Something Like Tender
EP 10- Far from tender
Tunde looked Tore in the eyes with a clarity that made her chest tighten. He was pleading without saying the words.
Tore nodded slowly. “Hm. Yes. He was one of my clients.” She held his gaze, refusing to look away.
Tunde nodded too quickly. “For how long?”
Tore let out a sharp laugh. “I don’t see how that matters.”
“He is my dad, Tore.” Tunde paused, swallowing hard. “This is different. I don’t think my mother knows. I did not even know that he…” His voice trailed off.
“Right. You didn’t judge me until one of the clients from my ‘past life’ turned out to be your dad.” She lifted her fingers in air quotes.
“That is not fair,” Tunde said, his tone firm. “I am not judging you. I am just… He loves my mum, Tore. At least I think he does.”
Tore shifted her weight to the other leg. The confidence in her posture softened, her eyes dropping for a moment.
“I am sorry, Tunde.” She shook her head slowly. “You are right. This is different.”
“Yea. Anyway, thank you for being honest.” He stepped back without turning, his eyes still on her until he disappeared into the house.
Hadiza’s eyes followed him. The moment he was gone, she spun toward Tore.
“Why did you not tell him?”
“What? I told him what he asked for.” Tore waved her hand dismissively.
“Tore, what is wrong with you?” Hadiza frowned. “Secrets come out. This one will eventually. You cannot hide a child forever.”
“Madam Hadiza, I lost the pregnancy.” Tore whispered sharply. “There. Are you happy?”
Hadiza’s hand flew to her mouth. She rushed forward and pulled Tore into a tight hug. “I am so sorry. I did not know.”
Tore stepped back. “It has been a long evening. I’m going home. Greet Joyce for me.” She turned and walked away.
Sunday, 7:30 a.m.
Tore had Freedom by Anatoria and Limoblaze blasting through her speakers as she got ready. She sang loudly, letting the music fill every corner of her room. She slipped into her yellow wide leg trousers, white sleeveless ruffled blouse, bone straight hair and yellow sandal heels. One last look in the mirror, a small nod, and she stepped out.
“Girl, how far now?” Zion shouted from her window, waving like she was calling someone across a football field.
Tore froze, then lifted her head slowly.
“Where are you going? It is not time for the party,” Zion added, leaning out even further. “Wait, na so you dey dress go?”
Tore swallowed. “Zion, I’m late abeg. We will talk later.”
“Wait for me, I am coming down,” Zion yelled, disappearing from the window.
Tore exhaled and turned toward the pavement. Zion burst out of the building, clapping her hands as she rushed over.
“Tore, where have you been? Everybody has been asking after you. It is like you have found a permanent maga.” She laughed, then narrowed her eyes. “Ahnahn, babe talk to me. Where have you been going to?” She tried to peek into Tore’s bag.
Tore swung the bag behind her. “I am going to church, Zion. Do you want to come?”
“Church kwa? Is your father sick?”
Tore laughed. “E reach to ask me. But no, he is fine.”
“Hm. When did you start going to church? No wonder you are dressing like Pastor.” Zion clapped her hands.
“Pastor dey wear sleeveless?” Tore laughed. “See Zion, later.”
She waved and walked off, sliding into her Lamborghini Urus. As she drove away, she could already picture Zion in the lounge later, casually dropping gist: ‘Guess where Tore went this morning.’
Tore sighed, turned the music up and let the beat drown her thoughts.
By 7:55, she pulled into the church car park and strutted toward the Kingdom Foundations class.
“Hey, Tore,” Amaka called, waving.
Tore flipped her hair and smiled. “Wow. Gorgeous woman. Look at you.” She opened her arms and Amaka hurried into them.
“How are you?” Tore asked, hands on Amaka’s waist.
“I am fine. You look good,” Amaka said. “You are here for the class?”
“Yes. Thank God I am not late.” Tore laughed.
Before Amaka could respond, someone called her name. Both women turned.
“I am so sorry,” a man said. “Someone asked if they can join the class without registering.”
“Oh no, sorry,” Amaka said gently. “They have to register so they can be on the database. We all have to respect the process.”
“Same thing I said, but I needed to be sure. Thank you.” He walked away.
Tore’s mouth dropped. “Amaka, are you the instructor? Why did you not tell me? Wow, wow, wow.” She shook Amaka playfully and they both laughed.
After class, Tore joined the crowd heading into the main building for service. She sang and danced. When the choir switched to a song she did not know, she typed the lyrics into Chrome, found the title, located it on Apple Music and added it to her playlist.
