All Her Fault

SILENCE

“Where the f**k are you coming from, big girl?”

His voice cut through the hallway the moment I stepped in.

“I went to see a friend,” I muttered with a shrug, already exhausted.

Obinna had always been overly protective, possessive and tonight I didn’t have the strength to entertain his drama.

“Oh?” he scoffed. “So now you don dey go see man abi? Amaka, you’ve grown wings now? You’ll leave this house by 7am and return after 2pm? What kind of useless visit is that?”

I didn’t answer him again. I just walked past.

“It was just a friend, Uncle Obi,” I said over my shoulder as I climbed the stairs.

That was when I felt it.

The rage.

He rushed at me before I could react. In one violent movement, his hand twisted into my hair and slammed me against the wall. His eyes were wild, burning with nothing human in them.

“I’m not done talking to you.”

I whimpered, my hands shaking as I struggled.

“Uncle Obi, you’re hurting me,” I cried.

He laughed—a low, frightening sound.

“It’s like you’ve forgotten something,” he said, tightening his grip.

“I own you.”

My breath caught as his hand closed around my neck, forcing my eyes to meet his.

“I own you, and I always will. You’re being a bad girl… and bad girls need discipline.”

Fear flooded my body as he dragged me up the stairs. I kicked, clawed, fought with everything in me because I knew where he was taking me. I knew what waited there.

One slap ended the fight.

The world went silent.

He lifted me like I weighed nothing.

The room smelled of cigarettes and camphor. The door shut behind us with a finality that crushed my chest. I was thrown onto the bed. I cried. I begged. Each movement I made earned me another blow until my body finally gave up before my mind did.

I stared at the ceiling, praying for anything—sleep, darkness, death.

“I’m only trying to protect you from the world, I want you to be a good girl” he whispered.

He tore my yellow blouse and my undies like they were his sworn enemies. He kept panting like a dog on heat.

I yelled out in pain as he drove his 6inch in me and he moaned out like he was enjoying my screams.

I laid there like a corpse staring at the ceiling while he rocked me violently.

When it was over, I lay there empty, broken, far away from myself. He just sat there scrolling through t****k and laughing like he just had a good time.

Much later, I gathered what was left of my clothes with shaking hands. They barely looked like clothes anymore. I didn’t cry loudly. I didn’t scream.

I just walked back to my room.

Like a ghost.

Like someone who had died and was still breathing.

I don’t remember how long I slept for, but it felt like forever. Time stopped meaning anything the moment I closed the door behind me. I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the wall like it had answers for me. My body felt like it belonged to someone else heavy, numb, useless. I scrubbed my face with my palms until my skin burned, forcing myself to breathe quietly.

The sound of a car pulling into the compound snapped me back.

My parents were home.

Their voices followed shortly after, my mother’s loud and animated, my father’s tired but steady. The familiar sounds of keys dropping, sandals shuffling, and greetings exchanged with neighbours floated through the house.

When I finally bundled myself downstairs, the house was already awake in its usual evening rhythm. Pots clanged in the kitchen, the television hummed in the living room, and my mother’s voice rose above everything else, loud and energetic despite how late it was.

I walked down the stairs carefully, my body still heavy, my head aching, my movements slower than usual.

“Good evening mummy” “Daddy good evening” I greeted, trying to sound normal.

“Ehenn Ada, how are you?” My Dad answered absentmindedly.

“I’m fine sir.”

My mother didn’t look at me when she spoke.

“Amaka, why are you moving like an old woman? Come and help me peel this yam.”

I sat on the small stool beside her and took the knife. The yam felt harder than usual in my hands. My fingers trembled slightly, but I steadied them quickly. I had learned long ago that weakness annoyed her.

“This Lagos life ehn,” she continued, more to herself than to me. “Everything is just expensive for no reason. I went to Mile 12 today, you’ll think I was buying diamonds. Pepper that was chikini money before, the woman was pricing it like she trained it in school.”

She sighed loudly and shook her head.

“Your father is trying, honestly. But sometimes I don’t even know how people are surviving. School fees, food, transport. God help us.”

She finally glanced at me, her eyes sharp.

“Why is your face dull like that?

Nothing oh, I’m just tired and having a head ache. I replied making sure i don’t give her any clues for extra questions.

“Hm.” She turned back to the pot. “Go and collect 1,000 naira from my bag after this, buy onions and pepper. And don’t stay outside talking.”

Is it the red bag?

“No, my brown tote bag na”

Okay.

When evening food was finally served, everyone ate in the living room. I sat quietly, eating slowly, my appetite gone. My father scrolled through his phone between bites. My mother complained about the news. The children argued over the television channel.

Obinna sat there like he always did. Relaxed. Familiar. Part of the family.

I avoided looking at him.

After dinner, chores were shared out. Plates were washed. The kitchen was cleaned. The noise gradually softened as the house settled into night. My siblings prepared for bed, still talking loudly, still laughing.

Eventually, I slipped back into my room.

I locked the door.

The silence returned.

I sat on my bed and stared at the wall, the events of the day replaying in my mind, not as images but as feelings. The weight in my chest. The tightness in my throat. The strange distance between my body and everything around me.

Downstairs, my parents’ voices continued for a while longer before fading into the background hum of the television. Life resumed its normal pace, uninterrupted.

Lying back on my bed, I realised something that frightened me more than anything else.

Tomorrow would look exactly like today.

And the day after that.

I closed my eyes, letting the darkness take me again, knowing that whatever had broken inside me would have to remain hidden, at least for now.

Because in this house, survival meant silence.

And silence, I was already learning, came naturally.