Chapter 9: The New Home
After her mother's burial, everything changed.
The house, once full of life and laughter, became too quiet—too heavy with memories. Mary's father was still away serving in the military, unreachable. With no mother and no means to care for eight children alone, the extended family began to divide the siblings.
One by one, they were sent to live with relatives in other villages. Some stayed close. Others were taken far. Mary watched her brothers and sisters leave, one after another, carrying small bags and tearful goodbyes. The separation stung, but there was no choice.
Mary was sent to live with her mother's younger sister.
At first, she thought it might not be so bad. Her aunt had always been kind during visits. Mary clung to the hope that she would find comfort in her new home—that maybe, somehow, it would fill the hole her mother left behind.
But when she arrived, the welcome was cold.
Her aunt's husband barely looked at her. The house was neat and quiet, but not warm. Mary was shown a small corner where she'd sleep, then handed a broom and a list of duties. "No laziness. No nonsense," her aunt warned. "You're not here to play."
The first few days were quiet. Then the routine began.
Mary, still mourning, was thrown into a life of hard work—sweeping, washing clothes, cooking, running errands. She rose before sunrise and collapsed into bed at night. Her aunt was quick to scold and slow to praise. Her sadness was not understood—it was seen as weakness.
"Wipe that face," her aunt snapped one day. "Do you think life is fair?"
Mary didn't answer. She just nodded.
She missed her mother deeply. Every task reminded her of what she had lost. She had thought this place would give her some peace, but instead, it felt like her childhood had been left behind completely.
Still, Mary endured. Quietly, steadily, and with the small, flickering hope that one day, things might change.