“I am pregnant for your father, and he says the house in Lekki now belongs to me.”

“I am pregnant for your father, and he says the house in Lekki now belongs to me.”

​The bowl of garri slipped from my mother’s hands. It shattered on the tiles, spoo splashing cold water and soaking her wrapper. She didn’t scream. She didn’t even move. She just stared at Bolatito, my best friend, the girl I brought into this house three years ago when her parents kicked her out.

​Bolatito stood in our living room wearing my mother’s favorite silk robe. She looked at the gold watch on her wrist, a watch my father, Chief Segun, bought for her while telling us he was at a “business retreat” in Abuja.

​”Seyi, say something!” my mother finally whispered, her voice shaking. “Tell this girl to stop lying before I slap the devil out of her.”

​I looked at the floor. My heart was thumping against my ribs like a trapped bird. “Mummy, she’s not lying. Dad bought her the apartment in Surulere last year. He even paid for her Master’s degree.”

​My mother’s face turned gray. “You knew? You knew your father was sleeping with your best friend? My own daughter?”

​”He promised to buy me the car I wanted, Mummy!” I shouted, tears stinging my eyes. “He said if I kept quiet, he would send me to London for my PhD. If I told you, he said he would cut both of us off and leave us with nothing! I did it for us!”

​The air in the room felt thick. My mother looked at the man she had been married to for twenty-five years. Chief Segun walked down the stairs, looking calm in his white agbada. He didn’t look ashamed. He didn’t even look at my mother. He walked straight to Bolatito and put a hand on her shoulder.

​”Funke, don’t make a scene,” my father said coldly. “Bolatito is carrying the son you could never give me. After three girls, I need a replacement. I have already contacted the lawyers. You have two weeks to pack your things and move to the village house.”

​”The village?” My mother gasped. “I built this life with you! I sold my gold to pay your first office rent!”

​”And I am paying you back with a roof over your head in the village,” he snapped. “Seyi is staying here with me because she knows how to be loyal. She chose her future over your drama.”

​Bolatito smirked, rubbing her flat stomach. “Aunty, don’t be bitter. It’s just life. Seyi, tell her to leave quietly so we can have dinner.”

​My mother looked at me, hoping I would defend her. But I thought about the London visa on my table. I thought about the poverty waiting for us if we left. I stepped back, away from my mother, and stood next to my father and his pregnant mistress.

​”Mummy, please just go,” I whispered. “Don’t make this harder.”

​My mother began to laugh. It was a high, scary sound. She reached into her handbag and pulled out a small, crumpled envelope.

​”You want a son, Segun? You want a replacement?” She threw a piece of paper at him. “Read that DNA result from the hospital. Read it and tell me which of ‘your’ three daughters actually belongs to you.”

​The room went dead silent. My father’s hand trembled as he picked up the paper.

My father’s face turned from anger to pure terror as he scanned the document. He looked at me, then at my sisters standing by the door, then back at my mother.

​”None of them?” he whispered. “Not even Seyi?”

​”None,” my mother said, her voice now cold as ice. “You were busy chasing small girls and thinking you were a lion. I knew you were sterile since the second year of our marriage. I did what I had to do to keep this family ‘respectable.’ I gave you children to carry your name so the world wouldn’t mock you.”

​Bolatito stepped away from my father as if he were on fire. The “son” she was carrying suddenly felt like a heavy weight. If my father couldn’t produce children, then the baby in her womb wasn’t his.

​”So who… who is the father?” my father roared, his voice cracking.

​”Does it matter?” my mother replied. “You just told me to pack my bags for the village. You just told your ‘loyal’ daughter that she is only worth something because she kept your dirty secret. Well, now the secret is out. You have no bloodline. You have no legacy.”

​I felt like the ground was opening up. I had betrayed my mother for a man who wasn’t even my biological father. I had stayed silent while he cheated, all for a London dream that was now turning into ashes.

​”Dad… is it true?” I reached out to touch his arm.

​”Don’t touch me!” he screamed, pushing me away. “You are a bastard! All of you! Get out of my house!”

​”If they leave, I leave too!” Bolatito shouted, suddenly panicked. She knew the game was up. If my father found out her pregnancy was actually for her boyfriend in Shomolu, he would kill her. “Segun, she’s lying! She’s just trying to hurt you!”

​”The test is from a week ago,” my mother said calmly. “I knew this day would come. I already emptied the joint savings account yesterday. I have enough to start a new life with my daughters, the ones who are actually loyal to me.”

​She looked at me, her eyes filled with a mix of pity and disgust. “But you, Seyi? You chose him. You chose the car and the London trip over the mother who protected your secret for twenty years. You can stay here with your ‘father’ and his mistress.”

​My mother turned and walked toward the door. My two younger sisters followed her without looking back. They had known. They had stayed loyal to her while I was busy playing spy for my father.

​I stood in the middle of the room. On one side was my father, a man who now looked at me with pure hatred. Next to him was Bolatito, my “friend” who had stolen my mother’s place. On the other side was the door, where my mother was disappearing into a future I was no longer part of.

​”Mummy, wait!” I cried out.

​She stopped at the door but didn’t turn around. “You made your choice, Seyi. You said it yourself, you did it for the PhD. Go and ask the Chief to sign your papers. Let’s see if he still wants to sponsor a ‘bastard’.”

​She walked out and slammed the door.

​My father turned to me, his eyes red. “Get out. Both of you. Before I call the police.”

​”But Dad, I’m still your daughter in my heart!” I pleaded.

​”I have no daughter,” he spat.

​I looked at Bolatito. She was already on her phone, probably calling the real father of her baby. I was left with nothing, no mother, no father, no degree, and a conscience that would never be clean again.

​Who was more wrong?
​The Mother for lying about the children’s paternity for 25 years?
​The Father for throwing his family out for a mistress?
​The Daughter for betraying her mother for a chance at a better life