When service ended, she walked toward Nazo. During announcements, they had mentioned the church needed more sales personnel for the upcoming outreach, Harvest Hands.
Nazo’s nose ring caught the light, making her dark lipstick even more striking.
“Hi,” Tore said. “I would like to join the sales team for the outreach.”
Nazo’s face lit up. “Yayy, thank you. Can I take your details?” She held up her phone with a QR code. Tore scanned it and filled in her information.
As she stepped outside, she spotted Obi calling Hadiza’s name dramatically. Hadiza stared at him like a tired mother warning her child to behave.
He paused. “Should I stop?”
“No, continue. I do not even know why I keep answering you,” she hissed, then turned. When she saw Tore, her face brightened. “Sissy Tore, how far now?”
Tore laughed. “You and Obi though.”
“Hadi, Pastor Tade was looking for you oh. Have you seen her?” Joyce called out, holding two cups of orange juice, moving her legs slowly and gently. She handed one to Hadiza, then turned to Tore. “Hey beautiful, how are you?” She blew her a kiss. “Here you go,” she said, offering the second cup.
“Joyce, thank you, but I am sure that was not originally for me,” Tore smiled.
“Well, it is for you now,” Joyce said. “Tore, my hand hurts oh.”
“Hadiza, who gave you a drink?” Obi asked, returning with a larger cup and a whole orange juice pack.
“Wow,” Joyce laughed. “There are levels to this thing. So you went to bring the entire pack for her.”
Obi grinned. “I am nice like that.”
“Please give Tore to drink then,” Joyce said. “She has refused to collect this one from me.”
Tore laughed as Obi placed the cup in her hand and poured juice into it. Her laughter thinned almost immediately as her eyes drifted past Obi’s cup.
“What is distracting you?” he asked, following her gaze.
Across the courtyard, Tunde stood with a woman who looked like she had stepped out of a glossy magazine. Her caramel brown hair fell in soft waves over a white fitted knitted top, paired with a white midi pencil skirt that hugged her frame. Tore’s eyes dropped to her six inch pumps, then snapped back up to the woman’s smile, bright and endless.
Hadiza followed Tore’s gaze. “Who is the Agbani?” she muttered, squinting.
Before Tore could blink, Tunde raised his head and called out. “Joyce, please can I see you for a second.”
He began walking toward Joyce with the woman beside him, but Joyce met them halfway, her steps quick and light.
“This is Joyce,” Tunde said. “Joyce, meet Claire. She is new and has some questions. Please help her.”
Tore flinched at the name. She had been right. She knew the woman. Claire didn’t notice her at first. But when she did, her face brightened instantly. She walked straight over, arms already opening.
“Tore. Hi.” She wrapped her in a hug that smelled faintly of vanilla and expensive perfume.
Tore’s arms stayed stiff for a second before she returned it. “Claire, what are you doing here?”
Claire pulled back, smiling. “I just felt like coming to church.” She shrugged lightly.
Tore’s brow lifted. “And of all the churches in Lagos, it’s this one you chose?”
Claire’s smile faltered. “Tore, what’s your point?”
“Just admit it. Zion told you girls this morning,” Tore said, folding her arms. “Why are you not even at the party?”
Claire blinked, then tilted her head. “Why aren’t you?”
Tore’s jaw tightened, but she said nothing.
Claire exhaled softly. “I left them.”
“Why?” Tore asked.
“That is my business, Tore.” Claire’s tone sharpened. “And yes, Zion knows you have been coming here. She told us to mind our business when we asked her this morning.”
A small shock rippled through Tore’s chest. Zion, of all people, keeping quiet? That was not normal. Zion loved gist the way plants loved sunlight.
Claire gave her a soft, almost apologetic smile. “I will see you later.” She turned, lifted a hand in a small wave. “Bye, Tunde.” Then she walked off, her heels clicking confidently across the pavement.
Tore’s eyes followed her until she disappeared behind a group of people. Something hot and uncomfortable settled under her ribs.
She inhaled, straightened her shoulders and walked toward Tunde and Joyce.
Joyce was already mid sentence. “Let me speak with Amaka about it. I do not think she can attend without registering.” She gave Tore a warm smile before heading off.
Tore did not waste time. “What did that babe want?”
Tunde looked at her, brows raised slightly. “Claire? She is new. She just had some questions.”
“Hm.” Tore let the sound slip out, low and unimpressed. “I do not think she means well. I think you should keep your distance.”
