The Things Mama Never Told Us - by #Lightwords✨

THE THINGS MAMA NEVER TOLD US Episode One: The Things We Buried With Mama Mama was buried on a Saturday. By Sunday, everybody had gone back to their lives. Everybody except me. The house had become strangely quiet. The same people who had filled our sitting room with prayers, tears, and words of comfort the previous day had suddenly remembered they had somewhere else to be. Even the neighbours who had spent the entire week calling Mama a good woman had stopped coming around. And I was left alone with the woman I thought I knew. I sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the empty space where she used to sit every evening, rubbing her feet and asking me questions I rarely answered properly. Have you eaten? How was your day? Why do you always look like the world is fighting you? I would roll my eyes and tell her I was fine. Now, I would give anything to hear those questions again. My phone vibrated. Damilare: Have you eaten? I almost laughed. Of all the people in the world, Damilare was the only person who could ask me that question and make me feel like somebody still remembered I existed. We had known each other for years. He knew when I was pretending to be happy, when I needed silence, and when I needed him to keep talking until the thoughts in my head finally settled. He had been there throughout Mama's illness. He had held my hand at the funeral when I couldn't stand properly. And when everyone went home, he stayed. Sometimes, I wondered what I would have done without him. Me: No. I'm not hungry. His reply came almost immediately. Damilare: Teni, please eat something. I stared at his message for a while before dropping my phone beside me. I wasn't hungry. I wasn't sleepy. I wasn't even sure what I was feeling anymore. I only knew that Mama was gone, and there were so many things I had never asked her. A knock interrupted my thoughts. It was Aunty Morenike, Mama's younger sister. She stood at the doorway holding a small brown envelope. "Teni, your mother asked me to give you this." I looked at the envelope. "When?" She hesitated. "Before she died." My heart skipped. "Why didn't you give it to me at the hospital?" "Because she made me promise to wait until after her burial." I reached for it, but Aunty Morenike pulled it back slightly. "There's something you need to understand," she said quietly. "Whatever you find inside, don't be too quick to judge your mother." I frowned. "What does that mean?" She looked at me for a long moment. Then she placed the envelope in my hands and left. I didn't call her back. I couldn't. My fingers trembled as I opened it. Inside was a folded letter and an old photograph. The photograph showed Mama standing beside a much younger woman. They were smiling, but that wasn't what caught my attention. A little girl stood between them. A girl who looked exactly like me. I turned the photograph over. Three words were written at the back in Mama's handwriting. She must never know. My mouth went dry. I unfolded the letter, hoping it would explain what I was looking at. Instead, the first sentence made my whole body go cold. "Teni, if you are reading this, it means I have died without telling you who your father really is."

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