The First Daughter

Sade rolled her eyes.
“Yes, Mum,” she said into the speakerphone, absently fiddling with the plaque on her desk.

Sade Atieno, Senior Associate, LLB, LLM

“Mama, I hear you, okay?” she said again, her voice strained with exasperation. “But you have to understand that right now I do not have that kind of money. I’ll send you something before the end of the month.”

She glanced at the clock on the wall. Five minutes to nine. The appointment beacon beside it flashed green. Her client had arrived. 

“Mama, can we talk later? I have a client.”

After a few hurried goodbyes, she hung up and sank heavily into her chair.

Her office was small but orderly. A polished mahogany desk occupied most of the room, its surface neatly arranged with stacked files, a brass pen holder, and a dying peace lily she kept forgetting to water. Against the opposite wall sat a low coffee table and a maroon upholstered bench where most of her older clients preferred to sit instead of the leather chairs. Outside was the reception area, where her secretary, Tendo, handled calls and appointments with military precision.

Sade had practiced law for twelve years, four of those running her own firm. Family law was her specialty, though she occasionally handled civil matters when the pay was good enough.

The moment her mother heard she had opened her own practice, the demands multiplied.

“You need to pay your brother’s school fees.”

“Our roof is leaking, Sade. It is your responsibility as the firstborn to take care of this family.”

The requests never stopped. Once, during a particularly bad month, her mother had even suggested she shut down the practice and get married if the business was failing that badly.

Today’s request was for church contributions. The local church was expanding and fundraising for a new sanctuary. Her phone buzzed again.

‘Giving to the Lord is how blessings come, Sade. The Lord only multiplies a generous hand.’

Sade sighed and placed the phone face down on the desk. A file sat open before her.

Tariro Naliaka. Thirty-two years old.

Referred by a previous client. Seeking legal representation in a lawsuit filed by her cousin, Naila Odede.

“Send her in,” Sade said through the intercom as she skimmed through the file once more. She already knew most of the details, but clients trusted you more when they saw you reading carefully.

A soft knock followed.

“Good morning.”

Sade stood and shook the outstretched hand.

“Good morning to you too,” she replied, motioning toward the seat opposite her desk.

Despite being thirty-two, Tariro looked younger. Her brown eyes were bright and alert, though something guarded lingered behind them. Her hair was pulled into a neat bun. Her fingernails were short and painted deep red. She wore a crisp white silk blouse tucked into grey tweed trousers, and a silver heart-shaped pendant rested lightly against her chest. A structured white handbag hung from her forearm.

“Miss Naliaka, I’ve gone through your file, but for the record, tell me about the lawsuit.”

“Please, call me Tariro,” she said, setting her handbag beside her before crossing her legs neatly. “My cousin is suing me for fraud. My aunt, Keziah, died six months ago from gall bladder cancer. In her will, she left all her property to me. Everything was properly documented. But my cousin Naila claims I manipulated her mother and forged the will.”

Usually, Sade jotted notes as clients spoke. But something about Tariro made her stop. It felt as though looking away, even for a second, might cause her to miss something important.

So instead she folded her hands on the desk and listened.

Tariro barely moved while speaking. Her posture remained rigid, almost rehearsed. Occasionally she smiled, revealing perfect white teeth, but the smiles never quite reached her eyes. They felt more like reactions to absurdity than genuine warmth.

“I’ve seen here that you intend to countersue,” Sade said.

“Yes.” 

That single word came sharply. 

“At first I was willing to divide the property because, honestly, part of me felt guilty taking everything. But after the accusations started… After my own family began treating me like a criminal, I changed my mind. I want all of it.”

The corner of her mouth twitched upward slightly.

“At first they accused me of murder. When that failed, they switched to fraud. Now they’re saying I forged signatures.” 

She leaned back in her seat. 

“But do you know the worst part?”

Sade frowned. “What?”

“They’re accusing me of killing the others too.”

“The others?”

“Yes,” Tariro said quietly. “The other family members I took care of.”

For the first time since entering the office, she uncrossed her legs and settled deeper into the chair.

Then she began.

***

“Six years ago, my father became seriously ill with Alzheimer’s. At first it was small things. Misplacing keys. Calling me by my mother’s name. Then it worsened. Some nights he woke up convinced it was morning and tried leaving for work at two a.m. Since my parents were divorced, I became his primary caregiver. I had to pause my master’s degree and handle everything. Hospital appointments, meals, medication schedules, finances. All me.