Tunde’s expression shifted. “Do you know her?”
Tore exhaled through her nose. “Yes. She is one of the girls at the lounge. She is a real life bi…” She caught herself, jaw tightening. “She is not a good person. She is sneaky.”
Tunde nodded slowly. “Alright. Thank you. I handed her over to Joyce anyway because I do not want to follow up with a lady.”
Something flickered across Tore’s face. “Is that why you do not behave like you knew me before Joyce and Hadiza?”
Tunde looked at her but said nothing.
Tore let out a small scoff. “You have practically shoved me into Hadiza’s hands.”
Tunde rubbed the back of his neck. “I was going to preach to you during what was supposed to be our final lunch. I was not sure how it would go. But I admit, I wanted you to meet the ladies at the picnic so that…”
“So you were always going to kick me off like I was nothing?” Tore cut in, her voice tight.
“Tore…”
“It is fine,” she said too quickly. “It is what it is.”
She looked away, swallowing the sting rising in her throat. “Anyway. Stay away from Claire. In fact, I do not think any of you should be friends with her.”
“Tore, are you serious? Come on,” Tunde said, disbelief colouring his voice.
“I know what I am saying,” she insisted. “She is not church material. She is bad news.”
Tunde’s face hardened. “Imagine if I, or Hadiza, thought the same about you.”
He shook his head once and walked away.
Tore stood there, the words hitting her harder than she expected. Her chest rose and fell too quickly, like her body was trying to catch up with something her mind had not processed.
Then her purse vibrated once, twice, then again, rapid and insistent, like the phone was tapping her shoulder.
She blinked, snapping out of the fog, and walked away from the courtyard with stiff steps. The chiming continued. She opened her bag with shaky fingers, pulled out her phone and unlocked WhatsApp.
The Elite Lounge group chat was on fire. Pictures poured in nonstop. Girls posing with celebrities, champagne bottles raised, perfect makeup, perfect bodies, perfect chaos.
The first part of the party was already over. They were preparing for the main event. Tore’s throat tightened as she scrolled. She lifted her head and looked around the church compound. Joyce and Amaka stood at a distance, deep in conversation, their faces soft, their gestures calm.
She looked back down at her phone and her eyes caught the way Ade’s hand rested on Zion’s waist and her chest thudded. She looked up again, then back down at her phone.
Her fingers hovered for a moment, then she typed, “Y’all look so good. Will be there soon.”
She hit send before she could think twice, then turned and walked to her car.
At home, she moved like someone trying to outrun her own thoughts. She stripped out of her church outfit and slipped into a dress that clung to her like a second skin. It was a deep emerald mini dress with a plunging neckline, thin straps, and a slit that climbed high enough to make her pause for half a second before she zipped it up.
She changed her wig to a long, honey‑blonde body wave that brushed her waist.
As Tore stepped into the hall, the music hit her first. Heavy bass. Flashing lights. Bodies moving like they had no bones. Her eyes adjusted, sweeping across the room.
Then she saw Zion and Ade locked in.
Zion’s arms looped around his neck, her hips moving in sync with his. Ade’s hands rested on her waist, steady and familiar. Something sharp twisted under Tore’s ribs, hot and sour.
Then Zion lifted her face and spotted her. Her whole face lit up. She untangled herself from Ade like it was nothing and rushed toward Tore.
“My babe is back!” she screamed, throwing her arms around her. The hug was loud, scented with perfume and sweat and excitement.
Zion tapped a male waiter walking past with a tray of drinks. “Abeg bring one of the expensive cigars for my friend!” She picked a glass of whiskey and handed it to Tore with a grin.
Ade stood where he was, watching Tore. A flicker of hurt crossed his face, quick and unguarded, before he looked away.
Tore felt all of it, including the jealousy she didn’t want to admit.
The waiter handed her a cigar. Tore took a sip from her glass. “Ouu, Yamazaki 25.” She grinned at Zion, then looked at Ade again.
Zion followed her gaze and turned back to Tore. “Babe, it’s not what you think oh.”
Tore ignored her, distracted by someone else approaching.
Claire.
She appeared beside her, lips curled in a mocking smile.
“Hm. So we’re all pretending after all,” she said, her voice sharp enough to cut.
Tore didn’t respond. She just turned and walked away.
Outside, the night air hit her like a slap. She tossed the cigar into the bin, her hand shaking. She stared at the whisky for a moment, then poured it out in one long stream. The glass followed, clattering into the bin.
