WANDERER’S FATE

My mother is beautiful. Not just in the way people say it out of politeness—she is truly breathtaking. Curvy, light-skinned, with a warmth that makes everything feel safe. If there were a word greater than beautiful, it would belong to her. But beauty doesn't mean happiness, and safety was something she never truly had. She was a nail technician, hardworking and kind, yet she married a man who did not deserve her. My father had no real job—he survived by selling his father's lands in Lagos. As the firstborn, he had rights to the property, and for a while, we lived like rich kids. A car in the driveway, a big rented apartment, a life that seemed perfect. But behind closed doors, my mother was living in hell. I was too young to see it. Too young to understand that love shouldn't come with bruises or that silence wasn't always peace. I adored my father, trusted him, thought my mother was the problem whenever she cried. I didn't know better. Then, everything changed. My father was arrested. They told us it had to do with his work, but what work? He had none. We—his four children and my mother—were left in the dark. My mother, heavily pregnant with my father's fifth child, ran from one place to another, begging for help, pleading with strangers, doing whatever she could to get him out. The stress was unbearable. She lost the baby. But even then, she didn't stop until she saved him. When he was finally released, things didn't go back to normal. Money was tight. My mother's business kept us afloat, but it wasn't enough. When the rent was due and the police started looking for my father again, secrets spilled—he had a land somewhere, land that they had bought together long ago.