BOOK TWO CHAPTER THREE: Cracks in the Silence
952 Words
The next morning arrived with a heaviness she couldn’t quite explain. Not sadness. Not fear. Just something sitting under her ribs like a stone she hadn’t noticed until she tried to take a deep breath.
She moved through her routine anyway — because mothers don’t pause simply because their hearts feel heavy.
She dressed the kids.
Packed snacks for both of them.
Checked Ike’s homework.
Tied Chidera’s hair into tiny puffs that she kept undoing with her chubby fingers.
Then she rushed out into the Lagos morning, blending into the regular chaos of people chasing their lives.
Once she reached Cheftilda, she tried to bury herself in the day. It didn’t work. Something in the air felt charged. Tense. Like the universe was whispering that she should brace herself.
During their morning briefing, Chef Adebola announced a new schedule change.
“For the next two weeks, each student will be paired with an instructor for one-on-one mentorship sessions.”
The room buzzed immediately.
Dinma felt her pulse tick up.
She already knew.
Even before names were called.
Even before the list came out.
She didn’t want to be right, but life rarely cared about what she wanted.
“Dinma Nnenna,” Chef Adebola read out from the roster, “you’ll be with Chef Somto.”
The murmurs shot through the class instantly — not subtle, not quiet, not even pretending to hide.
Uju’s eyes widened and she mouthed, “You’re done for.”
Adaora muttered something under her breath, but Dinma ignored it.
She simply nodded. Calm on the outside. Stormy somewhere deeper.
After class, she found a quiet moment to breathe near the back counter, pretending to wipe down a spotless table.
She wasn’t scared of mentorship.
She wasn’t scared of work.
She wasn’t even scared of failing.
What she was scared of — though she couldn’t admit it — was being seen too closely. Too clearly. Because people who saw you deeply always expected something. And expectations had disappointed her too many times.
“Dinma?”
It was Chef Somto.
She straightened slightly before turning.
“I hope the assignment is okay for you,” he said.
“It’s fine,” she replied, her voice even. “I’ll make it work.”
He nodded, studying her face in a quiet way that wasn’t intrusive but still somehow… searching. Like he was trying to read something she wasn’t offering.
“You don’t have to be anxious,” he said. “It’s mentorship, not judgment.”
She almost laughed. Not out of disrespect — just out of the strange irony. If he knew how much of her life had been built under judgment, he wouldn’t say that so casually.
“I’m not anxious,” she said instead.
But he didn’t buy it. She could tell. His brow lifted slightly, the tiniest hint of amusement. “You’re not very good at lying.”
The words caught her off guard. Her breath hitched before she could stop it.
She looked away. “I’m not lying.”
He didn’t push. He didn’t smirk. He just nodded like someone who understood that she needed the dignity of her denial.
“We start tomorrow,” he said softly. “Bring your best knives.”
As he walked away, she felt that familiar tension again — a mix of curiosity and caution that pulled at her in opposite directions.
By noon, the emotional weight followed her into the kitchen.
She chopped onions with more force than necessary.
She stirred too fast.
She plated with hands that weren’t their usual steady.
Chef Somto noticed from across the room but didn’t intervene. He just observed — quietly, attentively.
At lunchtime, Uju sat beside her.
“Sis,” she whispered, stirring her jollof, “are you okay?”
Dinma shrugged. “I’m fine.”
“Lies,” Uju said. “You’re chopping like somebody insulted your entire generation.”
Dinma cracked a small smile. “It’s just… a lot. Being paired with him.”
Uju leaned closer. “Is it because he’s strict or because he’s—” She paused dramatically. “Handsome?”
Dinma almost choked on her water.
“Uju, behave.”
“What?” Uju grinned. “We all have eyes.”
But beneath the humor, Uju softened, her tone quieter. “Don’t overthink it. You’re good. You belong here. You deserve attention that comes from your skill, not gossip.”
Dinma nodded, appreciating it more than she could express.
When the day ended, she headed home. But the heaviness wasn’t done with her yet.
As she reached her compound, her phone buzzed.
A message from an unknown number.
Nnenna, it’s me. Ike’s father.
We need to talk.
Her stomach dropped.
It felt like someone had pulled the ground from under her.
The ghost she thought she buried — the man who had accused her, abandoned her, doubted her pain, doubted her son — had returned.
She stood there for a long moment, unable to move, unable to breathe properly.
Inside the house, her kids were laughing.
Their cartoons were playing loudly.
Chidera squealed when she saw her mother through the window.
But Nnenna’s heart was somewhere else — tangled in old wounds that still hadn’t fully healed.
She closed her eyes and took a shaky breath.
The universe wasn’t just shifting anymore.
It was testing her.
Hard.
And she knew, deep in her bones, that the next chapter of her life was about to reopen stories she never wanted to revisit again.
But she also knew one thing for sure:
She wasn’t the same girl he left behind.
This time, she wasn’t facing him broken.
This time, she was stronger.
And she wasn’t afraid of truth anymore.
- Writer
