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“She’s your daughter, not your property,” Peter yelled back, but he was eventually kicked out of the house.
After that day, Grace’s life became a cage. Her father watched her every move, constantly questioning where she was going and who she was meeting. He buried her in chores—washing clothes, cleaning the kitchen, and sweeping the compound over and over, regardless of how tired she was.
One evening, Grace finally broke down.
“Why won’t you let me live?” she asked, her voice shaking with emotion.
Her father didn’t even hesitate. “A woman doesn’t need school to succeed,” he said coldly.
When Grace told him that was his belief and not her life, his eyes hardened.
“As long as you live under my roof, it is my life.”
Later that night, her mother came to her quietly with the truth. She confessed that Grace’s father had been the one hiding all the admission letters for years.
As Grace felt her chest tighten under the weight of that betrayal, she decided she couldn’t stay a moment longer. She packed a small bag and tried to slip out the door, but the sound of a loud slap stopped her.
She ran back inside to find her father shouting and her mother crying. When she stepped in to stop the violence, the room fell into a heavy, suffocating silence.
Grace looked at her mother’s bruised cheek and then at her father. She slowly set her bag down and said, “I will stay, but I will not stop fighting for my life.”
After that day, Grace made a firm decision. If she could not enter as a student, she would stand as close as she could.
One morning, she packed a small tray with sachets of pure water, biscuits, and recharge cards, tied her scarf firmly, and walked straight to the university gate.
“Pure water, cold water, biscuit,” she called out.
Students passed without looking at her. Some bought from her while many ignored her.
By the second week, she had learned how to move fast, how to hold her tray steady, and how to call out without sounding desperate.
That was how she met Daniel Brown.
“Give me two pure water,” he said one afternoon.
She handed them over, smiling calmly.
He watched her for a moment, then asked, “You come here every day?”
“Yes.”
“You’re not a student?”
“No, I’m not.”
“But you sound like one.”
Grace didn’t reply.
From that day, he stopped by often. Sometimes he bought things he didn’t need just to make her happy.
Then one day, he asked a question Grace had been longing to hear.
“Would you like to further your studies?”
Grace gave a small smile. “Yes, of course. I have always dreamt of becoming a lawyer.”
Daniel raised his eyebrows. “A lawyer? That’s serious.”
He looked at her, then nodded. “I believe in you.”
But not everyone was like Daniel. Not everyone treated Grace with kindness.
One afternoon, a black car pulled up right in front of the school gate. The engine had hardly gone quiet before the door opened and a girl stepped out, removing her sunglasses slowly as if she wanted to be noticed.
“Hey,” she said, walking straight to Grace. “Do you have change for this?”
Grace nodded and reached into her small purse, counting quickly before handing it over. “Yes.”
The girl collected the money, but instead of leaving, her eyes dropped to Grace’s tray.
“Pure water, biscuits, airtime.” She tilted her head slightly. “So this is what you do now?”
Grace didn’t answer. She adjusted the bottles on her tray as if she hadn’t heard.
The girl gave a short laugh. “Interesting.”
Her friends had gathered behind her now.
“Isn’t she the one that used to hang around here?” one of them said.
“The same one,” the girl replied.
Then she looked directly at Grace and said clearly, “Gate girl that wants to be a lawyer.”
The girls laughed.
For a brief second, Grace’s fingers tightened around her tray, but her face did not change.
“Your change is complete,” she said calmly.
The girl—Vanessa Cole—took one last look at her, smiled in a way that didn’t feel friendly, then turned and walked off with her friends.
Grace stood there for a moment after they left. She didn’t move immediately. Then she took a slow breath, shifted the tray on her head, and continued calling out to customers as if nothing had happened.
Later that same day, when the crowd reduced, she moved closer to one of the lecture halls. She stood just outside the window, pretending to arrange her things, but her ears were focused inside.
“Offer, acceptance, and consideration form a valid contract,” the lecturer said.
Grace leaned slightly, careful not to draw attention. She stayed until the lecture ended, holding onto every word she could catch.
From that day on, it became her routine. From one class window to another, from one voice to the next, she listened, memorized, and stored everything.
After lectures, when students left in a hurry, she moved around quietly, picking up what they left behind—a torn handout here, a half-used notebook there. Some pages were dirty. Some were incomplete. But it didn’t matter. At night, she spread them across her bed and read as if her life depended on it.
One evening, as she stood near another lecture hall, a voice spoke behind her.
“You’ve been here for days.”
Grace turned quickly. A man stood there, watching her closely.
“I’m Dr. Michael Adams,” he said. “Why are you always around this place?”
Grace held her tray a little tighter. “I’m just selling, sir.”
He looked at her for a few seconds, as if he were trying to figure something out. Then he nodded once and walked away without another word.
That night, Grace sat on her bed surrounded by scattered papers. She stared at them for a long time before speaking softly to herself.
“If I can’t enter, I will still learn.”
Seven years passed, but for Grace, it did not feel like time was moving forward. It felt as though she was standing in one place, watching life move without her.
Deborah was the first reminder.
“I’m graduating next week,” Deborah said over the phone.
Grace forced a smile, even though Deborah couldn’t see it. “That’s good. I’m happy for you.”
After that call, the messages became fewer. The calls stopped. Slowly, Deborah became a memory.
Daniel, on the other hand, stayed longer, but not forever.
“I’m done with school,” he said one afternoon, standing in front of her with a small box. “Final year is over.”