Jasmine’s POV
Nervously checking the time, all I can do is hope my mother is at least asleep. I quietly sneak into the house, angry that my actions might reinforce my mother’s accusations. Reaching my room safely, I release a breath I didn’t realise I was holding. My hand reaches out to find the light switch, and the familiarity of my room brings some sort of peace. Resting the back of my head against the door, a yawn slips out, and my body suddenly loses strength, as if a wave crashes over me.
“My body’s killing me,” I mutter, dragging a breath through my teeth. Low-key, I dread taking a shower and the thought of the assignment awaiting me, but at the same time, thankful it will keep me busy most of the day tomorrow. Although not particularly thrilled about tomorrow being Sunday, the thought of staying cooped up in this house isn’t on the list of my favourite things to do. People say Sundays are for family. In this house, it’s a day full of adventure—waiting to see what mind game my mother has up her sleeve and tiptoeing to avoid getting caught.
Without wasting any more time, I quickly gather all I need and head into the shower. The warm water hitting my skin eases my body, and I allow myself to completely relax under the water, closing my eyes as I imagine everything else disappearing. A taste of salted water touches my lips, my eyes tightly shut.
Having no control over my thoughts at the moment, the incident with my mother, which took place earlier this week, floods my mind. Maybe if I had done what she had expected of me quicker, maybe she wouldn’t have yelled at me like that. Although I know deep within that’s far from the truth, being extra careful only did so much.
I stay in the shower a little longer, trying to steer my inner dialogue into a more positive direction, which, as usual, is easier said than done. I try to remind myself that if I ultimately win the battle in my mind, things will get better.
However, the silent words can’t help but find their way to me, “Don’t be too ambitious, Jasmine. Disappointment hurts.” I tiredly lift my arm out to flick down the shower tap, making my way out to the closet. Finding my warmest PJs, I hurriedly put them on, realising how much time I’ve wasted.
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It takes me about two hours to complete my assignment. After double-checking it for the fifth time, my jaw stretches with a tired yawn. I glance at the time on my laptop. Almost midnight. I finally put the assignment away, my eyes stinging from exhaustion. I toggle the light switch off before climbing onto my bed—soon after, the weight of the day pulls my eyelids shut.
Huffing, I rub a hand over my face. Shifting to the other side of the bed, my hand reaches out to where my phone lies—I’m not surprised to find that it’s only 3:30 a.m. I put the phone back down and tilt onto my back, staring at the ceiling.
“Did I pray?” I try to think back, sighing in disappointment, remembering I didn’t.
I allow the silence to engulf me, as my mind does its usual routine, of playing through painful memories I have experienced.
“God, you’re here, right? I know I should be going to sleep, well, trying at least to, but I fear that if I don’t say something—anything—I’ll suffocate under the weight of silence. God, it’s happening again. I try, I really try to have a positive mindset, not to allow the past to consume my thoughts, but lately it feels like I’m back to square one. It might even be worse.
Please help me through tomorrow…I don’t have the strength to go through another insult or argument. It’s crazy how I’m constantly on the lookout. Is this how my life is always meant to be? Maybe this is merely a part of my story. I’m meant to go through it all for some time, or maybe always endure pain, but get better at it with time.
Sometimes I can’t help but think…if I weren’t me, perhaps things would be different—someone easier to love. Maybe my heart should be shut, then I won’t feel too much and won’t hurt so much. But then I think of the kids. They need people to shower them with love and protection.”
Hot tears slide down my cheeks, and soon after, a sharp pain fills my chest, replaced by hollowness.
“I was meant to pray…I’m sorry, God. Thank you for everything. For the breath of life, the shelter, protection, provision, Your love and everything I may not see you doing for me. Good night.
Oh, wait, I need to meditate on the Word,” I mumble, grabbing my Bible off my bedside table.
Hmm, what should I meditate on? I skim through the pages, eventually deciding to read from the books of Psalms,
“Psalm 136
Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good,
for his steadfast love endures forever.”
Upon reading the first verse, I fight the urge to roll my eyes.
“Come on, Jas, that’s not the right attitude.” I remind myself, but a part of myself was barely holding it together. My mind had a plan of its own – but I force myself not to close the bible and go to sleep. The scripture about the Spirit and flesh being in constant war comes to mind, giving me the strength to continue.
“2 Give thanks to the God of gods,
for his steadfast love endures forever.
3 Give thanks to the Lord of lords,
for his steadfast love endures forever;”
God help me see your faithful love towards me. I refuse to fall into an unhealthy routine. I want to truly believe you love me—even if it seems difficult. Bringing my hand to my cheeks, my thumb drags through the moisture I didn’t feel fall.
Meditating on the entire chapter leaves me refreshed, reassured that I am loved. It feels as if the Holy Spirit knows exactly what I need, and has shut the door on the thoughts aiming to kill my confidence.
Suddenly feeling giggly, I do a small happy dance. “You’ve got this, Jas,” I exclaim, lifting my fist.
