I was the only son out of four children. I was the youngest too, but that didn't make me receive the "last born" treatment. I had terrible sisters who beat me at every little mistake I made, my father was a disciplinarian and my mother was just there. My mother didn't stay with us; she chose business over family. My sister and I lived with our father in Lagos, while mum traded in one of the Northern States. She only visited once a year, so, I didn't experience mother's love like most of my friends did.
My mother didn't pay us a visit throughout 2016; I had to ask father if he had finally filed for a divorce and he replied with a different answer. I left his room for mine after I figured he wasn't ready to discuss family issues.
I was cleaning up father's room the following day when I stumbled upon his diary and I opened to read out of curiosity. I saw a love poem written to one Hajarat and a passport of a young woman was attached to the poem. I suspected father already filed for a divorce and had seen another woman to replace mother.
Although I loved my sisters less, but they were the only one I could tell about my finding. I told them to stop dad from chasing mum out of his life and marrying another wife. They looked at each other and remained silent. One decided to ask where I got the information from after a moment of silence. I showed them the diary but none of them was surprised. What I saw on their faces was worry. My eldest sister hugged me for the first time and warned me not to confront dad after she we disengaged from the long hug.
I never took heed to any of my sisters' advice; father was seated on his favourite couch when I asked him if he intended introducing to us a new mother. He focused his hardened gaze on me without saying a word. I pressed further. I asked him if mother couldn't do what Hajarat was coming to do. His hardened look became soft, it looked like I broke him. In a cracked voice, he asked where I heard the name from. I told him I didn't hear but saw the name written in his own ink. I expected him to let out a roar but he didn't. Instead, he offered me a seat.
Father told me he didn't plan to marry Hajarat but married her years ago. He also told me she died after she delivered her first child. I felt sorry for him but that didn't stop me from asking who the child was.
I couldn't hold back my tears after I listened to father's revelation. I had thought my stepmother was my mother for seventeen years. I never knew my mother and I never experienced mother's love at all.
©Aminu Abdulmumeen
#ANSAShortStoryoftheWeekContest
I was the only son out of four children. I was the youngest too, but that didn't make me receive the "last born" treatment. I had terrible sisters who beat me at every little mistake I made, my father was a disciplinarian and my mother was just there. My mother didn't stay with us; she chose business over family. My sister and I lived with our father in Lagos, while mum traded in one of the Northern States. She only visited once a year, so, I didn't experience mother's love like most of my friends did.
My mother didn't pay us a visit throughout 2016; I had to ask father if he had finally filed for a divorce and he replied with a different answer. I left his room for mine after I figured he wasn't ready to discuss family issues.
I was cleaning up father's room the following day when I stumbled upon his diary and I opened to read out of curiosity. I saw a love poem written to one Hajarat and a passport of a young woman was attached to the poem. I suspected father already filed for a divorce and had seen another woman to replace mother.
Although I loved my sisters less, but they were the only one I could tell about my finding. I told them to stop dad from chasing mum out of his life and marrying another wife. They looked at each other and remained silent. One decided to ask where I got the information from after a moment of silence. I showed them the diary but none of them was surprised. What I saw on their faces was worry. My eldest sister hugged me for the first time and warned me not to confront dad after she we disengaged from the long hug.
I never took heed to any of my sisters' advice; father was seated on his favourite couch when I asked him if he intended introducing to us a new mother. He focused his hardened gaze on me without saying a word. I pressed further. I asked him if mother couldn't do what Hajarat was coming to do. His hardened look became soft, it looked like I broke him. In a cracked voice, he asked where I heard the name from. I told him I didn't hear but saw the name written in his own ink. I expected him to let out a roar but he didn't. Instead, he offered me a seat.
Father told me he didn't plan to marry Hajarat but married her years ago. He also told me she died after she delivered her first child. I felt sorry for him but that didn't stop me from asking who the child was.
I couldn't hold back my tears after I listened to father's revelation. I had thought my stepmother was my mother for seventeen years. I never knew my mother and I never experienced mother's love at all.
©Aminu Abdulmumeen
#ANSAShortStoryoftheWeekContest
