if you have eaten. They take it with promises sent back to your parents, lies dressed as good news, report cards printed by wicked hands, and smiles wide enough to fool a village.
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