My Mother Lied

Tomiwa couldn’t stop staring at the name on her phone.

Nnenna Okafor.

She read it again.

Then again.

One name had suddenly become the center of everything.

The mysterious woman.

The late-night meetings.

The company car.

The office she wasn’t allowed to enter.

She wanted to march into Damola’s office and demand answers.

Instead, she remembered something her father used to tell her.

“When everybody is hiding something, don’t start with the loudest liar. Start with the quietest one.”

Her mother.

…

Saturday afternoon, Tomiwa drove to her parents’ house in Surulere without telling anyone.

The compound looked exactly the way she remembered growing up.

The mango tree her father refused to cut down.

The old swing her younger cousins had broken years ago.

The smell of jollof rice drifting from the kitchen.

For a moment, everything felt normal.

Her mother opened the door.

“Tomi! Why didn’t you call first?”

“I wanted to surprise you.”

Mrs. Adebayo hugged her tightly.

“My married daughter.”

She kissed her forehead.

“How is my son-in-law?”

Tomiwa forced a smile.

“He’s fine.”

The lie came out too easily.

…

An hour later, they sat alone in the kitchen peeling vegetables for dinner.

Her mother looked unusually happy.

“You’ve been glowing since the wedding.”

Tomiwa almost laughed.

If only she knew.

She decided to test the waters.

“Mummy.”

“Hmm?”

“Did you ever keep a really big secret from me?”

Mrs. Adebayo chuckled.

“Every parent has small secrets.”

“I’m not talking about small ones.”

The knife in her mother’s hand stopped moving.

“What kind of question is that?”

“The kind that needs an honest answer.”

Her mother resumed slicing carrots.

“Where is this coming from?”

Tomiwa looked directly at her.

“Did anything happen twenty-six years ago?”

The knife slipped.

Mrs. Adebayo gasped as it cut her finger.

Blood dripped onto the chopping board.

“Oh!”

Tomiwa quickly grabbed tissue.

“Mummy!”

“I’m fine.”

But she wasn’t.

Her hands were shaking.

Not because of the cut.

Because of the question.

Tomiwa noticed immediately.

“Mummy…”

“It was an accident.”

“No.”

She held her mother’s hand gently.

“You reacted before the knife slipped.”

Mrs. Adebayo pulled her hand away.

“You’re imagining things.”

“No, I’m not.”

Silence.

Then her mother stood up.

“I need to wash this.”

She hurried toward the sink.

Tomiwa followed.

“What happened twenty-six years ago?”

“Nothing.”

“Then why are you nervous?”

“I’m not nervous.”

“You’ve never lied well.”

Her mother turned around sharply.

“I said nothing happened.”

The words came too quickly.

Too loudly.

At that exact moment, Tomiwa’s father entered the kitchen.

“What’s going on?”

Both women became quiet.

Mrs. Adebayo smiled immediately.

“Nothing.”

“We were just talking.”

Her father looked from one face to the other.

He knew.

Something wasn’t right.

…

That evening, after dinner, Tomiwa wandered into the sitting room while her parents entertained visitors outside.

She smiled as she looked around.

Family photographs covered almost every wall.

Birthdays.

Christmas celebrations.

Graduations.

Old memories.

She picked up a dusty photo album from the shelf.

Inside were pictures from before she was born.

Her parents’ traditional wedding.

Their honeymoon.

Her father’s first car.

Then she reached a page where several photographs had obviously been removed.

Only the photo corners remained.

She frowned.

Someone had deliberately taken them out.

She turned another page.

More missing photographs.

“Looking for something?”

She nearly jumped.

Her mother stood behind her.

“I was just…”

Mrs. Adebayo gently took the album from her hands.

“These old albums are falling apart.”

“They’re not falling apart.”

Tomiwa pointed at the empty spaces.

“Someone removed these pictures.”

“No.”

“They got damaged.”

“All of them?”

Her mother avoided her eyes.

“It happens.”

Tomiwa wasn’t convinced.

As Mrs. Adebayo carried the album away, a loose photograph slipped onto the floor without either of them noticing.

Tomiwa quietly picked it up.

Her breath caught.

The photograph showed her mother many years younger, standing beside another woman she had never seen before.

The woman was heavily pregnant.

Both of them were smiling.

On the back of the photograph, someone had written in blue ink.

“Best friends forever. No matter what happens to our babies. 1999.”

Babies.

Plural.

Tomiwa quickly slipped the photograph into her handbag before her mother returned.

…

That night, back in Lekki, she studied the picture again.

The pregnant woman looked familiar.

Very familiar.

She zoomed in using her phone.

Then suddenly froze.

She knew exactly where she had seen that face before.

Not in person.

On a framed award hanging inside Williams Legacy Holdings during her engagement visit.

The same woman.

Older now.

Listed as one of the company’s founding directors.

She whispered the name beneath the photograph.

“Grace Okafor…”

Okafor.

Her heart skipped.

Nnenna Okafor.

The mysterious woman.

Could they be related?

Before she could think further, she heard footsteps outside her bedroom.

She quickly hid the photograph.

A soft knock followed.

“Come in,” she said.

Damola entered.

His eyes immediately fell on the edge of the old photograph peeking slightly from beneath her notebook.

His face changed.

For the first time since their wedding, he looked genuinely alarmed.

He walked toward her.

“Where did you get that picture?”

His voice was no longer calm.

It carried fear.

Real fear.

Tomiwa slowly picked up the photograph and held it tightly.

“I think,” she said quietly, “it’s time you stopped telling me half the truth.”

Damola stared at the picture for several long seconds.

Then he whispered words that made her entire world tilt.

“You were never supposed to find that.”

Do you think Tomiwa’s mother is protecting her, or hiding the truth for herself?

To be continued…