Becky stood amidst the bustling market of Mulot, her eyes scanning the crowd. She had just bought some vegetables, seeking comfort in the simple, familiar routines of life in Sagawaita. Yet peace had been a stranger to her ever since her separation from Tesot.
As she moved past the busy stalls, someone caught her eye. Her heart skipped a beat. She squinted through the crowd, a strange sense of familiarity tugging at her. Could it really be?
Chepkorir.
She hadn't seen her in years. But there she was—standing a short distance away, seemingly unchanged by time. Becky's pulse quickened.
Without hesitation, she pushed through the crowd and gently tapped the woman's shoulder.
Chepkorir turned around—and gasped.
"Oh, Becky!" she exclaimed, stunned. "Is that really you?"
"It's me," Becky said, her voice trembling. "I saw you leaving that shop… I couldn't let you go without saying something."
Chepkorir's shock faded into a warm smile. "It's been so long. How have you been?"
Becky sighed. "It's been tough. I've spent every day worrying about my son."
Chepkorir nodded sympathetically. "He's doing okay. He's in Class Five now… transferred to a boarding school."
"Boarding school?" Becky's voice tightened. "Which one?"
"Kararan Academy," Chepkorir replied. "He's been there for almost a year."
"Kararan Academy…" Becky echoed. The school had gained so much reputation after only two national examinations. "I didn't know."
Chepkorir hesitated, then added gently, "And Tesot… he married again."
The words felt like a blade twisting in Becky's chest.
"Well, lucky him," she said with a dry laugh. "A new wife without even divorcing me."
They lingered together in the busy market. Chepkorir spoke of village matters—new births, deaths, school fundraisers—but Becky's mind had drifted. Her thoughts looped around one name, one revelation.
Kiplimo.
That night, Becky lay awake on her thin mattress, staring at the cracked ceiling, her body heavy with exhaustion but her mind restless. Kiplimo in a boarding school. Far from Tesot. Far from the tight grip of the clan.
Maybe—just maybe—she could reach him now.
But then came the doubt, dark and slow like a rising tide. Would he even recognize her? Did he still remember the scent of her skin, the warmth of her embrace? Or had time and distance buried those memories deep in his mind, along with all the hurt she had left behind?
Her chest clenched painfully. Tears welled, but she blinked them back. She didn't want to cry. Not yet. Not unless there was truly something to grieve.
Still, despite the ache, something small and stubborn fluttered in her—hope, delicate as a butterfly's wing, trembling but alive.
Two days later, back in Nakuru, Becky shared her intention with her sister, Mary.
"Kararan Academy, you say?" Mary asked, surprised.
"That's what Chepkorir told me."
Mary's eyebrows lifted. "That's one of the top schools in Bomet."
"I'm going to visit Kiplimo tomorrow," she said, her voice carrying both hope and anxiety.
"Would you come with me?" Becky asked hopefully.
"I wish I could," Mary replied. "But I'm swamped. You go, though—I'll be praying for you."
That night, Becky prepared for her journey. She cooked chapattis, fried chicken, and rice, packing everything carefully into hotpots. She set her alarm for an early start, planning to leave at dawn to reach Siongiroi, a small town in Bomet, where Kararan Academy was located.
When she arrived, the afternoon sun had already begun to dip, casting long shadows across the compound. Becky approached the school gate, her heart pounding in her chest.
A security guard stood by the entrance.
"Hi, my name is Becky," she introduced herself, forcing calm into her voice.
The guard greeted her politely. "Yes, Becky. What can I do for you?"
"I'm here to see my son," she said, hesitant but determined.
The guard frowned. "I'm afraid that may not be possible," he said apologetically.
"What? Why?" Becky demanded, confusion and frustration bubbling to the surface.
"You must be aware that this school only allows parents to visit on specific visiting days," the guard explained.
"Of course, I know," Becky replied, struggling to remain composed. "But this is an exception. I haven't seen my son for five years, and I've travelled a long way just to catch a glimpse of him."
The guard remained unmoved. "I'm sorry, ma'am. I can't make exceptions."
Becky's heart sank. This was her one chance, and it was slipping away.
"What's your son's name?" the guard asked, his tone doubtful.
"Ismael Kiplimo," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Kiplimo?" The guard's eyes narrowed. "I know the boy's parents. They were here a couple of weeks ago during the last visiting day."
"Please," Becky pleaded, tears stinging her eyes. "I just want to see him."
The guard hesitated before sighing. "I'll have to check with the teacher on duty."
A few minutes later, the teacher returned with the same dismissive expression. "We can't allow you in," he said. "The school records list only Daniel Tesot and Vicky Tesot as Kiplimo's parents. You're not registered."
Becky's heart shattered. They didn't even acknowledge her existence as his mother.
"Wait here," the teacher ordered before disappearing back inside. She could hear voices—consultations with the school manager, who would ultimately defer to Kiplimo's father.
