"Where were you?"
I froze in the entryway of my family's marui, my mother's voice cutting through the evening air like a knife. She stood there with her arms crossed, expression sharp and accusing.
"What do you mean?" I asked, blinking in confusion. It had been my day off, and I'd spent most of it at my secret cove, swimming with my ilu, Rini. I hadn't even been on the main island, so what could I possibly have done wrong this time?
"You should know exactly what I mean." Her tone was flat, clipped. "Where were you when your sister was made fun of by those other boys?"
My brows furrowed. I had no idea what she was talking about. "Sa'nok... ma... I don't know what boys these are!"
"You know, Reyate and 'Aevo, and their friends," she snapped.
I just stared at her. "Who? I don't even know those boys. There's no way I could've done anything."
"Still. You should have been there."
I gaped at her. "What? Do you expect me to be everywhere at once? These are your children, not mine. I don't know what you expect me to do, but I can't control other kids. I'm not your babysitter."
Her silence was answer enough. Fury boiled in my chest, and before I said something unforgivable, I stormed out of the hut and down toward the shore. The waves lapped gently at the sand, but all I could feel was rage.
How could she expect me to parent my siblings when all she did was sit in the marui or pick fruit? I was twenty-two. Old enough to live on my own. Old enough to decide my own path. Yet still, I remained here — because she wanted me to. Because she wanted me to carry the burdens she'd long since set aside.
But I wasn't a child anymore. I had passed my rites, I bore my markings, I had duties as a warrior of the clan. And still, she treated me like little more than a handmaid, a stand-in parent.
Not anymore.
I walked farther down the beach, the decision settling like a stone in my chest. Enough was enough. I needed space, freedom. A life of my own.
The chiefs' marui wasn't far, its woven structure standing tall among the mangrove roots. I climbed up into the network of walkways, feet steady on the swaying planks, and made my way toward Tonowari and Ronal's hut.
Peeking inside, I found them both at home, speaking quietly. My throat tightened with nerves, but I cleared it softly. Tonowari looked up, then smiled when he saw me.
"Ayla," he said warmly, beckoning me forward. "Come. Sit. What brings you here?"
I sank down before them, trying to hold my voice steady. "I was hoping... maybe... if I could move into my own marui?"
Their eyes flicked to each other, surprise clear in their expressions. Ronal leaned forward. "Is there a reason?"
I swallowed. "My mother has kept me tied to her pod for as long as she could. But I am tired of being forced to raise my siblings when I have my own duties. I am a warrior now, a member of the clan. I've worked hard for that. I deserve to live as one."
I hesitated, then pushed further, the words spilling faster.
"I mean no disrespect, Tsahìk — as a mother yourself, I know you would not do this. But my parents all but forgot me when my siblings came. I was six years old, and they put a spear in my hands because someone had to protect us. I taught myself to fight. I grew up too soon, and they still look down on me for becoming a warrior. My mother still tries to force healer's lessons on me, like I'm a child."
My voice cracked. "I am twenty-two. I only ask for independence. For a space of my own. If there is an empty marui, of course."
Silence hung heavy in the room. When I finally looked up, Ronal's face was stricken — horror and pity written across her features. Tonowari's eyes softened with sorrow.
"Ayla..." he said gently, his voice low. "We did not know."
"You should not have had to bear that pain," Ronal murmured. "No child should." She reached for my hand, squeezing it. "Of course you may have your own marui. But remember — you are always welcome in ours."
My chest ached at her kindness. I managed a small, pained smile. "Thank you. Both of you. It means more than you know."
They rose, pulling me into an embrace. For a heartbeat, I felt like I belonged — like I was seen.
"Would you like to move in now?" Tonowari asked.
"Please," I said, my voice breaking with desperation.
They guided me through the network of huts until we reached an empty marui, its frame bare but sturdy, waiting for life to fill it.
"This will be yours," Tonowari said with a kind smile.
Tears stung my eyes. "Thank you." I hugged him tightly, then Ronal.
"I'll get my things," I promised. "Right now."
They chuckled softly at my eagerness. "Go," Ronal said. "And remember, if you need anything, you know where to find us."
The walk back to my parents' marui felt heavier. My stomach twisted at the thought of my mother's inevitable scorn. But when I arrived, the place was empty.
Part of me was relieved. Another part — the one that still wished for a sliver of care — was hollow.
I gathered my belongings quickly. A few clothes, my weapons, and a woven rug I'd made as a child during one of the classes my mother forced on me. It wasn't perfect, but it was mine.
When I carried it into my new marui and spread it across the floor, the space immediately felt different. Not full — not yet — but not empty, either.
That evening, I joined the clan for the nightly feast. The air was full of laughter and conversation, the smell of roasted fish and seaweed filling my lungs. I slipped in quietly, taking a portion and sitting alone on the edges of the gathering.
I watched families eat together, heads bent close, voices mingling. A pang of longing pierced through me. Part of me wished my family would look for me, ask where I had gone, wonder why I wasn't with them. Part of me still wished they cared.
But they didn't.
When the feast ended and the clan dispersed, I followed the others back into the tangle of marui. My steps carried me to mine — my home, now.
It was quiet inside, the sea breeze stirring the woven walls. Empty, yes. Lonely, yes.
But it was mine.
And tonight, for the first time in my life, I would sleep as my own person.
