"He promised to buy me the car I wanted, Mummy!" I shouted, tears stinging my eyes. "He said if I kept quiet, he would send me to London for my PhD. If I told you, he said he would cut both of us off and leave us with nothing! I did it for us!"
The air in the room felt thick. My mother looked at the man she had been married to for twenty-five years. Chief Segun walked down the stairs, looking calm in his white agbada. He didn't look ashamed. He didn't even look at my mother. He walked straight to Bolatito and put a hand on her shoulder.
"Funke, don't make a scene," my father said coldly. "Bolatito is carrying the son you could never give me. After three girls, I need a replacement. I have already contacted the lawyers. You have two weeks to pack your things and move to the village house."
"The village?" My mother gasped. "I built this life with you! I sold my gold to pay your first office rent!"
"And I am paying you back with a roof over your head in the village," he snapped. "Seyi is staying here with me because she knows how to be loyal. She chose her future over your drama."
Bolatito smirked, rubbing her flat stomach. "Aunty, don't be bitter. It’s just life. Seyi, tell her to leave quietly so we can have dinner."
My mother looked at me, hoping I would defend her. But I thought about the London visa on my table. I thought about the poverty waiting for us if we left. I stepped back, away from my mother, and stood next to my father and his pregnant mistress.
"Mummy, please just go," I whispered. "Don't make this harder."
My mother began to laugh. It was a high, scary sound. She reached into her handbag and pulled out a small, crumpled envelope.
"You want a son, Segun? You want a replacement?" She threw a piece of paper at him. "Read that DNA result from the hospital. Read it and tell me which of 'your' three daughters actually belongs to you."
The room went dead silent. My father’s hand trembled as he picked up the paper.
My father’s face turned from anger to pure terror as he scanned the document. He looked at me, then at my sisters standing by the door, then back at my mother.
"None of them?" he whispered. "Not even Seyi?"
"None," my mother said, her voice now cold as ice. "You were busy chasing small girls and thinking you were a lion. I knew you were sterile since the second year of our marriage. I did what I had to do to keep this family 'respectable.' I gave you children to carry your name so the world wouldn't mock you."
Bolatito stepped away from my father as if he were on fire. The "son" she was carrying suddenly felt like a heavy weight. If my father couldn't produce children, then the baby in her womb wasn't his.
Continued on the next page