“Omotore.”
The voice slid across the quiet night like a blade. She didn’t turn. Her shoulders rose, then fell, a long, exhausted exhale leaving her chest.
“What?” she shouted back, still facing away. “Your son knows about us, by the way.” A bitter smile tugged at her lips as she finally turned to face him. “I hope that burns. He now knows you’re not the perfect daddy everyone thinks you are.”
Femi stood a few feet away, but he looked like he had aged in one night.
“Tore…” His voice cracked. “I don’t know why you’re still upset. I said I was sorry. I… I honestly got carried away.”
She snapped.
“You were sorry?” Her voice tore through the air. “Femi, I lost my freaking child!”
He flinched like the words slapped him. His eyes reddened instantly. He opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again, like the words were stuck behind his ribs.
He took a slow, cautious step toward her.
“A car hit me while I was waiting for you,” she cried, her voice shaking. “Dialling your stupid number over and over. Only to see you with your ‘wife’.” She lifted her fingers in mocking air quotes.
Femi’s face crumpled. His lips trembled. His eyes glistened.
“Tore… I’m… I’m so—” The rest of the sentence died in his throat. He swallowed hard, tried again. “I’m sorry.” It came out small. Fragile. Barely a whisper.
He reached for her arm, but she jerked back.
“You know what? Maybe that was my punishment for sleeping with another woman’s husband.” She turned to walk away.
He grabbed her wrist and she screamed, “Leave me alone oh!”
Before he could react, another pair of hands grabbed Tore’s shoulders.
“Tore, are you okay?” a voice rushed out.
Claire.
She stepped in front of her like a shield, eyes blazing. “Femi, stand back,” she warned, lifting the broken glass in her hand.
Femi froze, hands up.
Tore wiped her face with the back of her hand. “I’m fine,” she muttered, stepping away from both of them.
She didn’t look at Femi again. She didn’t look at Claire either.
She just walked fast to her car.
Inside the car, her breath broke first. Then the sob.
She slammed her palms against the steering wheel. “God… God, is that really my punishment?” she screamed, her voice cracking.
Tears poured down her cheeks, hot and relentless.
“Even if it is… I’m tired,” she sobbed. “I’m tired of this pain. Of this anger. Of carrying this thing alone.”
Her voice dropped to a whisper, raw and trembling.
“I can’t even say it out loud to anyone because it sounds absurd… that I should complain that the child I got from another woman’s husband died… and I’m sad.”
Her forehead hit the steering wheel.
“But God… I’m sad oh.” Her voice broke again. “Eh, I’m sad oh God.”
She cried until her whole body shook, until her breath came in gasps, until the night outside blurred into streaks of light and darkness.
And still, she cried.
6:11 a.m.
Morning came like a weight on Tore’s chest.
She dragged herself up from the bed. Her body moved before her mind caught up. She knelt beside the mattress, elbows on the edge, head bowed.
She closed her eyes to pray and dozed off.
Her head slipped forward, jerking her awake. She snapped upright with so much force her neck cracked. She started praying out loud, then her head dropped and she dozed off again.
She opened her eyes about thirty minutes later and got up. She slowly paced her room and spoke simple, calm words.
“I thank You that I didn’t lose my life. I lost my baby, but I didn’t lose my life. Thank You.” She paused and let the tears flow. “Daddy, please forgive me,” she whispered as she knelt again. “I was wrong. I know the men left their homes themselves, but I should never have been there. I should never have supported married men cheating. I’m sorry it took me so long to tell You I’m sorry.”
She paused. “Wait… You’ve forgiven me, right?”
She laughed, then jumped up.
“Thank You, Daddy. You forgave me before now. Wow. Your heart is so large. Wow.”
She laughed again.
Then she reached for her Bible on the nightstand. The pages felt soft under her fingers as she flipped through them, the thin sheets whispering against each other.
Halfway through a chapter, she picked up her phone and unlocked it. Her thumb hovered for a moment before she typed into the group chat:
“Anyone available for a love feast at mine?”
She dropped the phone beside her and went back to her Bible, tracing a verse with her finger, whispering it like she needed it to sink into her bones.
“Offer hospitality to one another without grumbling.”
When she finally closed her Bible, she picked up her phone again and laughed so hard she held her stomach.
Joyce: I call dibs on the roasted plantain and peppered turkey, many thanks.
Hadiza: Dibser ni. It will go round madam, try dey relax
Obi: I knew today was about to be a good day
Dare: Una no dey pray for morninggggggg
Joyce: Tore love, please I’m begging, yes I’m a beggar.
