Lemonade Dreams

The funeral was held three days later. Tiara wore a black dress borrowed from a neighbor's daughter-it was too big, the sleeves swallowing her hands, the hem dragging in the dirt. Most of her clothing were bright and beautiful, princessy even. She never had to wear black clothing, not until now. She sat in the front row of the church, surrounded by relatives she barely knew, listening to a priest talk about God's mysterious ways and eternal rest.

Why does God need my parents with Him right now? Tiara thought to herself during the sermon, I need them way more.

None of it made sense. Her parents weren't mysterious; they were specific, particular. Her mother's laugh, her father's terrible singing in the shower, the way they danced in the kitchen on Saturday mornings-those were the details that mattered, and no one seemed to remember them.

After the service, people gathered at the house. Tiara wandered through throngs of adults eating jollof rice and discussing "what would happen to the poor child." She was discussed but not consulted, examined but not seen.

Uncle Bidemi-her father's eldest brother-arrived late, dressed in expensive agbada, his presence commanding immediate attention. He'd lived in Lagos, visited rarely, and always left Tiara with the impression that her father's success had irritated him. Not sure why though, considering her father had been the sweetest person ever.

Had.

"We'll handle everything," Uncle Bidemi announced to the assembled relatives. "The estate, the business, the child. Family takes care of family."

There was something in the way he said "handle" that made Tiara's skin prickle. But she was eight, grieving, exhausted-she had no vocabulary for the danger walking through her door, had no strength to think too much of it at the moment.

~~~~~

In less than a week, Uncle Bidemi and his wife, Aunt Jola, moved into the house. They brought their three children-Tobi, Tola, and Tayo-who immediately encroached on Tiara's personal space.

"You'll share a room with Tola now," Aunt Jola announced briskly, moving on to rearrange furniture without waiting for her response. "We need the guest room for storage."

Tiara's belongings were packed into two small boxes: clothes, a few books, her parents' wedding photo. Everything else was absorbed into the household as if it had always belonged to someone else.

During the course of the week, Uncle Bidemi hosted a steady stream of visitors-lawyers, accountants, business associates. Documents were signed in the study, her father's office transformed into a command center for dismantling his legacy.

"What would happen to Daddy's company now?" Tiara asked once, standing in the doorway.

Uncle Bidemi barely glanced up. "Adult business, Tiara. You wouldn't understand."

"But Daddy said I'd run it one day. He promised-"

"Your father made many promises," Aunt Jola cut in sharply. "Unfortunately, he didn't plan properly. There are debts, complications. We're doing our best to salvage what we can."

Yes, he made many promises, but failed to keep to the most important one.

It was a lie wrapped in condescension, but Tiara had no way to prove it. She was a child; they were adults. In her world, adults held all the power.

~~~~~

School resumed, but not for Tiara. The morning she was supposed to return to her private academy, Aunt Jola stopped her at the door.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"I'm off to school," Tiara said, confused. Her uniform was pressed, her bag packed.

"We can't afford those fees anymore," Aunt Jola said flatly. "You'll have to wait. Maybe next term we can enroll you somewhere more... practical."

"But Daddy paid for the whole year-"

"Your father left debts, girl. Stop being selfish."

Tiara felt the ground shift beneath her feet. Education had been sacred in her home-her parents' highest priority. And now it was simply... gone?

How is my going to school even selfish? She thought to herself.

Her cousins however, left for school that morning, wearing brand new uniforms, and carrying new bags. Tiara watched from the window as they piled into the car her father had bought, driven by the driver her father had hired.

Maybe that's when she began to understand: she wasn't seen as family. She was an obstacle to be managed, a burden to be minimized.

~~~~~

The routine established itself quickly. Tiara woke before dawn to fetch water. She helped Mrs. Okafor-who now looked at her with sorrowful eyes-prepare breakfast for the family. She cleaned, washed dishes, swept floors. By the time her cousins returned from school, she'd done a full day's work.

At first, she tried to study their textbooks when they discarded them. On a particular occasion, Tobi saw her and mocked her cruelly: "Why are you reading that? You're not going to school. You're just the help now."

Tola giggled. Even young Tayo, barely five, learned to order her around: "Tiara, bring me water. Tiara, pick up my toys."

Uncle Bidemi ignored her entirely unless she made a mistake-a broken glass, a late meal-and then his disapproval was swift and cold. Aunt Jola's criticisms were constant, a drip of poison: "Can't you do anything right? Were you raised in the bush?"

I was raised in this house, and you're trying to take it all away from me.

~~~~~

Tiara's only refuge was the attic-a dusty, hot space filled with old furniture and forgotten boxes. No one went there; it was beneath notice. So, Tiara claimed it, sneaking up after her chores were done, spending twilight hours among the relics of her former life.

It was there she found her mother's diary-a leather-bound journal tucked inside a wooden box beneath an old curtain. The first entry was dated twenty years earlier, when her mother was just seventeen.

'Today I decided to be brave, her mother had written in careful script. Bravery isn't the absence of fear. It's the decision to move forward anyway'.

Tiara traced the words with her finger, tears finally coming. She read entry after entry-her mother's dreams, struggles, philosophies. Recipes for soup and survival. Advice for a daughter she'd hoped to raise.

One entry, written just months before the accident, made Tiara's breath catch:

'If something were to happen to us, I hope Tiara knows she is loved beyond measure. I hope she knows that strength isn't given-it's grown, in the hardest soil, through the longest seasons. My prayer is that she'll find her own light, even in the darkest places. Like the starlight that she is.

Tiara pressed the diary to her chest and wept-for her mother, for her father, for the child she'd been just weeks ago. When the tears finally stopped, she opened to a blank page at the back of the diary and began to write her own entry:

'They took everything. But they can't take my memory. They can't take who I was, who I'll become. I don't know how yet, but I'll come out of this strong. I promise you, Mummy. I promise'.

The attic became her sanctuary. She smuggled pencils and paper, writing letters to her parents, documenting the injustices, keeping record of the theft happening in broad daylight. The act of writing made her feel less powerless-as if bearing witness was its own form of resistance.

~~~~~

Late one night, as Tiara scrubbed dishes, Mrs. Okafor approached her quietly.

"Child, I need to tell you something," the older woman whispered, glancing toward the parlor where Uncle Bidemi watched television.

Tiara looked up, hands still covered in soap.

"I heard them talking. Your uncle and his wife. They're planning to sell this house. They've already transferred your father's business accounts. Everything in your name... they're taking it."

"But they can't-that's stealing!"

"Who will stop them? You're a child. You have no voice in court. And anyone who might have helped..." Mrs. Okafor trailed off sadly. "Your father's real friends have been pushed away. Your mother's family... they tried, but they have no legal standing."

Tiara felt anger and helplessness war inside her chest. "What can I do?"

"Survive," Mrs. Okafor said fiercely, gripping Tiara's shoulders. "Be smart. Watch. Remember. One day you'll be old enough to fight back. Until then, survive."

Survive. That word again.

That night, Tiara lay awake in the room she now shared with Tola, listening to her cousin's easy breathing. She thought about the lemon tree outside, about her father's words: Lemons are survivors.

She would survive. No matter what it cost.