CHAPTER 5_The Boy With His Eyes
1263 Words
Friday came too quickly.
Chioma woke up before dawn, staring at the ceiling of her small apartment.
Friday.
School fees.
Presentation day.
And the promise she made to her son.
She turned her head and looked at Kene sleeping peacefully beside her.
Six years of sacrifice.
Six years of struggle.
She checked her phone again.
Her account balance had not magically increased overnight.
She had tried.
She had called two people.
Both had promised to “get back to her.”
No one did.
“Mummy, you’re awake?” Kene’s sleepy voice asked.
She smiled immediately. “Yes, baby.”
“You’re coming today, right? For my presentation?”
Her heart tightened painfully.
“Yes,” she whispered.
Even if she had to stand outside the gate.
She would go.
At the office, Chioma’s hands felt heavier than usual.
Every stroke of the mop felt slower.
Her mind was divided.
School.
Money.
Zikora.
And the feeling that something was moving beneath the surface.
She felt it again.
His gaze.
When she turned slightly, she saw him through the glass walls of his office.
Watching.
Not casually.
Intently.
Her chest tightened.
He knows something.
Inside his office, Zikora stood still.
He had not planned to visit the school.
But when Emeka mentioned the name of the school during their update that morning, something inside him shifted.
He told himself it was verification.
Nothing more.
Now he watched her.
She looked distracted.
Worried.
He pressed the intercom.
“Mr. Ade.”
“Yes, sir?”
“What time is lunch break?”
“1 p.m., sir.”
He glanced at his watch.
12:32.
Good.
At exactly 1 p.m., Chioma removed her apron quickly.
“I need to leave early,” she told her supervisor softly. “My son’s school.”
The supervisor sighed. “The administrator called this morning again about your balance.”
Chioma’s stomach dropped.
“Yes. I’ll sort it out.”
“You better. They don’t joke with unpaid fees.”
She nodded.
I know.
Meanwhile, Zikora walked into the underground parking lot.
He drove himself.
No driver.
No assistant.
He told himself again — this was just confirmation.
Nothing else.
The school compound was lively.
Parents gathered under canopies.
Children in neat uniforms ran around excitedly.
Chioma stood near the back.
She had not been allowed inside the main hall.
The administrator had stopped her at the entrance.
“Mrs. Nnamdi, we discussed this.”
“Please,” she whispered. “Just let me watch from the back.”
“The balance must be cleared.”
Humiliation burned in her chest.
Other parents were staring.
Whispering.
Finally, the administrator stepped aside slightly.
“Stand there. Don’t make a scene.”
“Thank you.”
She swallowed her pride and moved to the side of the hall.
Then she heard it.
A car door shutting firmly behind her.
She didn’t turn immediately.
But her body knew.
That presence again.
Controlled.
Sharp.
Zikora.
He walked into the school compound like he owned it.
Tailored suit.
Calm expression.
Commanding aura.
Parents turned to look.
The administrator’s entire attitude changed.
“Sir! Good afternoon! How can we help you?”
Zikora didn’t answer immediately.
His eyes scanned.
Then he saw her.
Standing at the side.
Small.
Tense.
Trying to disappear.
Their eyes locked.
Shock flashed across her face.
He walked past the administrator.
Past everyone.
And stopped beside her.
“You didn’t mention the presentation,” he said quietly.
Her throat felt dry.
“You didn’t ask.”
A flicker passed through his eyes.
Before he could respond, the announcer called a name.
“Kene Nnamdi!”
The world slowed.
A small boy walked confidently onto the stage.
Neat uniform.
Bright eyes.
Sharp jawline.
The same posture.
The same eyes.
Zikora’s breath caught.
The boy began speaking confidently about “My Role Model.”
“My mummy is my hero,” Kene said proudly into the microphone.
Chioma’s eyes filled instantly.
“She works very hard. She says we must always be strong. Even when life is hard.”
Silence filled the hall.
Zikora felt something unfamiliar press against his ribs.
The boy smiled brightly.
“One day, I will make her proud.”
Applause erupted.
But Zikora heard nothing.
He was staring.
Studying.
The resemblance was no longer subtle.
It was undeniable.
The eyes.
The intensity.
Even the way he held the microphone.
His hands felt cold.
“That’s your son,” he said quietly beside Chioma.
“Yes.”
His jaw tightened.
“How long were you pregnant before I left?”
Her breath stopped.
The question hit like thunder.
She turned slowly to face him.
“You don’t get to ask me that.”
His voice lowered.
“I deserve an answer.”
“You lost that right seven years ago.”
Her eyes were no longer soft.
They were steel.
“You sent one message. One. And disappeared. You didn’t listen. You didn’t ask. You didn’t stay.”
The words were quiet but sharp.
Parents nearby glanced at them.
Zikora ignored them.
“Is he mine?” he asked finally.
There it was.
The question.
The truth standing between them.
Chioma looked at the stage where Kene was stepping down proudly.
Then back at Zikora.
“You chose not to know,” she whispered.
His chest tightened.
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one you’re getting.”
The administrator suddenly approached them.
“Mrs. Nnamdi, we need to discuss the outstanding fees.”
The humiliation returned instantly.
Zikora’s eyes shifted.
“Outstanding fees?”
The administrator nodded nervously.
“Yes, sir. There is a balance.”
Chioma felt exposed.
Small.
She hated this.
She hated him seeing this.
Before she could speak, Zikora pulled out his card.
“Clear it.”
Her head snapped toward him.
“No.”
He didn’t look at her.
“Clear it,” he repeated.
The administrator took the card quickly.
Chioma grabbed his arm.
“I said no.”
His gaze dropped to her hand on him.
Then back to her eyes.
“Your pride will not suffer because of this,” he said calmly.
“My pride is not your concern.”
“It is if that child is mine.”
Silence.
Heavy.
Dangerous.
She let go of his arm slowly.
The administrator returned moments later.
“It’s settled, sir.”
Zikora nodded once.
Chioma felt heat behind her eyes.
Not gratitude.
Not relief.
Something more complicated.
“You cannot buy your way into his life,” she said quietly.
His expression hardened slightly.
“I don’t need to buy what belongs to me.”
Her heart pounded violently.
“Don’t,” she warned.
He stepped closer.
“Get a DNA test.”
She stared at him.
“Or what?”
His voice dropped.
“Or I will.”
The bell rang, signaling the end of the event.
Children ran toward their parents.
Kene spotted her.
“Mummy!”
He ran straight into her arms.
She held him tightly.
Zikora watched.
The boy looked up curiously at him.
“Who is he, Mummy?”
Silence stretched between them.
Chioma’s throat tightened.
Zikora crouched slightly so he was eye level.
“I’m… someone who knows your mother,” he said calmly.
Kene studied him.
“You look like me.”
The words were innocent.
But they shattered something inside both adults.
Chioma’s heart stopped.
Zikora went completely still.
“Yes,” he said quietly.
“I noticed.”
And for the first time in seven years, control slipped from his fingers.
- Writer