Obi: Beggi beggi
Joyce: Please I want peppered turkey take away. Ask me anything and I’ll give you half my kingdom.
Hadiza: Esau, wehdone ma
Joyce: Sha don’t beg me when she gives me
Tore stood and stretched, still giggling, as she headed to the kitchen.
4:47pm
Hours later, her house was alive. Music thumped with Cole Palmer by Limoblaze vibrating through the walls. Food trays lined the counter like a buffet at a wedding.
Obi danced with a ladle. Hadiza laughed like she owned the place. Joyce arranged plates with her usual calm precision. Tunde leaned against the wall, watching everyone with a soft smile he didn’t even realise he had.
Dare was outside grilling something and shouting instructions no one asked for.
Then the front door burst open.
A woman stormed in wearing a golden dripped bubu, her bag hanging from her arm.
“Where is the slut?!”
The music didn’t fade. It just died.
Tunde spun around. “Mum? What are you doing here?”
She froze for a second, her eyes narrowing. “Tunde. What are you doing here?”
“It’s my friend’s house,” he said.
People greeted her politely, “Good evening, ma,” but she didn’t acknowledge a single one.
She turned to Joyce. “Hello darling, you’re also here.” She said it matter‑of‑factly, then pointed a finger at Tunde. “Do you know that your so‑called friend has been sleeping with your father?”
Tunde’s eyes dropped.
She nodded slowly. “I see. So you knew.”
Then she stepped closer, her voice rising. “Well, do you also know that the slut got pregnant for him?”
Tunde’s head snapped up.
His eyes darted to Hadiza, who closed her eyes, exhaled, then opened them. Then his eyes moved to Joyce, who also stared at Hadiza like she was trying to read her mind.
Before anyone could speak, the back door opened.
Tore and Dare walked in, laughing, carrying a large bowl.
“Are you guys ready for the next surprise?” Dare shouted. Then he saw the room. Tore followed his gaze and froze.
Senator Adetoun. Femi’s wife.
Senator Adetoun lunged at Tore immediately. The slap cracked through the room like thunder.
The bowl fell from Tore’s hands, crashing to the floor. The peppered turkey splattered everywhere, the sauce spreading across the tiles like a slow‑moving stain.
Dare jumped between them. “Ma, please—” He bent to pick up the bowl. Hadiza rushed to Tore, trying to lift her, when Senator Adetoun stepped forward again and raised her hand.
Joyce caught it mid‑air.
“Enough,” she said, pushing her back.
Dare straightened, stunned.
“How dare you?” Senator Adetoun spat. “Why would you side with this prostitute? This foolish home wrecker!”
Obi rushed in from the kitchen, confused. “What’s happening—”
Joyce’s eyes flicked toward Tunde, who stood stiff, staring but not seeing. “Ma,” Joyce said, her voice steady, “Tore isn’t married to you. I think you should meet the person you married. In fact, your husband paid millions of naira just to sleep with this ‘prostitute’… enough to get her pregnant.”
Senator Adetoun turned sharply toward Joyce, but Joyce didn’t flinch.
“I think you should go home and fight your husband,” Hadiza said, lifting herself up with Tore still on the ground, her legs pulled to her chest, “instead of coming here to act like a hypocrite.”
Senator Adetoun raised her hand toward Joyce this time, and Obi caught it, gripping her wrist firmly.
“Ma, please, you need to leave,” Obi said, avoiding her eyes.
Senator Adetoun yanked her arm free, breathing hard, her eyes darting around the room, at the food on the floor, at the faces watching her, at her son who wouldn’t meet her gaze.
Then she turned sharply and stormed out. The door slammed behind her.
Tunde reached for Joyce. “Are you okay?”
Joyce shoved his hand away. “Don’t touch me.”
She rushed to Tore, who was now in Hadiza’s arms, shaking.
Tore got up shakily. “Well… guys… this has been eventful.” She forced a laugh that cracked. “If you want to go, feel free.” She turned toward the stairs, and Hadiza hurried after her.
Tunde followed Joyce again as she joined Dare in cleaning the stained tiles and wall. “You shouldn’t have spoken to my mum like that. You of all people know she doesn’t forget things easily. And you know she knows—”
Joyce laughed. “Yes, Tunde. I shouldn’t have said those things. Because you, Tunde, you should’ve been the one to say them.”
Tunde blinked.
