Chapter Eight - The Boy
1364 Words
For one second neither of them moved.
The phone glowed in Amara’s hand.
Ethan calling.
She saw the exact moment Damien registered the name.
His eyes dropped to the screen, then returned to her face.
A strange stillness entered the air.
She answered immediately.
“Hello?”
“Mum?”
Ethan’s voice came through soft and slightly breathless.
Her entire body loosened at once.
“Yes, baby. What happened?”
“Nothing. Maya won’t sleep.”
From the other side of the line came a faint protest.
“I’m not sleepy,” Maya said.
Amara closed her eyes briefly.
“Put Aunt Ada on.”
A second later her aunt came on.
“They’re fine,” Aunt Ada said. “He only wanted to hear your voice.”
“I’ll call back in a few minutes.”
“Don’t worry. We’re all right.”
The call ended.
She lowered the phone slowly.
Damien was still watching her.
“You have children.”
It was not a question.
Her throat tightened.
“Yes.”
“How many?”
She should not have answered.
“Two.”
He said nothing for a moment.
Then, “You never mentioned that.”
“There was no reason to.”
His gaze did not move.
“Was there a father?”
That landed like a strike.
“Don’t.”
“Answer me.”
“That is not your business.”
“Maybe not,” he said quietly. “But after five years, I think I deserve more than silence.”
The word deserve sharpened something inside her.
“No,” she said, her voice suddenly steady. “You don’t.”
For the first time, real tension crossed his face.
“You disappear. You return. You hide half your life. And I’m supposed to stand here and accept nothing?”
“Yes.”
He stared at her.
Then he gave a short, humorless breath.
“You haven’t changed.”
“That’s not true.”
“No,” he said. “You’re more careful now.”
The truth of it unsettled her.
She stepped away.
“I have to go.”
This time he did not stop her.
But as she turned, he said quietly, “Amara.”
She paused.
“Who is Ethan?”
Her fingers tightened around the phone.
She did not look back.
“My son.”
Then she walked away.
She barely remembered getting back to the hotel.
The city lights blurred past the window of the cab.
Her thoughts were too loud.
He knew now.
Not everything.
But enough for the questions to begin.
At the hotel, she called home again.
Ethan answered immediately.
“Mum?”
“I told you I’d call back.”
“I know.”
“Why are you still awake?”
He hesitated.
“I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
Her chest tightened.
“I’m fine.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
He was quiet.
Then, “Did work go well?”
She thought of Damien’s face.
“No,” she said honestly. “Not exactly.”
“Did someone upset you?”
She smiled despite herself.
“When did you become so observant?”
“When you kept thinking I wasn’t.”
That sounded so much like Damien that she went still.
“Mum?”
“I’m here.”
“Are you coming home tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
“Promise?”
“Yes. Promise.”
He seemed satisfied.
“Okay. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight.”
She stayed awake long after the call ended.
The next morning she left early.
Her plan was simple.
Catch the first bus.
Return to Ibadan.
Think later.
She had just stepped out of the hotel when a black car pulled quietly to the curb.
Her stomach dropped.
The rear window lowered.
Damien.
“No,” she said immediately.
“Get in.”
“No.”
“You’re going back to Ibadan.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“How do you know that?”
“You told reception you needed transport to the terminal.”
That irritated her more than it should have.
“You had them watch me?”
“I asked a question.”
“That’s called watching.”
“Amara.”
His tone was calmer now.
“I only want to talk.”
“We already did.”
“Not properly.”
She should have walked away.
Instead she stood there, tired and cornered.
Then he said, “Let me drive you.”
“I can manage.”
“I know you can.”
That simple answer disarmed her more than insistence would have.
Against her better judgment, she got in.
The drive out of Lagos was quieter than she expected.
For a while neither of them spoke.
Then Damien said, “How old is Ethan?”
Her heart stumbled.
She turned toward the window.
“Why?”
“Because I’m asking.”
“He’s eleven.”
Silence.
Then, “And the younger one?”
“Maya. She’s four.”
He absorbed that quietly.
“You sound surprised.”
“I am.”
“At what?”
“That you built a whole life.”
His voice was low.
“And I knew nothing about it.”
She looked ahead.
“That was the point.”
He did not answer.
By the time they reached Ibadan, she felt exhausted.
“You can stop here,” she said as they entered her street.
He glanced outside.
“This is where you live?”
“Yes.”
He pulled over.
She reached for the door.
Then froze.
Ethan was outside.
He stood near the gate with Maya beside him, holding her hand.
He must have seen the car and come out.
Her pulse jumped.
“Mum!”
He started toward them.
Amara stepped out quickly.
“What are you doing outside?”
“You said tomorrow. It’s tomorrow.”
Maya ran straight into her legs.
“You brought sweets?”
For one absurd second she almost laughed.
Then she remembered Damien.
He had stepped out of the car too.
Ethan stopped.
His eyes lifted.
The street seemed to narrow.
Damien said nothing.
He was simply looking.
At the boy.
At the way Ethan stood.
At the shape of his face.
At the quiet alertness in his eyes.
Something in his expression changed.
Not recognition.
Something deeper.
Something instinctive.
Ethan held his gaze with surprising steadiness.
“Hello,” Damien said.
Ethan nodded once.
“Hello, sir.”
“Ethan,” Amara said, too quickly, “take Maya inside.”
He did not move.
Instead he looked from her to Damien.
“Is he from your work?”
“Yes.”
That answer came too fast.
Damien noticed.
She could feel it.
Ethan finally took Maya’s hand.
But before turning away, he looked back once.
And in that brief moment, Damien went still.
Completely still.
Because there was something unsettlingly familiar in the boy’s face.
Not exact.
Not enough to name.
But enough to pull at memory.
After the children disappeared inside, Damien did not speak immediately.
“What?” Amara said.
His gaze stayed fixed on the gate.
“How old did you say he was?”
Her pulse began to pound.
“Eleven.”
He turned slowly toward her.
There was something unreadable in his eyes now.
“Amara…”
“Don’t.”
“Does he know me?”
“No.”
“Should he?”
Her breath caught.
“This ends here.”
She turned and walked toward the house.
He did not stop her.
But she could feel his stare on her back.
Inside, Ethan was waiting near the doorway.
“Who was that?”
“No one.”
“That didn’t look like no one.”
She forced a small smile.
“Go wash your hands.”
He studied her for another second, then obeyed.
Later that evening, after the children were asleep, Amara stood alone by the window.
Her phone buzzed.
A message from Chioma.
I just remembered something.
Another followed.
You once showed me Damien’s childhood photo from a magazine.
Her fingers tightened.
Then the last message appeared.
Ethan looks exactly like it.
- Writer
