Tears of an Orphan – Mary Francis Solomon
Cynthia walked slowly into her room that night, her heart heavy with the weight of another tiring day. She was about to close the door when Eric, her guardian’s first son, appeared at the corridor. He looked left and right, making sure nobody was around.
Thank you for reading this post, don't forget to subscribe!When he saw that the place was quiet, he quickly pushed the door gently and stepped inside. Cynthia froze, fear rising in her chest.
Eric came closer to her, his eyes filled with lust. He stretched his hands and began caressing her body.
“No, no, no, please Eric, don’t do this to me. You know that I am a small girl, and you have been doing this to me for a very long time. I have not been myself since the day you started,” Cynthia screamed at the top of her voice.
Her heart was pounding heavily, her body shaking with fear. The night felt darker than usual. The silence of the house made her cries echo even louder. She looked at him with eyes full of pain and helplessness, hoping he would stop, but his face showed no sign of pity.
Tears streamed down her cheeks, hot and heavy, as she struggled in vain. In her mind, questions flooded like a storm—Why me? Why should my life be like this? Who will ever save me from this pain?
Cynthia was just a young girl, an orphan left under the care of her guardian. She had always thought her life would be safe in this house, but instead, her innocence had been snatched away repeatedly. Each day, she carried the weight of sorrow that no child her age should ever bear.
Many times, she wanted to open up to her auntie, but fear always held her back. Deep inside, she knew her auntie would never believe her.
Mr. and Mrs. Olajide had been harsh with her since the first day she came into their house, after losing her parents and brother a year ago.
As her cries grew louder, Eric quickly grabbed her pillow and pressed it hard over her mouth, trying to stop her from drawing his parents’ attention.
She fought with all the strength in her little body, gasping for breath. But Eric held her down. He tore her clothes and forced himself into her. Cynthia felt pain, shame, and fear all at once. She struggled under the weight, but her body was too small and too weak. Her heart cried to God as she choked under the pillow.
Suddenly, Eric lifted the pillow. By this time, Cynthia had no more strength left in her. Her body just gave up.
When he was done, Eric touched her and realized she wasn’t moving. Fear gripped him. He checked her breath—she was still alive, but faint. Her body looked lifeless.
Panicking, he rushed to the kitchen, grabbed a bottle of water, and poured it on her. Cynthia didn’t move. He became more restless. He ran back to his room, picked up his phone, and locked her door. Sweat covered his face as he sat beside her, shaking. He poured the rest of the water on her, but she still lay stiff, only her chest rising faintly.
Terrified, Eric dialed the number of his close friend, who sold drugs down the street. It was midnight, but he prayed his friend would pick.
The first call rang out. No answer. He tried again. This time, his friend picked.
“How far, guy? Please, I’m in trouble. Cynthia is breathing faintly. I poured water on her, but she’s not waking up. Please help me. I don’t want my parents to know what happened. They will kill me. Even though they don’t like her, they won’t forgive me if she dies because of this,” his words rushed out in panic.
There was silence on the other side before his friend spoke.
“Eric… don’t tell me that after all my warnings about your cousin, you still went ahead with this? Do you even know what you’ve done?” His voice was full of anger and disappointment.
“Please, we’ll talk about it later. Just help me. I don’t want Cynthia to die. I love her,” Eric begged.
“Love? You call this love? Forcing yourself on her and almost killing her—is that love? That’s lust! If you needed girls, were there no ladies outside? Why your cousin?” his friend shouted.
“But listen. For now, pour more water on her and fan her. If you were a praying type, I’d tell you to ask God for mercy. I’ll call you later to check on her,” he said firmly and dropped the call.
Eric ran for another bottle of water, sprinkled it on Cynthia, and started fanning her with a plastic hand fan. After a while, she jerked suddenly and sneezed.
Eric’s heart leapt in relief.
“Cynthia, thank God! You’re awake. Are you okay? Do you need anything?” he asked, his voice softer now.
But Cynthia looked at him with pure hatred. She felt dirty, broken, and pained. Tears flowed down her face as she shoved him away.
“Eric, I swear I’ll tell Auntie and Uncle! I hate the way you’ve been treating me since I came here. I’m your cousin! You almost killed me with that pillow. Do you even know the pain you’ve caused me? If my mummy and daddy were alive, would you dare do this to me? I won’t keep quiet again. Please, leave my room before I shout!” she cried bitterly.
Eric laughed coldly.
“Hahaha! Cynthia, you and I know my parents will never believe you. They don’t like you. You’re only here because they’re trying to look good. You’re nothing but a servant in this house. If you dare tell them, I’ll kill you myself,” he threatened, then stormed out and slammed the door.
Cynthia broke down on the cold floor, weeping bitterly.
“Oh God, why me? Please vindicate me from this wicked family. Lord, I need help. Please, I need help,” she cried until she had no tears left.
She dragged herself into the bathroom, washed up, and returned to her soaked bed. She found a dry corner, curled herself there, and tried to sleep.
Before sleep carried her away, she remembered she hadn’t locked her door. She quickly got up, locked it, and lay back down.
Moments later, a loud bang hit her door.
She kept quiet, hoping it would stop, but the banging continued. Frustrated, she hissed and opened the door. Her auntie stood there, holding a whip.
“Hey Cynthia, what’s the time?” her auntie barked.
Cynthia checked, it was 5:40 a.m. Her eyes widened.
“I’m sorry, Auntie, I didn’t know—” Before she finished, two hot strokes landed on her body.
She staggered, as she cried out in pain.
“Lazy girl! When you should be cleaning, you’re still sleeping. Do you want me to go late to work, or my children late to school? Try it again and see!” Her auntie struck her once more. “I knew your parents didn’t train you well. Here, you’ll learn the hard way. Lazy girl! It’s children like you who killed their parents!” she spat angrily and pushed Cynthia toward the kitchen.
Cynthia stood at the sink, washing dishes with tears rolling down her face. She wondered why life was so unfair.
Suddenly, Eric came in, smirking. She ignored him. He came closer, closed the door, and held her from behind.
“My pretty baby, you know I love you. I’ll soon go to school. Let me give you a kiss and a hug. I’ll miss your body when I’m gone,” he whispered.
Cynthia’s anger rose like fire. She slapped him so hard that he staggered.
“You slapped me?” he asked, shocked.
“Yes, Eric, I slapped you! And if you try it again, I’ll slap and beat you again. Forget that you’re older than me. I’m not afraid of you. I may be a girl, but I can fight you!” she shouted, standing firm.
Eric laughed coldly.
“Hahaha… Cynthia, you’ve stepped on the tail of a snake. You’ll regret this. Mark my words—you’ll regret it,” he hissed, then stormed out.
Fear gripped Cynthia’s heart. “What have I done?” she whispered.
Immediately she finished sweeping and mopping the kitchen, she picked up the broom to clean the living room. Just then, she heard her auntie calling her name. She dropped the broom and ran to meet her.
The moment she reached, her auntie slapped her on both cheeks. Cynthia staggered back, holding her face as tears rolled down her eyes.
“So, you’ve turned this way? Tell me—what Eric said, is it true?” her auntie asked, moving closer to beat her again.
But her uncle suddenly appeared and held his wife’s hand.
To be continued…
Inspired by the Great Teacher.
Do not copy, edit, or reproduce any part of this story without the author’s consent.
Stay blessed till we meet in the next episode.
Written by Mary Francis Solomon.