THE FATHER WHO WAS ALIVE
706 Words
Amara couldn't breathe.
Her father stood only a few meters away.
Older. Thinner. His hair streaked with gray.
But there was no mistaking him.
“Daddy?”
He looked at her.
“My little girl.”
Amara ran toward him.
For a moment, she forgot everything—the lies, the secrets, the wedding, even Chike.
She simply held her father and cried.
“Why did you leave me?”
His arms tightened around her.
“I didn't leave you.”
“You were dead!”
“I had to let the world believe I was.”
Amara pulled away.
“Why?”
Her father looked at Grace.
“Because Emmanuel wasn't working alone.”
Grace nodded.
“He had someone inside the family.”
Amara's face changed.
“Who?”
Her father looked at Chike's mother.
She lowered her head.
“I know who it is.”
Before she could speak, a car screeched to a stop.
A man stepped out.
Amara recognized him immediately.
Peter.
But this time, he wasn't holding a gun.
He was holding a little girl.
The child looked frightened.
Peter pointed toward Amara.
“Everyone stays where they are.”
Chike stepped forward.
“Let the child go.”
Peter shook his head.
“You don't understand. I was only following orders.”
“Whose orders?” Amara demanded.
Peter looked at her father.
“His.”
Everyone turned.
Amara's father looked shocked.
“That's impossible.”
Peter laughed bitterly.
“You've been hiding for twenty-four years, haven't you?”
He turned to Amara.
“Ask your father why he really disappeared.”
Amara looked at her father.
“Tell me.”
Her father was silent.
“Daddy, tell me!”
He finally sighed.
“Because I was afraid of what would
happened, if the truth about your birth became public.”
Grace stepped forward.
“Tell her.”
He looked at Amara.
“You weren't my first child.”
Amara's eyes widened.
“What?”
“Before you were born, Grace had a daughter.”
He looked at the little girl Peter was holding.
“Her name was Adaeze.”
Amara turned toward the young woman standing beside Chike.
Her sister's face went pale.
“No…”
Her father continued.
“The accident twenty years ago didn't kill Adaeze.”
The young woman began shaking.
“Then who am I?”
He looked directly at her.
“You are Grace's first daughter.”
Amara stared at her sister.
The room seemed to spin.
“Then we're sisters?”
Grace nodded through tears.
“Half-sisters.”
Chike suddenly spoke.
“Then why was she raised as Amara's sister?”
Her father looked at him.
“Because Emmanuel was searching for her.”
“And why?”
“Because she inherited something from her biological father.”
“What?”
Her father reached into his coat and removed a small key.
“A bank account.”
Amara frowned.
“What is inside it?”
Her father smiled sadly.
“Evidence.”
“Evidence of what?”
“Everything Emmanuel did.”
Peter's expression changed.
“You shouldn't have told them.”
He suddenly dropped the child and reached for his gun.
Chike lunged at him.
They struggled.
A gunshot exploded.
Then another.
Amara screamed.
When the smoke cleared, Chike was standing over Peter.
But blood was running down Chike's shirt.
Amara rushed toward him.
“Chike!”
He looked at her and smiled weakly.
“I told you…”
He touched her cheek.
“I would never let anyone hurt you.”
Amara held him tightly.
And for the first time in five years, she kissed him again.
But this time, they didn't hide it.
Behind them, Amara's father watched silently.
Then his phone rang.
He answered.
A voice whispered:
“You found the account.”
His face went pale.
“Yes.”
The voice laughed.
“Then you also know what happens next.”
The call ended.
Amara looked at him.
“Who was that?”
Her father slowly lowered the phone.
And whispered:
“Emmanuel was never the mastermind.”
He looked toward the dark road.
“He works for someone much closer to you.”
Someone inside this family.
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