MONIFE

The Confession

MONIFE

Chapter THREE

Telling my mother was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.

For days, I tried to hold it in. I told myself I could figure it out on my own, that maybe I didn’t have to say anything until it was too obvious to hide. I even convinced myself that if I acted normal long enough, maybe the pregnancy would just… disappear.

But life doesn’t work that way.

Each morning became harder than the last. I would wake up nauseous, run to the bathroom before she could notice, then smile through my chores and pretend everything was fine. But she knew. Of course she knew. Grace didn’t raise me without learning how to read me like a book.

She would study me over the rim of her tea cup, her brows slightly knit, as though trying to figure out what wasn’t adding up. Sometimes she asked if I was feeling okay. I always said yes.

Then came Sunday.

We were preparing for church. She stood at the mirror, adjusting her gele, while I sat on the edge of the bed, unable to move. My dress felt tighter than usual, and my stomach wouldn’t stop churning.

“Monife, what’s wrong?” she asked, without turning around.

“Nothing,” I replied quickly.

She turned to face me. “You’ve been acting strange for weeks. You hardly eat. You sleep too much. You look like you’re walking on pins. What is it?”

I opened my mouth to lie again, but my throat closed. I couldn’t do it anymore.

“Mummy,” I said, voice shaking, “I need to tell you something.”

She didn’t speak. She didn’t blink. She just sat beside me and waited.

My hands trembled in my lap. My eyes wouldn’t meet hers. The silence between us stretched so long that it began to hurt.

“I’m… I’m pregnant,” I said.

She didn’t move.

For a moment, I wondered if she had heard me. I glanced up, and that was when I saw her expression change. Her eyes clouded, lips parted, and something in her shoulders collapsed. She didn’t cry. She didn’t shout. She just stared at me as if I had confirmed her deepest fear.

“Who?” she asked, her voice low and even.

I looked down again. “It was at a party. I didn’t plan for anything to happen. I didn’t even know I was…”

“Who is the father?” she cut in.

“It wasn’t… it wasn’t like that. He didn’t ask. I didn’t say yes. I couldn’t say no.”

That was when she understood. Completely. Her hand flew to her mouth, and for the first time in my life, I saw her cry without making a sound.

“Mummy, I didn’t know how to tell you,” I whispered.

She stood up slowly and walked to the window. Her back was to me now. She stayed that way for a long time, arms folded across her chest, her breathing uneven.

“His name?” she finally asked.

“Dayo. He’s not from school. He’s someone’s cousin. I don’t think I’ll ever see him again.”

She nodded once, stiffly. Then turned to face me again.

“You’re sure you’re pregnant?”

I nodded.

She didn’t say anything for another few seconds, then walked over and sat next to me again. This time, she took my hand. Hers was cold. Mine was clammy. Neither of us knew what to say. There was just a quiet grief between us. Hers for a past she thought she had escaped, and mine for a future that had suddenly grown too heavy.

“I always prayed this wouldn’t happen to you,” she said finally. Her voice cracked on the last word. “I thought I had done enough to protect you. I thought I had… warned you.”

“It’s not your fault.”

She looked at me then, really looked at me, and nodded in disagreement.

“It is. I have failed you, Monife.”

We sat in silence for a long time. No church that day. No breakfast either. Just two women, both marked by the same fate, sitting on the same bed where innocence had lived and died, twice.

The only difference now was that Grace had faced it alone.

And I wasn’t.

To Be Continued.