A Family Torn By Secret And Love.

Chapter 2

Faith slipped back into the house, her heart hammering as she crept up the stairs. The air was thick—lavender soap and old wood, the scent of her mother’s world pressing in. She opened her desk drawer and rifled through pencils and crumpled notes until her fingers found the small tin.

Five thousand naira. She counted it out slowly. The bills were warm in her hand. David’s bruised jaw flashed through her mind, that bloody palm. She hesitated.

Then she slipped back out.

David leaned against the gate, a shadow under the flickering street lamp. His sneakers scuffed the pavement as she pressed the money into his hand.

“Thanks,” he said, voice low. “I owe you.”

Faith crossed her arms, studying him. “When are you coming home? For real.”

David looked away, jaw tightening. “I don’t know.”

He kicked a pebble. It skittered down the street.

“You can’t keep doing this,” Faith said, her voice rising. “They don’t even know where you are. What if something happens? What if you just… disappear?”

David smirked, but it cracked as soon as it formed. “Disappear into what? That house? Mom’s prayers, Dad’s lectures? I can’t breathe in there.”

His voice faltered. He looked away again.

Before Faith could answer, she saw movement behind him.

Marcy stood in the doorway, Bible clutched to her chest, eyes blazing. Faith’s breath caught.

David kept talking, unaware. “If they ask, just tell them I’m—”

“Where?” Marcy’s voice sliced through the air.

David spun around, shoulders tightening as he met her gaze.

“Have you chosen this life?” she said, voice low but shaking. “Fights in the street, sneaking around, begging your sister for money? Is this who you are now?”

He didn’t speak. Didn’t flinch.

Faith looked between them, heart thudding. She couldn’t take it—not the rage, not the silence.

“I’ll be inside,” she muttered, and slipped away.

---

The front door creaked open. Marcy stormed into the living room, her Bible clutched so tightly her knuckles shone white. Fury rippled off her, sharp and seething. Her eyes locked on Lincoln like a challenge.

“Lincoln,” she said, voice tight with rage, “do you know what I just saw? Faith—out there, shielding that boy. That criminal.”

Lincoln’s newspaper slid to the floor. He sat forward in his chair, brow furrowed. “You mean David?” His voice was quiet. “He’s not a criminal, Marcy. He’s our son.”

“Then why is Faith hiding him?” she shot back. “Why is she covering up whatever mess he’s gotten himself into?” She began pacing, her heels snapping against the old floor. “He’s hurt. There’s blood on his hand, Lincoln. And he wouldn’t even look me in the eye.”

Lincoln’s jaw tightened. “Where is he now?”

“Outside,” she said. “He refused to come in. Just stood there, like I was the one who did something wrong.”

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “And how did you talk to him, Marcy? Did you even try to listen—or just scold him again?”

She stopped cold. Her lips parted in disbelief. “What are you saying?” she whispered. “I’m his mother. I love him.”

Her voice cracked. But the hurt flickering in her eyes didn’t hide the fear: maybe love hadn’t been enough.

Lincoln looked away, then turned toward the hallway. “Eve,” he called. “Go get Faith.”

Before Eve could move, Faith stepped into view.

“I’m here.”

Her voice was soft, but it cut through the room. She stood with her hands clasped tightly in front of her, her shoulders drawn in. The emptied tin still echoed in her chest. She met no one’s eyes.

Lincoln leaned forward, gentler now. “Faith… what did he tell you? About the fight. The injury. What’s really going on?”

She hesitated. David’s face rose in her mind—bloodied, withdrawn, proud.

“He said it was a fight. Some friends. That’s all.”

Lincoln didn’t look convinced. “Faith… I need you to find him. Tonight. Don’t come back until you do.”

Marcy’s head snapped up. “What? No! She’s a child, Lincoln—it’s dark out. You can’t send her out there alone!”

“She’s not a child,” he snapped. “And David’s out there, bleeding and running. Do you want to wake up tomorrow and find out it was too late?”

Eve’s voice, calm and sharp, cut through the tension. “Better one of them out there than both.”

Lincoln turned on her. “Don’t interfere in this.”

“Don’t yell at her!” Marcy barked, stepping between them. “This is your son’s mess, Lincoln. Don’t put it on her shoulders.”

The room splintered—voices rising, accusations spilling like broken glass. Marcy and Lincoln yelled over each other, years of resentment rising in the chaos. The air felt charged, close.

Faith stood still in the center of it all. Their words blurred around her.

David’s face flickered behind her eyes—angry, hurt, lost. Her fingers twitched.

She turned without a word, brushed past Eve, and grabbed her jacket from the hook by the door.

She stepped into the night.

The door clicked shut behind her, sealing in the storm.

The cold air hit her skin like a slap, but it cleared her head. She didn’t know where David was. She didn’t know what she’d find.

