I loved my dad so much, but he loved her too much to listen. (Ep3)

By the time I turned thirteen and entered JSS2, I had almost stopped thinking about the key and the picture. Almost. My stepmother never asked me about them. Sometimes I’d catch her standing in my doorway, looking at my bag, my desk, or my wardrobe. If I looked up, she’d smile too quickly, ruffle my hair, and leave. After a while, she stopped. Or maybe she just got better at not getting caught. I barely got to see my dad, but whenever he was home, he was gentle with me, and over the years, my stepmother became nicer too. She started getting me little things, sometimes taking me out for ice cream. At first, I didn’t know what to make of it. I watched her more than I talked to her. I noticed the little things without meaning to. But months rolled into years, and you can only keep watching someone for so long without finding anything before you start wondering if the problem is actually you. Maybe I had been overthinking everything as a kid. Maybe my dad had been right all along. Maybe I just needed time to get used to having a stepmother. Besides, I had school. Friends. JSS2. I had Suzanne. Suzanne was my best friend and an orphan. She lived with her aunt and told me everything. Sometimes we’d sit by the school lockers after closing hours, gisting about things that didn’t even matter. One afternoon, I barely joined in the conversation at our desk. Suzanne noticed before I said anything. “What’s wrong with you today?” I looked at her, trying to pretend I was fine. For some reason, telling her felt harder than I expected. I had carried the picture and the key in my head for years, but saying the story aloud made it sound different. I looked at Suzanne again, and before I could change my mind, my mouth betrayed me. “Ehen...” I started. “What would you do if you suspected your parents were keeping a major secret from you?” She looked at me properly then. “Like, if you have actual proof? If I have, me I’ll just ask them o,” she said. “I’ll tell them what I’m feeling and make them open up.” It sounded so simple coming from her, but her answer followed me all the way home. That evening, I made up my mind. I was going to sit my dad down and ask him point-blank. I’d ask him about my mother. I’d tell him about the key and the picture. I wanted to know why my stepmother had a picture of my mum and what that key was meant to open. More than anything, I wanted to know why everyone had been keeping things from me. I thought I was finally ready for whatever answers were coming. I just didn’t know I’d never get the chance. The next afternoon, I came home alone. My stepmother had taken the car, so I had to find my own way home from the bus stop. The house was quiet. I dropped my bag on the sofa. That was when I heard her voice upstairs. My stepmother was talking on the phone. I couldn’t hear the other person, only her. She wasn’t shouting, but she was loud enough for me to hear. She sounded angry, though she was clearly trying to keep her voice under control. I walked up the stairs and stopped halfway. I couldn't hear everything from there, but I could hear enough. Maybe I should have gone back downstairs. Maybe I should have called out to her. Instead, I stayed. “I know she went through my bag. She saw the picture. She saw the key.” I couldn't hear anything from the other end. “So when are you going to tell her?” she continued. “You promised me. Before her. Before all of this...” “No! I knew her mother. You knew that.” Her voice dropped. By the time she said the next words, it sounded as though she was fighting back tears. “So tell Chidera the truth. Or I will.” My name. For a second, everything else in the house seemed to disappear. “I didn’t come here to play. I came for what I was promised.” Whatever answer came from the other end was too low for me to catch. “What does that make me now?” I heard her breathe shakily. “Your side piece?” My heartbeat raced. Was it my dad? I tried to find another explanation. There wasn't one that made sense. Why would my dad be talking to her about my mother like this? Then she said, “Whatever was left for Chidera belongs to Chidera.” I could barely hear my own breathing. “If you won’t tell her the truth, then give me what is rightfully mine.” My dad. My mother. My stepmother. The picture. The key. Things I had spent years telling myself didn't matter suddenly lined up in my head, one after another. And this time, I couldn't push the thought away. Maybe the person on that phone really was my father. I didn't wait to hear more. I went downstairs quietly, let myself out of the gate and stood by the roadside. I just stood there, trying to breathe. Cars passed. People walked by. Someone was selling sachet water across the road. I remember seeing all of it and feeling completely disconnected from it. I didn't know where to go. I didn't know who to trust anymore. And I didn't know what I was supposed to do with everything I had just heard. After a while, the gate opened behind me. “Chidera?” I turned to face her. She was standing at the door. “There you are. I didn't hear the gate.” “I just got back,” I said. She looked at me for a second longer than usual. “Come inside, why’re you now standing under the sun?” I followed her in. She walked ahead of me like nothing had happened. I followed quietly. All I could think about was the phone call. Was it really my dad? I wanted to ask him, but what would I even say? “Daddy, were you with her before Mummy?” “Daddy, did you marry Mummy for money?” “Daddy, what did you promise her?” The questions kept running through my head. I wasn't sure I wanted the answers anymore. Because if that phone call was true, then the key and the picture were only the beginning.

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