THE THINGS MAMA NEVER TOLD US

Episode Two: The Family Left Behind

I read the sentence again.

And again.

"Teni, if you are reading this, it means I have died without telling you who your father really is."

For a moment, I forgot how to breathe.

My father was alive. He had stood beside Mama's grave yesterday, accepted condolences from relatives, and gone home without saying much to anyone.

He was a quiet man. Distant, sometimes. The kind of father who could sit in the same room with you and still feel miles away.

But he was my father.

At least, that was what I had always believed.

I folded the letter and slipped it back into the envelope just as someone knocked on the door.

"Teni?"

Kemi.

My elder sister pushed the door open without waiting for an answer. She looked exhausted. Her eyes were swollen from crying, and her wrapper hung loosely around her waist.

"Have you eaten anything today?"

I shook my head.

She sighed and sat beside me.

"You're going to make yourself sick."

I wanted to tell her that I was already sick. Not in the way she meant, but in a way I couldn't explain.

Instead, I asked, "Kemi, did you know anything about Mama keeping secrets from us?"

She turned to look at me.

"What kind of question is that?"

"A simple one."

"Teni, we're all grieving. Please don't start looking for problems where there aren't any."

I stared at her.

"I haven't even told you what I found."

For the briefest moment, something changed in her expression.

Then she stood.

"Whatever it is, leave it for now. We have enough to deal with."

She walked out before I could ask another question.

I sat there, wondering why everybody suddenly wanted me to stop asking questions.

By the time Dayo came home that evening, I had read Mama's letter so many times that I could almost recite the first sentence from memory.

He found me in the sitting room, holding the old photograph.

"What's that?"

"Something Mama left for me."

He reached for it, but I pulled it away.

"Relax, I'm not going to eat it."

Under normal circumstances, I would have laughed.

Today, I didn't.

I showed him the photograph.

Mama stood beside a woman I had never seen before. A little girl stood between them, smiling at whoever had taken the picture.

Dayo studied it for a few seconds before handing it back.

"Who is she?"

"That's what I'm trying to find out."

I told him about the letter.

When I finished, he leaned back and rubbed his face.

"Whatever Mama did, Teni, she was still our mother."

"I'm not saying she wasn't. I'm asking why she couldn't tell me the truth."

"And what if the truth hurts more than not knowing?"

His voice was quieter now.

I looked at him.

"Do you know something?"

"No."

He answered too quickly.

Then he stood and walked away.

I was beginning to hate how easily people could leave a conversation when they didn't want to answer a question.

That night, I called Damilare.

He picked up on the second ring.

"Teni?"

I didn't realise how badly I needed to hear his voice until I heard it.

"Have you ever known something about me that you couldn't tell me?"

Silence.

Then he asked, "Why are you asking?"

I told him about the letter. About Mama's words. About the photograph and the woman standing beside her.

He listened without interrupting.

When I mentioned the year written at the bottom of the photograph, his breathing changed.

"2009?" he asked.

I sat upright.

"Yes. How did you know?"

"Teni, listen to me. Whatever you find out, don't be too quick to judge your mother."

I closed my eyes.

I had heard those exact words before.

From Aunty Morenike.

"Why is everybody telling me the same thing?" I whispered. "What happened in 2009, Dami?"

He didn't answer.

Instead, he asked, "Did Mama leave you anything else? Any other photograph?"

I stared at the picture in my hand.

There was something I hadn't noticed before.

A name was written faintly on the back, beneath the date.

Ronke.

I barely recognised it until I remembered the woman my family rarely spoke about.

Aunty Ronke.

Mama's estranged sister.

I turned towards the hallway, where Kemi stood frozen, watching me.

She had seen the name.

Her face had gone pale.

"Teni," she whispered, "where did you get that photograph?"

I held it tighter.

"From Mama."

Kemi shook her head slowly.

Then she said something that made the room feel colder than it already was.

"You need to put that away before Daddy sees it."