Dad still received a healthy pension and owned a successful family business, though by then he rarely involved himself in its operations. One afternoon a lawyer came to the house, which was unusual because he rarely received visitors. Dad locked himself in the study with him.

I listened through the door. He was rewriting the will. Everything was being transferred to my younger brother Tito because he was the only son. The house. The business. The land. Everything.  

The next morning, I found my father at the bottom of the staircase. 

There was blood on his forehead. Vomit around his mouth. The coroner ruled it an accident. He supposedly slipped during the night. Cause of death was ruled suffocation.

After the funeral, Tito moved back into the house. He had just finished university. No job. No direction. But suddenly he owned everything. I went back to school afterward. I wanted to finish my master’s before the year ended. Then my mother called me.”

Her imitation of her mother’s voice was clipped and cold. ‘I need you to help your brother. He cannot live alone.’

“So I moved back home. But Tito hated it. He hated being monitored. Hated being advised. Hated anyone implying he needed help. He used to say the will made him rich but powerless.

Mum controlled everything from abroad. She had relocated to the UAE by then, but all the business income still went through her. Tito technically owned the estate, but he could not access most of the money without her approval.”

That, Sade thought, explained a lot.

“He felt trapped,” Tariro continued. “Like everyone had decided his future for him. What job he should take. Who he should marry. How he should behave. Then came the drugs.”

“Drugs?” Sade asked.

Tariro nodded once.

“It started with drinking. Parties. Staying out overnight. Then the opiates came. One day I confronted him and asked what he was doing to himself. He said it helps numb reality. He also told me to mind my own business.”

The room fell quiet except for the faint hum of the air conditioner. Tariro leaned back slightly, staring past Sade as though replaying the memory in real time. 

“Sometimes the drugs were delivered directly to the house. I tried hiding them once but he simply ordered more. One Sunday morning I was heading to church when I saw the dealer approaching our gate.”

“The dealer?”

“A pedi. Young. Maybe twenty-three. I watched him knock. Tito opened the gate, took the package, then sent the payment through mobile money like it was the most normal thing in the world.”

“And what did you do?”

Tariro’s eyes settled calmly on Sade again.

“I went to church.”

***

Sade offered Tariro a glass of water. 

“Thank you,” she said, setting the glass carefully on the table. “I am a responsible daughter, Sade. My brother’s keeper, as the Bible says. But that day… I just wanted to be away for a while. Away from responsibility.”

Sade nodded. She understood exactly what Tariro meant. Growing up in the village as the eldest daughter, responsibility had always found Sade first. Her brothers’ education came before hers. She survived on church scholarships, laundry jobs, and commissions from selling stationery to students just to stay afloat through university. Meanwhile her brothers received allowances from the farm without question.

Tariro cleared her throat and Sade’s mind snapped back to the present.

“So what happened after the service?”

Tariro straightened and continued, “That Sunday after church, I passed by a friend’s house for a baby shower. I planned to stay until evening, but midway through the afternoon my mother called sounding frantic. Saying she had tried reaching Tito several times with no answer.

I left immediately. When I arrived home, I found Tito sprawled at the foot of the staircase. Just like our dad. Vomit stained his mouth and shirt. The official report called it an overdose. Mother blamed me instantly.

‘You had one job, Tariro. One!’ she screamed on the phone. 

That marked the end of my university education. Mother refused to pay the remaining tuition balance and locked me out of the family home soon after. It was Aunt Keziah who came looking. She invited me to her house. Saying I could stay for as long as I needed. I was just happy to have a roof over my head.”

Tariro gave a faint laugh and shook her head.

“At the time, Aunt Keziah’s cancer was still in its early stages. She underwent weekly chemotherapy sessions and swallowed handfuls of pills every morning and evening. Just as I had cared for my father before, I now took care of my aunt. Though wealthy by most standards, she still preferred having me around. Calling me her ‘emotional blanket’. The nurses only came during the day.

Naila called occasionally. Asked how her mother was doing, whether we needed anything. But she never actually came, even though she lived barely an hour away. I still updated her after every hospital appointment, medication change, every difficult night. Most times, she barely responded.

Her mother noticed.

When the cancer worsened, she was admitted to hospital. Some relatives visited occasionally. Naila never did.”

Tariro shook her head, eyes fixed on the floor.