It was all about his connections. His power. His wealth.
Moments later, the guard returned. "It's unfortunate," he said coldly. "You're not allowed to see your son. We have strict instructions."
Becky stood there, helpless, her mind spinning. "This isn't fair!" she cried. "It's been five years. Please—let me see him!"
The guard remained unmoved. Within moments, two police officers arrived to escort her away.
Becky's heart collapsed as she was dragged from the gate, the cries of pupils echoing in her ears. Among them, she caught sight of Kiplimo—his eyes wide with confusion and fear.
Kiplimo's chest tightened as he stood frozen, watching helplessly. The large bag she had carried clattered to the ground, dragging behind her like a forgotten offering. His eyes burned with unshed tears, the weight of confusion and heartbreak pressing down on him.
From a short distance away, Teacher Koech noticed the commotion. He stepped forward, concern etched across his face. Seeing the boy's trembling frame, he gently placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder.
"Come, my boy," he said softly. Then, without another word, he led Kiplimo away.
"Please, don't take me away," Becky begged, her voice breaking. "I just want to see my son."
But the officers remained unrelenting.
Inside the police land cruiser, Becky's despair boiled over into furious sobs and choked curses.
"You monsters! Idiots! You'll burn in hell!" she screamed. "I'll see my son—one way or another. You can't stop me!"
By the time they reached the station, her strength had drained away, leaving only trembling silence. She was thrown into a cold, dimly lit holding cell—the walls bare, the air damp with hopelessness.
She sat in the corner, knees drawn to her chest, when a guard returned.
"You have a guest," he announced gruffly.
Her heart jolted.
A man stepped into the dim corridor—tall, broad-shouldered, his kind eyes dark and steady as polished ebony.
"Hi," he said gently, extending his hand through the bars. "I'm Peter Koech."
Becky rose slowly and took his hand. "I'm Becky."
"I'm a teacher at Kararan Academy," he explained. "I saw what happened earlier. I'm truly sorry."
"You saw all that?" she asked, her voice fragile.
He nodded. "I did. And I've come to make you a proposal."
Becky's breath caught. "What kind of proposal?"
"I can help you meet your son—quietly, without the school knowing."
Her eyes widened. "But… I'm locked up."
"I've spoken to the officers," Koech said calmly. "They've agreed to bail you out. Tomorrow, I'll be taking pupils on a nature walk near the school. I'll make sure your son is there."
Becky stared at him, heart pounding, hope flaring like a flame in a storm.
"You'd really do that for me?" she whispered. "You'd risk your job?"
Koech smiled softly. "Some things are worth the risk."
Overwhelmed, Becky lowered her gaze, tears brimming.
"Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you so much."
The next day, around 11 a.m., beneath the wide shade of an acacia tree, Becky waited, her breath catching at every sound. The wind rustled the leaves, but her mind was a storm of anticipation.
Then—she saw them.
Koech emerged, walking slowly, holding Kiplimo's hand. The moment their eyes met, the boy broke into a run and threw himself into her arms.
"My boy!" Becky sobbed, clutching him, covering his face with kisses.
She pulled back to study him—his radiant smile, his eyes so much like hers. Then her gaze dropped—and froze.
His teeth. Brownish. Stained.
A sharp memory pierced her heart: how her mother had guarded them from drinking hard water, insisting it kept their teeth white. I'll do the same for my children, she had once vowed.
That promise, like so many others, had been stolen from her.
"I'm so happy to see you," she whispered. "Do you remember me?"
"Yes."
"Who am I?"
The boy smiled. "My mum!"
Her heart cracked open.
They unpacked the food she had brought. Koech sat a respectful distance away, watching quietly. But Becky gestured warmly.
"Please. Join us."
He hesitated, then nodded. The three of them formed a small circle. Becky took their hands and bowed her head.
They prayed—a short, quiet moment beneath the open sky.
Time slowed, then cruelly quickened. Becky watched Kiplimo eat, laugh, talk, memorising everything.
When he lay back on the grass, full and content, Becky's heart stitched itself together, one second at a time.
"I don't know how to thank you," she said to Koech.
"You don't have to," he replied. "I just did what felt right."
"Why?" she asked softly.
"I grew up without my mother," he said. "No one ever told me what happened to her."
Silence settled between them.
"You're a good man," Becky said.
"Don't tell anyone," he smiled. "I'm known for being strict."
Kiplimo giggled.
"Will I see you again, Mum?" he asked.
"I hope so," she said. "I'll try."
"You have a strong mother," Koech told him.
The moment came. Becky hugged her son tightly.
"Study hard. Pray. Be kind. And never forget—I love you."
"I love you too, Mum."
As Koech led Kiplimo away, Becky stood still—her heart broken again, but this time seeded with hope.
She turned toward the dusty road, her eyes misty, her spirit burning with quiet resolve.
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