“Amaka! Amaka! Where are you? Do this, do that! That’s all I’ve been hearing since morning.”

I held my head in my hands, wondering if it would fall off from how much my madam had been shouting. I looked down at my worn-out slippers and sighed. “Omo, make this slipper hold me till i finish today.”

At seventeen, while other children were busy with school, I was busy serving a woman who never seemed satisfied with whatever I did.

My father was a wealthy farmer, and my mother sold goods at the village market. Yet, in our home, my younger brother’s education mattered more than mine. They believed girls belonged in the kitchen, so I found work while saving every little money I earned to register for WAEC.

When my results came out, I passed excellently and gained admission to study law. I thought my father would finally support me and be proud of me, but when I approached him for help with my fees, he told me to use my savings to pay my brother’s school fees.

Something broke inside me.

“Papa, na my own money! I beg you... I beg you for school fees! Now you wan make I give am to Chidi?” I shouted, unable to stop myself any longer.

He called me disrespectful. My mother called me a stubborn girl because I talked back at him. I took my money and left in anger, determined to make it on my own.

University was harder than I had imagined. There were days I attended lectures with an empty stomach. I remember the week I had to save for a textbook while eating once a day just to get a good grade. It was pure torture. There were nights I studied until my eyes burned because I had spent the day working to survive.

Years later, I was called to Bar. I bought my wig from a small store in Yaba. I stood backstage waiting as they called names. When they called 'Amaka Okoro,' my legs shook. I walked to the stage in tears, scanning the crowd for my father's face. He wasn't there. I gave my speech and went to celebrate alone.

I thought I had left my past behind until I met a young man outside a restaurant in the city.

“Amaka?” he called.

I turned and stared at him, struggling to recognise the grown man standing before me. Then it clicked.

“Chidi?”

My younger brother smiled, and we hugged. For a moment, I forgot all the years we had spent apart. We talked about our lives, laughed awkwardly at old memories, and then I asked about our parents.

His smile faded.

“Papa died some time ago.”

I went quiet. My father was gone. I had missed his burial without even knowing he was dead. I had spent years imagining what I would say if I ever saw him again, but now I would never get the chance.

Chidi looked at me for a moment before speaking again.

“You know, Papa used to talk about you. When he heard how successful you had become from one of the village boys who went to the city, he would tell people his daughter was studying law. He even showed people your picture. He had asked the boy to snap one whenever he saw you.”

“Papa was proud of you, Amaka,” he added softly.

I returned to the village with Chidi and stood beside my father’s grave, tears rolling down my cheeks.

“Papa, I did it,” I whispered. “I became a lawyer. I just wish you had told me you were proud of me.”

I had spent years fighting to prove I deserved a future.

Standing at his grave, I finally understood that I had deserved one all along.