A Life Of Her Own
Bethel used to think her family was the kind that would always stay together.
Not because nothing ever went wrong in their house. Things went wrong sometimes. Her father could come home tired and quiet after a long day at work. Her mother could get upset when the children made too much noise. There were days when everyone seemed to be talking at once.
But none of that frightened Bethel.
To her, those were just normal family things.
She was the kind of child who could wake up in the morning already excited about the day. She would run downstairs without properly fixing her hair, calling for Myra before she had even reached the last step.
“Myra!”
“Why are you shouting my name this early?”
“Because you're still in bed.”
“So?”
“So you're wasting the morning.”
Myra would throw a pillow at her, and Bethel would laugh as she ran away.
Their house was large enough that Bethel sometimes felt like there were always new places to hide. Her father's work had given the family a comfortable life, and Bethel knew she was fortunate. She had good clothes, enough food, a room of her own and almost anything she needed.
Still, her father never raised her to believe that having money made her better than anyone else.
“Greet people properly,” he would remind her.
“Say thank you.”
“Don't take what isn't yours.”
And whenever Bethel complained that another child had something she didn't have, Gideon usually had the same answer.
“You don't need everything you see.”
She didn't always like that answer.
But she listened.
Her father was a busy man. He owned a successful drinks company, which meant there were many days when his phone seemed to ring from the moment he woke up until the moment he returned home.
Yet whenever he had time, he made sure the children knew he was there.
Bethel especially loved the evenings when he came home early.
She would hear the sound of his car outside and immediately run toward the door.
“Daddy!”
Sometimes she reached him before he had even properly stepped inside.
He would laugh and catch her.
“Careful. You nearly made me fall.”
“You're strong.”
“Am I?”
“Yes.”
“And how do you know?”
“Because you're my daddy.”
That answer always made him smile.
At dinner, Bethel often sat beside Myra, stealing pieces of food from her plate whenever she thought nobody was looking.
“Bethel.”
She froze.
Her father was watching her.
“I didn't do anything.”
Myra laughed. “You were stealing from my plate.”
“I was only tasting it.”
“You have your own food.”
“But yours tastes better.”
Gideon shook his head, trying not to smile.
“Ask before you take.”
Bethel sighed. “Okay.”
Myra pushed a small piece toward her. “Here. Since you asked.”
Bethel grinned.
Those were the kinds of evenings she loved. Nothing special happened. Nobody went anywhere. They simply ate together, talked about their day, argued over little things and laughed until someone reminded them to lower their voices.
Bethel didn't know then how much those ordinary moments would one day mean to her.
She didn't know that some memories become precious only after they are gone.
Back then, she didn't think about losing anyone.
She thought Myra would always be there to tease her.
She thought her father would always come home.
She thought her mother would always be in the kitchen calling everyone to come and eat.
She thought the house would always sound the same.
Laughter from one room.
Arguments from another.
Someone looking for a missing slipper.
Someone asking who finished the last bottle of juice.
It was noisy.
Sometimes annoying.
Sometimes completely chaotic.
But it was home.
And Bethel loved it.
On weekends, the house felt even more alive. Myra would play music while getting ready, and Bethel would dance badly just to make her laugh. Their younger siblings would sometimes join them, turning the hallway into their own little stage. Their mother would eventually call from downstairs, telling them to stop making noise and come help with breakfast. Bethel usually pretended not to hear until Myra dragged her down.
There were also quiet afternoons when Bethel sat beside her father while he checked messages from work. She did not understand most of what he was doing, but she liked being near him.
“Daddy, are you working again?”
“Just finishing something.”
“When will you stop?”
“When you stop asking me questions.”
She laughed.
Those moments made Bethel feel safe. She had no reason to imagine that the people around her could become memories. As far as she knew, tomorrow would look like today, and today would become another ordinary day tomorrow too.
She had no idea that she was living inside a life she would one day wish she could return to.
