All Her Fault

RAGE

The sun had barely risen when the house came alive. The smell of akara frying in the kitchen mixed with the faint scent of palm oil my mother had used for stew the day before. My father was kneeling on the living room carpet, head bowed, whispering the morning prayers. Obinna sat on the couch opposite me, fingers drumming lightly on his knees, his eyes pretending to look anywhere but at me.

“Lord, keep us safe today,” my father finished. “Protect our home, our family, and guide us through this day.”

“Amen,” my mother echoed, standing up and straightening her blouse.

We shared the grace and went on with our morning chores.

The house was noisy that morning. My mother was in the kitchen arguing with the blender. My father sat in the sitting room watching the news, muttering about politicians. Obinna was outside washing the car, sleeves rolled up, humming a song.

Ifeoma was plaiting her hair in the sitting room, legs stretched across the rug. Sometimes mummy would tease her saying that was her superpower.

Ikem sat on the floor in his room with his laptop, headphones hanging around his neck. He was arguing with someone on the phone about football.

“I swear Messi no fit do wetin Ronaldo do,” he said. “You people just dey sentimental.”

“Don’t you have chores to attend to this morning?” I asked him.

“Sister amaka leave me jare,” he replied. “School don resume soon. Let me enjoy this short holiday.”

“Please go and tidy those dirty plates in the skin.”

“But i washed plates at night let ify do this one”

“If u sand you ehhhh… it’s like you don’t have respect, so na me go wash plates for you” Ifeoma interrupted.

I laughed while shaking my head as i left the room, i had no strength in me to argue fights.

After breakfast, my parents prepared to go out. A condolence visit. They asked Ikem and Ifeoma to follow them.

“Maka, you’re not coming?” my mother asked.

No. I’ll be staying back home. I replied.

“Mummy me too. I want to go and see a friend”Ifeoma said almost like she wanted to break down in tears.

“Common move.” My mom yelled signaling them to go outside.

I watched them drive off as my father listened to “Aye” by Davido on the radio.

I didn’t talk much with my dad, he was mostly intrigued by Obinna and Ikem who he felt needed his attention.

Back in the sitting room, Obinna leaned back, tilting his head. “You always pray so earnestly, Maka. I like that.” His voice was soft, almost teasing, but I felt the subtle undercurrent. His eyes lingered longer than necessary.

I shrugged, picking up my phone, pretending to scroll t****k, though my attention was half on him.

“You should smile more,” he said. “You look like you carry the world on your shoulders.”

“I don’t want to talk you” I said, trying to sound calm.

“Is something wrong?” he asked quietly, leaning forward. “I can help, if you let me.”

I didn’t answer. My hand tightened around my phone.

He didn’t move from the couch. He just smiled. “It’s quiet without them, isn’t it?”

“I’m going upstairs,” I said sharply, my voice louder than I intended.

He didn’t respond immediately. “Maka,” he said finally, voice soft. “Before you go, I just want to talk.”

I spun around. “About what?”

“About yesterday,” he said, pretending to shuffle through a book on the table. “About us. About how things have been… tense.”

I laughed bitterly. “Tense? You mean the way you ruined me?”

He looked up, calm, almost hurt. “Maka, I didn’t mean to—”

“You didn’t mean to!” I shouted. “Do you even understand what you did? Do you know what you broke? My life, my home, my trust, everything!”

He shook his head slowly. “You’re too emotional. You think the world is black and white. That’s why you see me as a monster.”

“I see you as what you are,” I yelled, stepping closer. “A liar. A hypocrite. A manipulator.”

He smiled faintly. “See, this is why you need to calm down. You’ve been holding onto anger. I just want to make things right.”

“Make things right?” I spat. “Do you know how many nights I cried? How many mornings I woke up hating myself? You don’t get to talk about right. You broke me!”

He leaned forward. “I am sorry, Maka. Truly. I’ve prayed. I’ve asked for forgiveness.”

I shook my head. “I don’t care about your prayers!”

I reached into my pocket and pulled out the small knife I had kept hidden earlier.

His eyes widened for the first time. “You would hurt me?”

“I’ll protect myself,” I said, voice trembling but strong. “Stay the f**k away from me.”

He chuckled softly. “You’re being insane, Maka. You’ll just make things worse for yourself.” He said as kept coming closer.

“Don’t come any closer.” I yelled.

I swung the knife, grazing his arm. Blood surfaced.

His calm broke. “You little—” he hissed. He grabbed my hair, yanking me backward. Pain shot up my spine. I screamed. I kicked, scratched, and stabbed at him again. My hands caught his arm, leaving a scratch that cut through his sleeve.

He roared in anger and slammed me against the wall. Hit after hit rained down, but I held on, refusing to go silent. I screamed, cursed, yelled everything I had bottled for years.

“You ruined me!” I screamed. “You ruined my life, and you think a little apology fixes it!”

When he finally let me go, I slid to the floor, gasping. He stood there, staring at the cut on his arm, fury simmering, his chest heaving.

I dragged myself to the kitchen counter, pressed my back against the wall, listening to the silence around us.

“I’m here whenever you want to talk.” He said as he left for his room.

For what seemed like forever, i sat there in silence, when my back couldn’t take it anymore, i laid there on the kitchen floor weeping my eyes out until sleep sprung me off my feet.

The gate clicked. My mother’s voice broke the silence as they entered. “Chiamaka!!”

I didn’t answer. I turned toward the stairs.

“Are you not the one I’m calling?” she shouted. “You’ve become so disrespectful. You think going to university gives you wings to behave like this?”

I stopped. My hands shook. “You… you’ve ruined me, Mother. You, Father, You’ve made me hate myself. I regret being part of this family. I regret it every day.”

“Ifeoma take ikem upstairs, let me know what your

Sister’s problem is.” She said

My father crossed us, sat on his favorite chair in the corner of the parlor watching us women unfold our voices.

“You ungrateful child!” she yelled again. “After all we’ve done for you! You think this is how a daughter should behave?”

I turned on Obinna, who had tried to step in. “Get your hypocritical talk out of my face! You disgust me!”

My father leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. “This is what happens when a child is raised poorly,” he said quietly. “Poor upbringing.”

“I have nothing to say to you, Dad. You’re unbelievable!” I yelled, storming up the stairs. I slammed my door, locked it, and pressed myself against it. My body shook, my hair was a mess, my chest burned.

Downstairs, I could hear my parents arguing.

“Talk to her oh she’s your daughter as much as she’s mine.”

“You’ve trained her to talk back at her elders,” my father murmured. “That quiet girl… and she just spat fire at us.”

I stayed pressed to the floor, listening, trembling, thinking about what the day had done to me and what it could do next.