But she was going to find him.

No matter what it took.

The night hung heavy with the promise of rain. Cool air bit at Faith’s cheeks as she hurried through the quiet streets, her breath rising in pale puffs. Her sneakers scraped the uneven pavement, each step echoing with frustration.

She’d tried David’s friend’s apartment first—a rundown building with a flickering porch light and the stale stink of beer in the stairwell. No one answered. Just silence. Her knocking went unanswered, the emptiness pressing in like a weight.

David’s bloodied hand kept flashing through her mind.

Turning onto a dim street, she spotted a familiar silhouette leaning against a streetlamp—Henry, his outline softened by the lamp’s amber glow. Relief surged through her like sunlight after a storm.

She slowed her pace. Henry looked up, smiled, and pulled her into a warm embrace. His jacket smelled of leather and cedar. For a brief moment, the tension in her chest loosened.

“Hey,” he murmured, his breath brushing her ear. “You okay?”

She nodded, but her voice betrayed her. “I’m fine.” The words cracked under the weight of everything she wasn’t saying. “I was hoping…”

She trailed off, unsure where to start.

Henry studied her, concern softened by that familiar teasing glint in his eye. “I forgot to call, didn’t I? My bad. Where you off to in such a hurry?”

“I’m looking for my brother,” she said, rubbing her cold hands together. “He’s in trouble.”

“How old’s this brother of yours?”

“Older. David.”

Henry’s smile faded into something softer. “You’re a good sister,” he said.

Faith looked down, her voice low. “I don’t even know where he is.”

Henry stepped closer, his fingers gently tipping her chin. “You’re beautiful, you know that?” he said, the words tender, almost surprised.

Her heart stuttered. A shy smile curled her lips. The air between them shifted—thick with something unspoken, fragile.

He leaned in.

She closed her eyes.

His lips met hers—soft, uncertain at first, then sure. Her first kiss. A rush of warmth bloomed through her, dizzying and defiant.

When he pulled back, his eyes held something raw. “I love you,” he said suddenly. “Will you be my girlfriend?”

She blinked, her mind still spinning. “That’s… fast,” she breathed, the smile faltering. “My life’s kind of a mess right now.”

“No pressure,” he said quickly, brushing his fingers over hers. “I just… wanted you to know. I mean it.”

She hesitated. Then, quietly, like a secret: “I love you too.”

His grin lit up the night.

Faith glanced at the dark sky. The memory of David’s wound pulled her back to earth.

“I have to go,” she said, stepping away, her fingers lingering on his a moment longer. “Bye, Henry.”

She turned and walked into the dark, his kiss still warm on her lips.

---

In the quiet bedroom, Mercy sat on the edge of the bed, her hands clenched in her lap. The scent of lavender clung faintly to her skin. A single lamp cast shadows on the floral curtains, swaying gently in the draft.

Lincoln sat beside her, eyes fixed on his phone. The cold blue glow outlined the deep grooves in his face. He hadn’t looked at her. Hadn’t spoken.

The silence stretched like a wall between them.

Her gaze drifted. The curtains. The shadows. The way time folds in on itself when pain is left unspoken.

And suddenly she was back there—six months ago. The night everything cracked.

---

The party at Unique’s was loud and chaotic. Music thudded like a second heartbeat. The air reeked of perfume, sweat, and alcohol. Mercy clung to her purse, already regretting letting Unique talk her into this.

“Mercy, this is Michael,” Unique said brightly, already melting into the crowd.

Michael’s smile was too smooth. His cologne stung her throat.

“I’m fine,” Mercy said, stiff in her Sunday dress. She didn’t belong here.

“What’s your name again?” he asked, though Unique had already said it.

“I’m just here for my friend’s birthday,” she replied curtly. “Not looking for anything.”

He waved down a waiter. “What’ll you have?”

“Nothing.” But he ordered anyway. And when she wasn’t looking—he stirred something into her glass.

“Enjoy,” he said, handing it over, smile still polished.

She didn’t drink it. She didn’t trust him. “I’m married,” she said firmly. “Watch yourself.”

He raised his hands. “My apologies.”

But later—her vision blurred. The room tilted. Her words slurred. She searched for Unique, but her limbs felt heavy, her thoughts slipping through her fingers.

She woke up on a couch in a back room. Dress askew. Alone.

Michael was gone.

Her chest tightened with shame.

She grabbed her phone. Hands shaking.

“Mercy?” Unique chirped on the other end. “Where’ve you been?”

Mercy’s voice cracked. “Something’s wrong,” she whispered. “I think… someone hurt me.”

---

Now, in the dim bedroom, Mercy’s hands trembled. That night still pulsed like a bruise under her skin. She glanced at Lincoln. Still scrolling. Still silent.

She wanted to tell him.

Wanted to confess everything, but she said nothing.