_”If you decide you’re done, just let me know. I won’t bother you, I won’t hold you. Let me know, if you’re not interested anymore, I won’t disturb you, I won’t restrain you. But don’t call me back, oh please don’t call me back! When you see that I’m with someone else, baby, don’t call me back, don’t call me back when you see I’m with someone new…”_

Amidst the captivating melody, a loud thud against the toilet door startled Batama Sanayi. Unperturbed, she kept the volume of her earphones steady, continuing to follow the rhythm.

_”Even if you call, it won’t connect, because I won’t be there. I won’t be there to help you forget, try another day…”_ She moved her body in a sinuous rhythm, fingers tracing the sudsy contours on her skin.

A forceful knock on the door broke through, even the sound of her music. Hastily, she removed her earphones and turned to face the door.

“It’s your father’s doing that’s keeping you in there!” The voice from outside was accompanied by louder banging.

Her wide eyes seemed ready to leap from their sockets as her body trembled.

*”ZAINAB!”* The voice outside, distinctly maternal, called again, tinged with anger.

“Yes, Mom, I’m coming out!” Her voice quivered as she reached for a hanging towel, hastily wrapping it around herself to preserve some modesty.

She glanced nervously at the door, anxiety preventing her from opening it.

“Why are you taking so long?!” The voice thundered once more, causing her to jump.

With trembling hands, she turned the door handle and rushed out. She collided with the door and sprinted away, her voice echoing loudly in the air.

Her mother remained behind, left with nothing but a metal object she had heated, now sizzling uselessly. Zainab had fled, her flight punctuated by her high-pitched cries.

As Zainab rushed out, her eyes squeezed shut, she continued to call for Daddy. She seemed oblivious to the state of her attire, her short towel barely covering her, and ran past the household workers in the living room.

The workers, taken aback from their tasks, turned to observe the unfolding scene. Their faces wore expressions of anticipation for what was to come, a foreboding sense of the upcoming drama.

With unsaid thoughts, they understood, for it was *HAJIYA* they spotted, chasing after Zainab, cable in hand, calling her name.

They lowered their heads in respect as she passed them, and when she was out of sight, they exchanged knowing glances, silently lamenting *ZAINAB’s* behavior.

Zainab, still running, breezed through the living room, exposing more than she likely intended. Though the workers glanced at her, they held their silence. It was the unspoken rule of the household, and they could predict her desires, a consequence of her station.

As *MADAM* made her appearance, the workers followed Zainab’s lead. They adeptly returned to their tasks, though their eyes spoke volumes about their thoughts on the matter.

The father’s possession, however, seemed poised to take flight. Perched on a chair, he balanced while engrossed in his laptop, engrossed in his manager’s presentation.

“Daddy! Please, help me, I’m three!” Zainab’s voice pierced the air, causing them all to snap to attention, their gazes drawn to the entrance.

The door rattled with her knock, like an eager contender vying for attention.

In the blink of an eye, Zainab was before her father, embracing him tightly.

Her father, taken aback by her urgency, struggled to comprehend amidst her deafening cries. He sat up, seeking an explanation for the commotion.

The manager tactfully edged to the side, eying her as her towel-draped form inadvertently unveiled the upper contours of her breasts and thighs.

Upon *MADAM’s* arrival, he rapidly assumed a more respectful stance, concealing his intentions behind a veneer of decorum.

*MADAM’s* presence prompted a rapid retreat for the manager, who skillfully withdrew to the periphery, his demeanor transformed into one of submission.

Seeing *MADAM’s* entrance, Zainab’s screams grew louder as tears streamed down her cheeks.

Realizing the gravity of the situation, Daddy turned his back, positioning himself between Zainab and *MADAM*. His gaze bore a mixture of anger and apprehension as he glared at his wife.

*MADAM’s* glower caused the manager to hasten his departure, laptop in tow, murmuring polite farewells as he exited.

Though the path was difficult to traverse for *MADAM*, Daddy’s resolute push facilitated her exit. Zainab’s wild screams seemed to fill the air, her body trembling as she clung to Daddy’s chest.

Daddy’s dismissal was met with averted eyes as the workers paid their respects to *MADAM*, averting their gaze from the unfolding scene.

None dared to witness, yet the father’s dominion seemed poised for ascent.

Perched on his chair, Daddy absorbed the scene, his gaze shifting from Zainab to *MADAM*.

As the tempestuous confrontation unfolded, Zainab’s wails grew in intensity, a symphony of chaos that dominated the room.

Daddy took a step forward, positioning himself between Zainab and *MADAM*, his stern expression a barrier to the turmoil.

Despite her struggle, *MADAM* extended a soothing hand toward Zainab, attempting to bridge the divide.

“Hey, Maimuna, what’s gotten into your head?!” Daddy’s voice held both concern and frustration as he sought to make sense of the tumultuous tableau before him.