A Twisted Christmas

"Is it weird that I'm so nervous about this?" Tola asked, biting her lip to stifle a grin. Her voice trembled with excitement, and her fingers kept brushing the ring on her finger like it was all still sinking in. "I'm nervous too," the man on the other end of the video call replied with a soft chuckle. "But it'll be fine. I promise. We’re still on for four, right?" "We are," she exhaled. "Slow day, thankfully." "Not for me," he said, rubbing his temples. "But I’ll see you soon, gorgeous." "Take care," she said, watching the screen fade to black before setting her phone down. The smile lingered. She caught herself twirling the ring again and shook her head, laughing quietly. A knock on the door pulled her back. "Come in," she called, clearing her throat. Stella strolled in, her purple scrubs still annoyingly crisp. She dropped into the swiveling chair across from Tola with the grace of someone who'd had no rest and didn’t care. "I'm exhausted," she groaned. "How do you still look like you just stepped out of a magazine?" Tola laughed. "Because I barely did anything today. Just checkups and a few consultations. Leah took the heavy cases." "Dear God, give me a man so I can use date days as an excuse to offload too." Tola's cheeks flushed as she glanced at the ring again. "It’s not just a date." "I know. I’m happy for you. You deserve this," Stella said, sincerity cutting through her tired face. "Thanks," Tola smiled, softening. "Wait...are you done for the day?" "Not yet." "Oh, how come?" "Felix’s mum is here to sign the discharge papers. I came to get you since you’re his doctor." Tola blinked. "And you waited till now to tell me?" "I needed a seat first," Stella said, hands raised in surrender. Tola was already on her feet, grabbing her stethoscope and sliding into her white coat. "You’re impossible." They left the office together, their laughter echoing down the hallway. Tola's heart thudded as the car turned another corner. Every second closer to the destination felt like someone tightening a belt around her chest. "Relax, babe," Dylan said from the driver’s seat. "I can practically taste your anxiety." "Sorry," she muttered. "I just... I really want them to like me." "They will. Trust me," he said, squeezing her hand briefly. They were driving through a quiet estate on the northern edge of Port Harcourt in Rivers state, Nigeria. Tola hadn’t been to Dylan’s family house before, and her expectations hadn’t prepared her for this. Sculpted hedges lined the streets like something out of a design magazine. The houses were pristine, painted in soft pastels and elegant greys. Each structure was a masterpiece. "Beautiful, right?" Dylan asked. "This place used to be a dump seven years ago." "Your mom’s been here that long?" "Yeah. She saw the land and said, 'This is it' . We thought she was insane—moving from luxury to a fixer-upper. But it turned out perfect. Closer to my teaching hospital at the time, too." "You can’t call it a fixer-upper anymore," Tola said, awestruck. "The place glowed up. Hard." They pulled into a large compound. It was stunning—a mini garden bloomed on one half of the land with ripening tomatoes peeking through. Three sleek cars sat like trophies across the driveway. The house itself was a clean-cut two-storey, grey with white trim, as if it had been peeled out of a luxury real estate brochure. Dylan cut the engine. Tola was still gawking when he turned to her. "Ready?" "Is anyone even home?" "Mom and Eliora should be. My brother’s not in." "How can you be so sure?" "His car isn’t here." Tola nodded, swallowing her nerves. Dylan laced his fingers with hers and led her to the door. A uniformed man opened it for them. "You hired security?" "My brother did. My mom hates locked gates and fences as a matter of fact, which is why she lacks one. But my brother’s in entertainment. He insisted." Inside, the contrast hit her. The dark exterior gave way to a sunlit, glossy white living room with leather couches and a gold chandelier. A flat-screen TV stretched across one wall, while the adjoining dining room looked like it belonged in a wedding catalogue. "Welcome, sir. Ma," a young woman in an apron, gloves and a bonnet said. Tola assumed she was the housekeeper who, from the looks of it, must've been cleaning when they came in. "Where’s my mom and Eliora?" Dylan asked, guiding Tola to the couch. A voice rang from the stairs. "Is that my doctor?" Tola turned to see a glowing older woman descending, followed by a young girl. The woman’s brown skin was radiant with age and joy. Her smile pulled something warm out of Tola’s chest. Dylan was a carbon copy of his mother. "Mumsy!" Dylan grinned, hugging her. "Elly baby!" he added, scooping his sister into a hug. "Hello my darling boy. How are you? Oh you lost so much weight since I saw you" she gasped, checking out Dylan—who Tola thought was still as chubby as he was when she met him His mother turned to Tola. "You must be Tola." Tola stood, unsure of whether to curtsey or speak, but the woman hugged her. "I've heard so much about you," she said. "Likewise, ma. Your home is beautiful." "Thank you, my love." "I'm Eliora," the girl added. "Last born of this circus." Tola chuckled. "Nice to meet you." "I thought it was your brother that arrived," Dylan’s mom said, turning to him. "I was just on the phone with him. He said he was in the estate." A horn blared outside. "He’s here," Dylan muttered. "That boy will rupture my eardrums one day," his mother said, laughing. The door opened again. A deep voice was speaking to the security man. Tola froze. No way. "Muna!" Eliora squealed, rushing forward. Tola couldn’t breathe. She knew that voice. That name. And it knew her.