Chapter 7: Knocking on old doors
716 Words
Dodo had paced the kitchen three times. The kettle had boiled and cooled without being used. The toast had popped up, untouched. Her phone lay on the counter, screen lit, open to the contacts list.
Shaun’s Mother – Portia's Grandma.
She hadn’t spoken to the woman in nearly sixteen years.
With a breath that shook more than she wanted to admit, she tapped Call.
It rang.
Twice.
“Hello?” the voice came—older, but still recognizable, still firm.
Dodo cleared her throat. “Good afternoon, Mama. It’s... it’s Dodo. Portia’s mother.”
Silence. Then a long inhale. “Ah. My girl.”
Dodo could hear a chair creak, fabric shifting. She imagined the woman sitting down, clutching her chest.
“I didn’t think I’d ever hear from you again.”
“I wasn’t sure you’d want to,” Dodo replied honestly. “But... Portia’s asking questions. She wants to meet her father. And you.”
There was another pause. Then, with unmistakable emotion: “She should. I’ve wanted this for years. I just didn’t know how to reach you. We—” she hesitated, “—we didn’t treat you right back then. I was wrong to stay silent.”
Dodo felt a lump rise in her throat. All the shame she’d carried at eighteen, walking alone through pregnancy, seemed to swell in her chest again.
“Mama Gloria had been so furious. We were living in a mud house. She thought you all looked down on us.”
“She wasn’t wrong,” Shaun’s mother said, her voice tinged with regret. “We thought we were better off. My son had many girls, and we thought you were just... another one. But when you told us you were pregnant, I saw his fear. And instead of standing up for you, we distanced ourselves.”
Dodo wiped her eyes. “That broke something in me.”
“I know,” the older woman whispered. “Shaun’s married now, with two children. But I’ll talk to him. I’ll make sure he sees her. Please bring her. Let her know we aren’t all gone.”
Dodo whispered, “Thank you,” as tears slid silently down her cheeks.
---
The second call didn’t go as gently.
Lucky – Henry’s father.
His voice came fast and sharp. “What now, Dodo?”
Dodo braced herself. “Henry wants to meet you.”
A laugh. Short. Harsh. “What for? What do you need? Is this about money?”
“No. I don’t want anything. Henry has questions. He’s thirteen now.”
“Why now?” Lucky asked, his tone rising. “You vanish, raise him alone, now you suddenly remember I exist? You dying or something?”
Dodo bit back the sting. “I made my choices. I’ve never asked you for anything. But he’s your son. He has a right to know you.”
Lucky exhaled hard into the phone. Then: “I need to speak to my wife. I’ll get back to you.”
He ended the call.
Just like that.
---
Dodo stood alone in the kitchen, the silence deafening. She gripped the counter and let her shoulders fall.
She had imagined anger, avoidance—but the guilt? That came from her own chest.
Maybe she had waited too long.
Maybe she had made too many decisions without giving either of her children a choice.
---
That night, after both Portia and Henry had gone to bed, Dodo opened her journal.
After staring at it , thinking quietly she started writing.
Today I went back into the past. Opened doors I thought I had sealed shut. I thought I was doing this for my kids, but maybe I also needed to see something. Maybe I needed to hear that I wasn’t crazy all those years ago.
Portia’s grandmother said sorry. And that word—that one word—is unraveling things I’ve wrapped in silence for years.
Lucky was exactly as I expected. Cold. Suspicious. But he picked up. That’s something.
I don’t know what will come of this. I’m scared Portia or Henry will be disappointed. Or worse, hurt again.
But today, I tried.
Lesson: The past can’t be undone. But maybe, if I’m brave, I can help them write a better future.
- Writer
