CHAPTER TWO
1259 Words
The silence was her shield. Her wall.
Her mother’s voice sounded distant, like a mosquito buzzing in the background.
“Thank you for coming, Aria,” Imaobong said. “I know how you feel about me, but I want you to know something. I left because I love you and your father. I didn’t want to be the reason both of you would suffer in your hometown.”
Those words weren’t new. She had said them 17 years ago, and to Aria, they still made no sense.
She didn’t respond. Didn’t even glance her way.
“I want what’s best for you, Aria,” Imaobong continued. “I love you. I’m sorry for everything. But you will not understand—”
Aria looked at her—briefly, sharply.
Best? The word scratched like a blade.
She bit her lip, swallowing the rage that had lived inside her for years.
If that were true, you wouldn’t have remarried and move on like we don't matter. she thought, but said nothing.
The car finally pulled into the airport drop-off zone.
Aria didn’t wait for the driver to park. She pushed the door open, yanked her suitcase from the trunk like it had offended her, and rolled it toward the entrance of Victor Attah International Airport—without looking back.
Imaobong ran after her, calling out.
“Aria!” she cried. “At least let me—”
“Don’t,” Aria snapped, spinning on her heel.
Her voice was low, but sharp enough to cut through the traffic noise.
“There’s no point in hugging. You didn’t hug me when you left that night—seventeen years ago.”
Her mother flinched.
For a second, something flickered in her eyes—hurt, maybe—but Aria was already walking away, disappearing into the crowd.
She didn’t want to see it. Couldn’t.
If she looked too long, her anger might crack—and what lay beneath was far more dangerous: grief.
Imaobong stood in place, tears streaking her cheeks. She wondered if her daughter would ever understand why she had to leave.
Inside the terminal, Aria sat at the edge of the hall, her gaze fixed on nothing yet seeing everything.
Memories looped: the night her mother left. Her father’s death. The attack. She remembered it clearly.
It was at night. Some men had broken into their home.
His last words haunted her even now:
“Run, Aria! Never forget to find your mother. Please… she’s not the enemy. The journal will guide you to her. Be safe. Be alive…”
Those were his final words before she fled into the dark streets of Rome. Heart pounding. Feet bleeding. Chased by men whose faces she never saw.
She never understood why they came. All she knew was that her father was murdered, and she had to survive.
She had been alone for ten years.
Her mother had vanished seven years before the attack. And now her father was gone too.
She came to Nigeria for answers. For closure. To face the woman who walked away.
But now, sitting here—eyes swollen, heart aching—she realized the truth: she couldn’t even bring herself to ask.
The hatred ran too deep. The bitterness blocked every question her soul longed to ask.
And maybe… maybe it was time to stop digging.
Maybe it was better to bury it all.
Why care anymore?
Her mother had remarried. Had new children. Built a new life. Laughed again.
If she ever cared about Aria or her father, would she have moved on so easily?
No.
So, Aria made her decision. Right there in that crowded terminal, her flight long gone.
Let it go. Let everyone move on.
“It’s better this way,” she whispered, as tears fell once again. “Let everyone move on.”
Passengers rushed past. Flights were announced. But she heard none of it.
To anyone passing, she looked like a lost foreigner—a beautiful oyibo girl with honey-brown hair, crying quietly into her palms.
“Hi… are you okay?” a soft voice asked.
Aria jolted, startled.
A young Nigerian woman stood nearby, concerned.
Aria blinked, trying to remember where she was.
“My flight…” she stammered, jumping up.
She grabbed her hand luggage and rushed toward the nearest gate.
But at the security check, the attendant frowned.
“Ma’am, this isn’t your flight. The plane to Lagos left over an hour ago.”
Her heart sank.
She had been sitting in the terminal—haunted—for more than an hour.
She stood there, frozen, surrounded by people who belonged—travelers with homes, families, and destinations. And she? She was stuck. Between a past she couldn’t forget and a future she hadn’t begun to imagine.
Trembling, she pulled out her phone and rebooked the missed flight.
She needed to get to Lagos. Only from there could she book her flight back to Toronto.
The plane took off smoothly. Clouds swallowed the landscape. Aria leaned against the window, watching the world disappear beneath her.
She closed her eyes, not to sleep—but to silence the pain.
She wanted answers. Desperately. But did they even matter anymore?
“I’m sorry, Dad,” she whispered inside. “I think it’s best to just let that woman live her life. She’s happily married now… with three other children. That’s her world.”
Disappointment pressed against her chest. But she breathed through it.
“Don’t worry about me,” she whispered again. “I’ll survive. I always do.”
Then she opened her eyes. A tear slipped down her cheek. She wiped it quickly, angry that it dared to fall.
No one noticed her break. Not the snoring man beside her. Not the flight attendant with the drink cart.
And that was exactly how she wanted it.
Hidden. Untouched. Untouchable.
She sat straighter. Her jaw clenched.
This wasn’t the time for weakness.
She had buried that ten-year-old girl a long time ago. Alongside her father.
No use digging her up now.
Yet in the silence of the cabin, her father’s voice echoed once more.
“Your mother is not the enemy, Aria.”
Her chest tightened. The memory stung more than she cared to admit.
She tapped her phone, checking her itinerary. Akwa Ibom to Lagos.
What next? she wondered. Book the Toronto flight now… or wait a few days?
The pilot’s voice cut through her thoughts, announcing their arrival in Lagos.
Stepping out of Murtala Muhammed Airport, the heat hit her first. Then the chaos—taxi drivers, noise, movement.
Aria felt drained—physically, emotionally. Grief had a way of exhausting the soul.
“I just need to rest,” she murmured, pulling out her phone.
She booked a lodge near the city center. Minutes later, an Uber picked her up.
By the time she arrived, she collapsed on the soft hotel bed, Lagos fading behind her as sleep claimed her.
She woke with a heavy heart—and an even heavier decision.
This wasn’t her home.
There was nothing left here. Not her father. Not her mother. Not even peace.
Canada was her life now. Her job. Her structure. Her safety.
She picked up her phone and booked her return flight to Toronto.
There was no reason to stay another day.
No more searching for answers.
No more regrets.
She packed her luggage again.
Ordered an Uber.
And headed to Murtala Muhammed International Airport.
The international wing.
Her mind was made up.
But fate?
Fate had other plans.
- Writer
