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Echoes in the Dark

Chapter Five – Echoes in the Dark

The days after their visit to St. Mary’s dragged like shadows stretching too long in the evening sun. The house seemed quieter, yet never peaceful. Amara felt it in every corner—the silence was not emptiness but weight, thick with things unsaid.

Her mother moved differently now. She carried herself with the same elegance, the same quiet authority, but beneath it was something brittle, restless. At night, Amara often heard footsteps pacing the corridor, stopping outside her door, lingering before fading into the distance.

One evening, as Amara passed the kitchen, she found her mother standing by the window, the necklace still glinting faintly in her hand. She was whispering to herself, words too hushed to catch. But Amara caught the expression on her face—fear, guilt, maybe both.

“Mama?” she asked softly.

Her mother spun quickly, hiding the chain behind her back. “Why are you sneaking around?” Her tone was sharp, then softened too quickly, like fabric torn and stitched in haste. “Go and read your books. Exams will not pass themselves.”

Amara nodded and obeyed, but the image burned in her mind. Why would her mother have Chioma’s necklace? And why did she guard it so fiercely?

⸻

The following Sunday, the family attended Mass. Father Emmanuel spoke of forgiveness, of the weight of secrets carried in the heart. Amara found herself staring at her mother throughout the sermon. Each time the priest said “confession,” her mother’s shoulders stiffened. Each time he said “truth,” she avoided Amara’s gaze.

After Mass, a woman approached them outside—a journalist, her pen tucked behind her ear. “Sir,” she said to Amara’s father, “is it true you were seen at St. Mary’s Hospital with the actress Chioma Nwosu?”

Amara’s heart raced.

Her father gave a measured smile. “I visit hospitals often. Does it matter who I see there?” His voice was smooth, almost playful, but his eyes were cold, fixed on the woman until she retreated.

The ride home was silent. Amara’s father kept his eyes on the road, her mother stared out the window, and Amara sat in the backseat with her pulse thundering. Secrets swirled between them like smoke no one dared fan.

⸻

That night, Amara woke to the sound of voices. She crept down the stairs, her bare feet careful on the cool tiles. From the living room came her parents’ muffled argument.

“You should not have gone there,” her mother hissed.

“And you should not have kept it,” her father snapped back. “Do you think no one will notice it missing?”

Amara froze. The necklace.

Her mother’s reply was lower, almost broken. “I only wanted to protect her.”

A pause. Then her father’s laugh—low, humorless. “Protect her? Or protect yourself?”

The silence that followed was worse than words. Amara’s heart hammered, every muscle tense as though the shadows themselves had teeth.

When footsteps approached, she darted back upstairs, slipping under her blanket before the floorboard creaked again. Her door remained closed, but she lay awake until dawn, replaying every word.

⸻

The next day, Uncle Ikenna stopped by, uninvited as usual. He filled the house with his loud laughter and silly stories, distracting everyone with his antics. He imitated Father Emmanuel’s sermon, over-dramatized the choir’s singing, and even staged a mock argument with Amara’s younger brother using broomsticks as swords. Everyone laughed—even her mother managed a thin smile—but the tension never fully left the room.

Later, Amara caught Ikenna’s arm in the corridor and slipped him a note—I need to talk.

When they were alone, she whispered everything: the hospital visit, Chioma’s strange words, the necklace in her mother’s hand, and the fight she overheard.

Ikenna listened, his face unusually serious beneath the joking façade. He tapped his chin dramatically, squinting as though deep in thought. “So your mama and papa are playing hide-and-seek with the truth, eh?” he said with a crooked smile. Then, lowering his voice, he added, “Don’t worry, nne. Secrets have short legs. They can’t run forever.”

Amara managed a small smile, but her relief was short-lived.

Because in her heart, she knew—these secrets were not running. They were circling. Watching.

And soon, they would pounce.

Hope you are enjoying the novel so far... Im happy you are and comment on what you feel like is going to be the next play about Amara... what do you think on this ?!💋❤️ 👌💕