"My Father's Dark Secret."

Chapter Five: The Words That Almost Escaped Keeping the proof felt heavier than finding it.My phone became a secret vault. Every time I held it, I remembered the screenshots hidden inside — conversations that could shatter our home in seconds.I started watching my mother more closely.She still moved around the house with careful grace. Still defended him when church members praised his “discipline.” Still called him “a good man” in conversations with relatives.Sometimes I would open my mouth to speak.“Mum, I need to tell you something—”But the words never finished forming.Because how do you tell a woman that the man she prays beside every night belongs to other women in secret?One afternoon, I found her folding laundry in her room. Sunlight streamed through the curtains, soft and peaceful. It felt like the safest moment I would ever get.“Mum,” I started.She looked up and smiled. “What is it, my dear?”My heart pounded. This was it.“I… I think Daddy—”The bedroom door opened.We both turned.My father stood there.He hadn’t knocked.He hadn’t spoken.He just stood there.Watching.His eyes moved from me to my mother and back again.“What do you think Daddy what?” he asked calmly.The air shifted.My throat closed instantly. “Nothing. I was just asking about school fees.”He stepped further into the room.And then he inhaled.Slow. Deep. Measured.Not explosive.Suspicious.My mother didn’t notice. She returned to folding clothes. But his eyes remained on me a second longer than necessary.He knew something.That evening, he called me into his study.The same study where I had first seen Sister Amaka sitting too close.He closed the door gently.“Is there anything you would like to tell me?” he asked, leaning back in his chair.His voice was soft.Too soft.My palms grew damp. “No, Daddy.”He studied my face carefully, like a man searching for cracks in glass.“You’ve been quiet lately,” he continued. “Observant.”The word felt deliberate.“I’m just growing up,” I replied.A faint smile touched his lips — but it didn’t reach his eyes.He stood and walked toward me slowly.Then he stopped close enough for me to hear it.That breath.Slow. Heavy. Controlled.“If you ever feel confused about anything you see or hear in this house,” he said gently, “come to me. Not your mother.”The warning was clear.He didn’t know exactly what I had discovered.But he knew I had discovered something.That night, I lay awake staring at my ceiling.The proof was still on my phone.My mother was still unaware.And my father was no longer careless.I had almost spoken.He had almost accused.We were both standing on the edge of the same secret.And I realized something chilling:This was no longer just about his affairs.It was about control.And he could sense that control slipping.Now the tension is tight.

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