“I hope this energy lasts, though.”
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“Jasmine!” Anne calls out my name from the other room.
“YES, MA’AM!” I jokingly respond, dropping the decorations back into the plastic, before heading to her. I lightly chuckle, knowing she most probably rolled her eyes and did her usual head shake in response. Standing on the ladder, Anne struggles to put the disco ball in place. I instantly rush over to her, detecting that the ladder was shaking with her movements.
“Anne!”
“I know, I know…but it is going to break if I don’t place it properly,” she says in distress.
“Okay, but your life is more important.”
“Yes, yes, that’s why I called you.” She smirks, then looks down at me, shining her white teeth.
I roll my eyes, in somewhat disbelief, although not entirely shocked by her behaviour, because well, it’s Anne. “Speaking as if I had arrived a second later, you wouldn’t be in the hospital.”
“I didn’t catch what you said. Would you like to say it with your chest?”
“Nah, I’m sure you heard me pretty well.” I give her my own wide-toothed smile.
It doesn’t take too long for her to finish up what she is doing before she safely gets down. We both look up to admire her finished work. The colourful disco ball sits well in its place. Looking at it, I am confident the kids will love it. Today, we are hosting a disco-themed party for the kids. We have a tradition of throwing a themed party twice a year, usually based on their desires, and this year, one of the kids suggested a disco theme.
My phone rings, blasting the specific ringtone set for Angèle, and a sudden knot in my insides soon follows.
“Anne,” I call out, hoping she hears me.
“Yeah!?”
“Answering a call—I’ll be back in a few,” I exclaim, before heading for the door.
“Okay!”
I frantically swipe to answer. “Hey, Sis, what’s up?”
My heart clenches as sniffles fill the call. My mouth opens to speak, but no words escape. As cliché as it may sound, my elder sister rarely allows us to see this side of her.
“Jasmine, I…,” she chokes out, her words tearing from her throat. “Mom…”
“It’s okay, take your time.”
She releases a light breath before proceeding. “I know I shouldn’t be crying over this, but it hurts. It really hurts, Jas. Mom randomly called while I was at work. I told her I was preoccupied at the moment but would hopefully call her back as soon as I had an opportunity. She then went on to say how I’m always working, and that’s why I haven’t succeeded in giving her a grandchild. Meanwhile, she knows full well that Caleb and I have been trying for some time now. It just hurts that she would bring up something painful as such, knowing work isn’t even the issue in the first place.”
“Oh, Angèle, I’m so sorry she made you go through that.”
“I’m really trying to understand her, but a large part of me finds it challenging to comprehend how a mother repeatedly fails her own…” She lets out a hopeless chuckle. “How does it not bother her?” Her voice wavers through the line.
I keep quiet, allowing her to express herself. A twinge of regret surfaces as she goes on, and my jaw tightens, which I immediately quash. The resentment my elder sister is harbouring towards our mother is becoming obvious. She shouldn’t be to blame, but I can’t help but feel my body weaken—my grip on the phone tightens. I guess the cracks are becoming clearer, and I can no longer hide from the truth, hoping things aren’t as piteous as they appear.
Rejoice in hope, be patient in tribulation, be constant in prayer. The scripture lightly whispers itself to me. A spike of anger claws at my heart, but disappears soon after. I want to scream, but I know it won’t get me anywhere; it won’t change the situation. Accepting defeat is not the answer I am seeking.
“Angèle,” I lightly call her attention. “Is it only about Mom, or is there more to it?”
I ask, sensing there is more bothering her.
“It’s Caleb. I’ve noticed how not having kids has begun to affect him, although he says it’s not a big issue, that I’m enough for him. I know, he has dreamt for the longest time to have his own, especially not having any siblings. Mom’s words added to it all.”
“That’s a lot to carry—you must have felt as if everything was playing out against you…” I wish I could hug her. “Please try to keep a positive mindset. As much as it may be a desire you have, which is not wrong, please do not allow it to be what determines your value as a person. Whether God allows it or not, He is still good, as He is the one who gives and takes.” I pause, taking in a hushed breath, hoping to be her pillar of strength. “As painful as it may be to comprehend, give yourself peace by accepting his will for your life. Can’t imagine how hard it must be for you, but please show yourself grace, Ele.”
“But Caleb…”
“Pray for him; it could definitely be affecting him, but pray that God helps him navigate this season, too. It hurts, but try to think about the bigger picture, you both as individuals and as a couple. I’ll continue to keep you both in my prayers; all will be well, Sis.”
“Okay…thank you, Jasy. Will keep it all in mind and try not to dwell too much on it.” She sniffs before responding.
“I’m here for you if you need an ear to listen to,” I softly say, not wanting her to go through any more pain.
“I know, and thank you, Jasmine.” A comfortable silence fills the call. “I’ll need to get going now. Sorry for the inconvenience.”
“Girl, what inconvenience? I got you.” She blows a kiss before hanging up.
