Leila believed returning home would remove the feeling of being a guest.
Instead, every room carried the eldest daughter’s echo.
Bi Saada asked how she liked her tea, then added that the eldest daughter preferred extra ginger.
The driver said he used to take the eldest daughter to university along the same road.
Mariam gave Leila the pearl necklace and began, “I bought this for—” before correcting herself.
Salma alone told her not to feel guilty.
“They will adjust. You were the child who was taken. Now you are back.”
Leila wanted the house, driver, laptop, and clothes.
She hated herself slightly for wanting them.
She had grown up in Voi with Halima Hassan, who sold chips, samosas, and tea. They counted every shilling. School trips and passports belonged to other people.
Salma told her every comfort had always been hers.
“Do not be afraid to take your place.”
The trust’s public launch became Leila’s first official event. The white dress came from the archive.
Mariam admitted the eldest daughter designed it.
Salma said, “Now it has found its real meaning.”
Onstage, the master of ceremonies called Leila the beginning of integrity. Two girls from the programme were brought for photographs.
One asked where the eldest daughter was.
“The former officer is under audit,” Salma said.
“She paid our exam fees,” the girl replied.
“The trust paid.”
“She sent it from her own name.”
The girl was led away.
Back in Nyali, Leila opened drawers the eldest daughter had left behind. Every sketch contained dates, clients, and maker names.
The white dress was labelled:
**Mariam — 2024 — never delivered; client feared the colour made her too visible.**
It had not been designed for a returned daughter.
It had belonged to a mother who never wore it.
Salma later handed Leila the trust laptop and the eldest daughter’s old email password.
“Donors know this address. Send the continuity statement.”
The draft said:
**I acknowledge irregular transfers made during my tenure and support the new leadership review.**
“This sounds as though the eldest daughter wrote it.”
“The company owns the email.”
“But she did not sign.”
“Do you want scandal to kill the trust?”
“Did she steal?”
“KSh 3.8 million passed through her account.”
“Where did it go?”
“The audit will show.”
“Then why should the email acknowledge anything?”
Salma’s expression hardened.
“Do not start protecting the girl who lived your life.”
Leila saved the draft but did not send it.
She searched the old mailbox.
An email from the eldest daughter to Said appeared:
**Dad, donor funds cannot cover the group tax problem. I am bridging supplier payment personally for fourteen days. Please sign board acknowledgement.**
Said replied:
**Do what is necessary. We will regularise after the port deal closes. Proud of you.**
The attached schedule totalled KSh 3,782,400.
Idris caught Leila reading it.
“This may be partial,” he said.
“But it is not theft.”
“This family is in crisis. Do not make conclusions.”
“And the eldest daughter was made a conclusion before the audit.”
Idris asked quietly whether Leila wanted to return to Voi.
The threat was softer than shouting.
Leila said no.
Later she called Halima.
“Do not let rich people make you blind to another person because they want to see you,” Halima warned. “When adults fight over blood, the child in the middle becomes a certificate.”
“I am not a child.”
“Then do not behave as though paper cannot use you.”
Leila changed the old email password so Salma could not enter without her. She copied Said’s message into a private folder.
She was not ready to give it to the eldest daughter.
For the first time, she was also not ready to give Salma everything.