“She only did video calls. And eventually, aunty stopped responding to those. All she wanted was her daughter’s presence, and even that seemed too much to ask. Toward the end, she insisted on returning home. The doctors protested, but her mind was made up. She said the drugs only made her weaker and the doctors were selling her false hope.

So they let her leave. 

One evening she called me to her bedroom. The words she said that day have never left me:

‘You are just like me Tariro. The firstborn daughter. Everybody expects us to take care of everyone else. But who takes care of us?’

Sade lowered her eyes briefly. She had asked herself that same question many times. Her family always expected her to show up, to provide, to endure. Yet whenever she struggled, she did so alone. It had never even occurred to her to call home for help.  

Tariro took another sip of the water and continued.

“Aunt Keziah said she had rewritten the will. That I was now the sole heir. Honestly Sade I laughed. Thought it was the drugs making her delirious. But two months later, after the funeral, the lawyer read the will aloud before the family. For the first time in years, Naila showed up in person. The moment she heard my name, the room exploded. The accusations spread quickly through the family WhatsApp group.

‘She killed her father.’

‘She killed Tito.’

‘She manipulated Auntie.’

‘Don’t let her steal everything.’

Even my own mother joined in calling me an opportunist.”

Eventually she looked up. Only then did Sade realize how tightly her own fingers were clasped together.

“I cried every night, Sade,” she said quietly. “They called me a witch. Said death followed wherever I went. Eventually I was put on antidepressants. Still, they kept going.”

Tariro’s eyes glistened for a moment, but she steadied herself before the tears could fall.

“I am ashamed to say that I even contemplated ending my life. But that would mean letting them win. I was bigger than that. Am I not the first daughter? Raised to show no emotion. No vulnerability. No weakness.
When they saw intimidation wasn’t working, the lawsuit followed.”

Tariro drummed her fingers against the edge of the table. She then lay back and folded her arms. The beacon near the door blinked softly, signaling that her next appointment was approaching, but neither woman moved.

When Tariro spoke again, the poker face was gone. Her eyes remained fixed ahead. 

“You know,” she said quietly, “I was given responsibility very young. When other children were outside playing, I was inside helping cook for guests. Taking care of Tito. Cleaning up after people. Being useful.”

She smiled faintly, though there was no warmth in it. “I missed opportunities because somebody always needed me. And when someone finally chose me… they called me a thief.”

Tariro’s voice softened further.

“The night my father died, I heard him wake up. He opened his bedroom door and started walking downstairs. Usually, I would rush out to help him because he wandered at night sometimes. But that night… I was angry. For two years I had taken care of him. Then I overheard that everything would still go to Tito because he was the son.” 

Her eyes finally met Sade’s.
“I heard him fall. I heard him calling Tito’s name.” Her lips trembled slightly. “Then the choking started.”
She swallowed.
“I sat up in bed and for a moment I almost went, but I was tired, Sade… so I lay back down.”

Tears slid down one side of her face.

“Then the choking grew softer, wet, and uneven. Then they stopped. I waited until the morning prayer from the mosque started before going downstairs. He was still there.”

Tariro removed a white handkerchief from her bag and dabbed carefully at her eye. By the time she finished, her composure had returned completely.

She folded her legs neatly.

Then she smiled.

“So tell me, Advocate,” she asked calmly, “do I have a case?”

Sade cleared her throat. Her palms had gone damp.

“Well… legally speaking, your cousin does not have much standing. Your aunt’s lawyer says there’s also a video recording confirming the will. We are going to win this.”

Tariro only nodded.

***

From her office window, Sade watched her step into a waiting cab and disappear into morning traffic. Never before had she wanted to win a case so badly. Perhaps because she understood Tariro more than she wanted to. 

When she struggled in university, her mother told her plainly:

“If school is too hard, come home and marry Okumu.”

There was no place for her in her father’s compound. That belonged to her brothers. Yet those same brothers still lived there with failed businesses, mounting debts, and children whose school fees she now paid.

Every month money left her account and traveled home like tribute. The one time she tried refusing, the insults came immediately.

‘If we suffer, it will be because of you.’

Sade looked at the clock. 

Two hours until her next appointment. She picked up her handbag and told Tendo to push the meeting to the afternoon. 

Then she drove to the bank and applied for a loan. 

Later, she called her mother.

“You’ll receive the money before the end of the week,” she said quietly.

Her mother sounded pleased.

“Good girl,” she replied. “Now all that’s left is for you to find a husband and give me grandchildren before I die.”

Sade lowered the phone slowly. In the dark screen, her reflection stared back at her.