Obie nodded. “Yes, Mother. I’m almost done. Just the dishes, then the shoes.”
“Almost done is not enough,” she snapped. “Hurry up, you lazy boy. Your siblings are waiting for their breakfast.”
Later that day, Obie sadly watched his stepbrother Jude and stepsister Amara sitting at the large dining table. They laughed as they filled their plates with delicious food and sweet mangoes.
“Look at this tasty food, Jude,” Amara said. “Mother makes the best meals.”
Jude nodded, his mouth full. “And these mangoes are so sweet.”
Obie, who had just finished washing pots and pans, stood by the kitchen door. He was hungry. He hoped for just a little food.
His stepmother entered and stopped in front of him.
“Obie, why are you standing there? Don’t you have more work to do?”
Obie felt sad. “But Mother, can I please have a little something to eat? I haven’t eaten since morning.”
She laughed loudly. “Eat? You’ve been slow all day. There is no food for lazy people. Go water the garden.”
Obie swallowed hard. He felt invisible, like a shadow in his own home. He was treated worse than the housemaid, a kind woman who sometimes secretly gave him bread or a comforting smile when no one was looking.
His father, a busy and important man, eventually noticed the changes in his son. He saw Obie’s tired eyes, his thin body, and how Obie flinched whenever his stepmother spoke. He felt sorry for the boy.
One evening, after the stepmother had unfairly yelled at Obie for spilling a cup of water, his father finally spoke up.
“My dear, you are being too hard on Obie,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “He works harder than anyone in this house. He deserves kindness and proper meals, just like the others.”
The stepmother narrowed her eyes. She did not like being told what to do, especially when it concerned Obie.
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