Chapter 2 Plans And Promises

Victoria lay awake long after the lights went out in her parent's bedroom. She heard the murmur of the news on the living room TV fade into silence, the kitchen sink gurgle as the last dish was washed. Eventually, the house grew still. But sleep never came.

She stared at the ceiling, numb and alert at the same time, her body froze under the weight of fear. The day's events echoed through her head: Charles's rejection, her parent's anger, the word marriage hanging over her like a noose. Her father hadn't said who he intended to marry her to, but the possibilities terrified her. Older men in the community. Widowers. Business partners with debt to repay.

Victoria was seventeen.

She rose from the bed quietly, careful not to make the floorboards not to creak. She moved like a ghost through her own room, retrieving a small suitcase from the back of the closet. It was dusty from years of disuse, still with stickers from a family vacation to Cape Town stuck to the side. It felt strange, unreal, to be packing it now, not for a trip, but for escape.

She packed slowly and with trembling hands. A few changes of clothes. Her ID. The small bundle of money she'd tucked away in a shoebox, the savings from tutoring classmates in math. It was barely R800, but it was all she had. She packed her rosary, the necklace from her grandmother, and her worn journal, pages full of poems and dreams and thoughts she never dared speak aloud.

She paused when she reached her baby scan, the one she had secretly gone for on her own, using a friend's help and a fake excuse to skip school. The tiny form on the printout, no bigger than her thumb, had made it real. This wasn't just a problem. It was a person. Her child.

She folded it carefully and placed it inside her journal.

She couldn't stay.

She had no plan. No destination. Only a belief, deep and fierce , that anywhere was better than here.

-

At midnight, she crept downstairs. Her parent's room door was closed. Her heart pounding with every step. She had written a note, short, apologetic, desperate:

I'm sorry I couldn't be what you wanted.

I'm sorry I let you down.

But I have to go. I need to find a life where I can

raise this child with love, not fear.

I hope one day you'll understand.

-Victoria

She left it on the kitchen counter beneath the sugar bowl. She didn't want them to find it too quickly. By the time they read it, she needed to be long gone.

She slipped out the front door and into the dark, silent morning.

The street was empty. She pulled her coat tighter around her and started walking, no destination in her mind, just away. She checked the time on her phone , and it was 03:00 in the morning.

She avoided the main road and took back paths, familiar shortcuts from childhood bike rides and visits to neighbors. Every sound felt amplified, the bark of a dog , the buzz of a generator, her own footsteps on the pavement. She kept moving.

She reached the bus park just after three. The first few drivers where calling out routes, preparing for the morning rush. She kept her head down and chose the most random destination that came to mind: Bloemfontein. Big. Distant. Anonymous.

She walked up to the conductor, voice barely above a whisper . "How much to Bloemfontein?"

"R250," he said without looking up.

She handed over the cash and climbed aboard.

The bus was half full, traders, tired looking parents. No one paid her any mind. She sank into a corner seat and hugged her suitcase to her chest.

As the bus was pulled away, her heart ached. She was leaving everything she'd ever known. Her school. Her neighborhood. Her mother's cooking. Her father's stern silences .

But she didn't cry.

This time, she felt something else stirring beneath the fear.

Resolve.

The journey was long. The bus rattled over uneven roads, swerved through traffic, and made too many stops. Victoria stared out the window as towns flew past. Her phone buzzed once, her mother. Then again her father.

She turned it off.

If she listened to their voices now, she might lose her nerve.

-

They reached Bloemfontein, she stepped off the bus.

The morning air in Bloemfontein was sharp and dry, carrying the scent of dust and diesel. Her heart was hammering in her chest. This wasn't home. Pretoria was noisy and familiar; Bloemfontein was wide, stretched out, and foreign. She'd chosen it from the list of destinations at the terminal in desperation, far enough from her parents, unknown enough to disappear.

But now that she was here, standing on unfamiliar pavement with barely few hundred rand to her name, the gravity of her choice settled in her bones.

She was completely alone.

Now what?

She found a spot under a covered bench near a kiosk and sat down. She had no hotel. No relatives. Her savings were already down by a third. Her stomach growled , but she ignored it.

She needed a plan. Fast.

Hours passed. The sun dipped below the skyline. The city didn't sleep, but Victoria's body begged for rest. She found a small eatery and bought a plate of rice and beans for R40. She ate slowly, stretching the moment. Her first meal of the day.

That night, she wandered until she found a church that kept it's gates open. The compound was quiet, it's benches empty. She sat beneath the overhang and curled up with her bag beneath her head.

She prayed silently, not just for safety, but for direction.

She fell asleep to the hum of traffic and the hope that she had done the right thing.

She woke at dawn, stiff and cold, but alive. A woman sweeping the church entrance gave her a cautious look but said nothing.

Victoria stood, stretched, and dusted herself off. She didn't know what day it was anymore, only that it was the first full day of her new life.

She had ran from home.

Now, she had to figure out how to survive.