The screen goes dark. I stare at my reflection for a second before it lights up with Aroni’s name.
“Hey, little one,” his tired voice greets.
“Aroni, you do know I’m not that much younger than you? But anyway, how are you doing?”
“Yeah, let’s not make it an argument,” he jokes. “I’m fine, and you?” His tone becomes a bit more serious.
“I’m all good.” I try to hide the tremor in my voice, pressing the phone closer to my ear.
“Angèle, called?”
My silence spoke for itself.
“Jas, I’m seriously rethinking leaving you there alone with Mom. If, despite the distance, she can affect Angèle, now what about you, who lives under her roof?”
“Aroni, you know my visa hasn’t been approved yet, and it has been years. Maybe it’s not meant to be, well, maybe for now at least,” I say, shifting onto my other leg. “Also, Mom isn’t that bad,” I cringe upon hearing my own words. “I’ll manage, don’t worry.”
“Sometimes holding on will worsen the wounds. Maybe letting go is the answer to healing.”
I don’t answer immediately. “You may be right, but give me a chance.”
The line goes quiet; he exhales heavily. “If you need anything, call me,” he mumbles before the line cuts.
I crouch on the stairs, head between my knees, trying my hardest to collect myself. After a beat, I straighten up, drawing in a steadying breath.
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“Finally, we are almost done. What time is it?” Nick asks, pausing what he was doing to give his attention to me.
“It’s almost 10 a.m. I should go wake up the kids and get them ready.”
“Thanks.” Nick nods his head before getting back to his task.
Although I know most of them are probably awake by now, I had given them specific instructions not to wander around until I give them the go-ahead.
“Wakey, wakey!” I sing, entering the girls’ room.
“FINALLY!”
“What took you so long?”
“Hold up, did you guys even get enough sleep, or were you all too excited for today’s party?”
The girls giggle, giving me my answer. I shake my head, a fond, quiet huff leaving me as I lean against the decorated wall. My eyes crinkle with a tired sort of affection.
“So I’m guessing there are no interesting stories for me today?” Referring to the dreams they usually tell me about.
“Okay then, time to get ready.” I shoo them.
“Olivia? Is everything alright?” I gently ask, approaching her bed, noticing how reserved she’s been. Her round glasses lazily sit on her face, and her arms clutch her beloved teddy bear, which is already worn out.
“I had a nightmare.”
Kneeling to meet her eye level, I stretch out my arms to give her an embrace, which she quickly takes, not minding the paint smudges present on my wrists from decorating.
“Do you want to tell me about it?” I suggest. She slowly nods, coming out of the hug.
“It’s a bit scary, though?” She searches my face to see if I’m still willing to listen.
“It’s fine, sweetie, I’m all ears.” A reassuring smile rests on my lips.
Olivia’s grip on her bear tightens, the fabric creasing beneath her fingers. “I dreamed I was in a big, big house… like a castle. But the rooms… they kept changing, and I got lost.” She pauses, taking in a shaky breath, as if reliving the dream. “I screamed… and screamed… for help, but all the grown-ups walked past. They looked right at me… but didn’t see me. Then—” Her voice cracks, and my heart aches seeing her so scared. “Then the walls… they started closing in,” she whispers.
My body stiffens. A flashback of my mother’s voice sneaks in, “Stop crying, no one’s coming for you.” I push down the memory.
“Oh, Oli…That sounds awful.” I pull her into a hug, and Olivia’s small hands fist my shirt.
“Why… didn’t they help?” She muffles the words into my shoulder, her tiny hands clutching her bear tightly.
I choose my words carefully—ones I need to believe myself.
“Sometimes grown-ups are… stuck in their own heads,” I slowly say. “It doesn’t mean you’re not important…or that you’re alone.” I rub Olivia’s back, as Arya does for me after bad days. She presses her cheek a little closer to mine, then wiggles her fingers in the bear’s worn fur. Olivia pulls back, eyes wet but bright, and fiddles with the hem of her pyjama top.
“Do you… have bad dreams too?” She hugs her bear a little tighter, rocking forward slightly.
Caught off guard, the truth claws up my throat, but I manage to deflect with a small smile.
“Everyone does sometimes. But you know what helps me? Remembering, I’ve got people who do hear me…like you, and Ray, and Aunty Anne.” I notice her fingers loosen slightly on the bear as she listens, her tiny shoulders relaxing a fraction.
“Then… I’ll hear you too, if you scream.” Her eyes are soft but holding a seriousness beyond her years. She tucks the bear under one arm and swings her other hand loosely at her side—a small, natural gesture that shows the trust she’s always carried, even with a hint of caution. I shift my weight slightly on my knees, leaning a little closer, and let my hands rest gently on the bed beside her.
My breath catches. Her bed suddenly feels sacred.
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© 2026 Emmanuelle Ngoie. All rights reserved. The Crying Girl is an original work. No part of this work may be copied, reproduced, or distributed without permission.
