I was carrying the Christmas cake when I overheard my mother say, “Don’t bother asking her. Let your sister have the apartment for free.”
I was carrying the Christmas cake when I overheard my mother say, “Don’t bother asking her. Let your sister have the apartment for free.”
I stood silently behind the door, stunned.
Then I walked in, smiled, and enjoyed dinner like I had heard absolutely nothing.
Episode 3.
The calls didn’t stop.
They came in waves. First angry, then tearful, then desperate.
My mother called me twenty-three times in one hour. My father sent messages demanding I “fix this immediately.” Emeka, who had never once contributed a single naira to anything in his life, had the audacity to text me: “This is not fair to Chioma. She has children.”
As if I didn’t know.
As if I hadn’t been the one buying those children’s Christmas gifts every year while their father chased one failed business after another.