“Why would you stand there and let your mum hit Tore in her own house?” Joyce asked. “You couldn’t even stop her when she tried to hit me.”
“Tore lied to me!” he shouted.
From the stairs, Tore turned, eyes blazing with tears.
“Ehn? Kill me now!” she yelled. “Kill me now since your father killed my child!”
The room went still as Tore turned and disappeared.
7:59 p.m.
Tunde stepped out of his car and shut the door with more force than he intended. The gateman greeted him, but he walked past without responding.
A young light‑skinned housemaid hurried forward and bent her knees. “Ah Uncle Tunde. Welcome sir.”
“Is Daddy home?” he asked, his frown deepening.
“Yes sir. He’s in the living room. But Mummy is there with him. She sent all of us outside.” She pointed toward the domestic staff gathered awkwardly in the garden.
Tunde nodded once and walked into the house.
He had barely taken three steps when he heard his mother’s voice.
“Femi, you will pay for dragging my name in the mud.”
He entered the living room.
Senator Adetoun Baker stood in the centre like a storm. Her eyes were blazing, her hands shaking with anger.
Femi sat on the sofa with his elbows on his knees, looking like a man waiting for a sentence.
Tunde didn’t bother with greetings.
“Can you tell me the meaning of the stunt you pulled this afternoon?” he shouted as he walked closer.
His mother spun toward him. “You. Ọmọ tí kò gbọ́n.” She pointed at him with a trembling finger. “Why didn’t you tell me your father was impregnating girls around Lagos? And how can you be friends with that witch?”
“Mummy…”
“Ah. You’ve joined them to laugh at me. What will people say when they hear my own son is befriending her? Maybe she even has a child for you too.” She placed her hand on her head dramatically.
“Adetoun, what is wrong with you?” Femi barked.
“Eh Daddy, stay out of it oh,” Tunde snapped, waving him off.
He turned back to his mother. “Mummy, I’ve told you to stop saying that to me. I’m perfectly wise, thank you.”
“Come on shut up your dirty mouth,” she fired back.
“I didn’t come here to shut up,” he shouted, and both parents froze.
Tunde took a breath. “Mummy, Daddy is the one who owes you responsibility. And I’m not even saying it’s okay for Tore to sleep with other people’s husbands or anybody who isn’t her husband.”
His mother scoffed loudly.
“But face your husband,” Tunde continued. “If she stops sleeping with him, which she has, you think he won’t find someone else? Is that how you want to go from house to house like a mad woman beating up girls?”
His mother lifted her head to protest, but he raised a finger sharply. She closed her mouth.
Femi blinked slowly. His confusion spread across his face like ink in water. “Wait. You went to beat up Tore?” he asked, his voice slow and unsure, like he was only now understanding what he’d heard.
Adetoun scoffed and turned away dramatically.
Tunde faced his father fully. “Daddy, you should be ashamed of yourself. A married man sleeping with someone old enough to be your daughter.”
Femi’s shoulders sagged.
“I can’t believe I once thought you were perfect,” Tunde said. “You disrespected my mother. You disrespected your family.”
“Tunde, you won’t understand,” Femi murmured.
“Stop saying nonsense, Femi,” Adetoun snapped. Then she turned to her son. “Wo, it’s not only your friend he impregnated oh. People in my constituency are the ones who showed me the girls carrying your father’s children. Because I couldn’t give birth to more, he went to open his bumbum outside for riffraffs to smell it.”
She snapped her fingers around her neck. “God forbid.”
Tunde let out a short, humourless laugh. “Wow. Sharp shooter that couldn’t shoot into his wife. Congratulations.”
His father’s face crumpled.
“You know what,” Tunde said as he stepped back. “All the best to both of you. I only came to tell you how wrong you are. But Daddy, you’re a disgrace, and I’m just glad I found Christ before you taught me your trash.”
He turned toward the door, then stopped abruptly.
“Both of you shouldn’t call me. I won’t answer.”
Femi bowed his head. His hands covered his skull as if he was trying to hold it together.
Adetoun rushed to him and dropped to her knees. “Ah oko mi, please don’t say that,” she begged, grabbing his arm.
Tunde pulled away and shrugged her off gently but firmly.
He walked out of the house.
Behind him, his mother’s voice rose again, raining insults and threats. The farther he walked, the softer her voice became.
By the time he reached his car, it was nothing but a faint echo swallowed by the night.
Omo, what do we have to say to this family? Don’t be shy to leave a comment.
Wowwwwww! 🥺🥺🥺
I ran here 😭❤️