Then she took a breath, stepped forward, and hugged the woman she had never met.
“I am happy to meet you, Mama.”
Mama Obi burst into tears.
While Adese was being driven to Mushin in a battered Corolla, a black Range Rover pulled into the Adami compound.
Netchi stepped out.
She had been told only an hour earlier that her real parents were billionaires, that she had been raised in the wrong house, and that the life she deserved was waiting for her in Ikoyi.
She did not cry when she left the Obi family compound.
She did not hug Mama Obi.
She did not say goodbye to the brothers who had fed her, protected her, and tolerated her for twenty years.
She packed more bags than Adese had been allowed to take, lifted her chin, and walked straight into the Range Rover without looking back.
Mama Obi stood at the gate gripping the rusted bars so hard her knuckles turned white.
“She didn’t even wave,” she whispered.
Papa Obi put an arm around her. “Now you know who she is.”
Netchi reached the Adami mansion, looked at the fountain, the servants lined up, the polished floors, and whispered, “This is mine. All of it.”
Chief Adami smiled at his biological daughter. “Welcome home.”
Netchi touched the marble walls, opened the fridge to stare at imported food, and sank into the expensive sofa like it had been waiting for her all her life.
Then she called her friend from Mushin.
“You won’t believe this,” she laughed. “I am rich. Properly rich. Those Obi people? They are nothing. Poverty, rats, generator fumes. Thank God I am finally where I belong.”
But Netchi did not know the truth.
The Obi family she had just called nothing was worth more than almost every other family in Lagos combined.
And they had heard every word.
The Obi compound in Mushin looked like nothing special: a faded bungalow, cracked walls, a groaning ceiling fan, a cracked television, a wooden bench, a kerosene stove, three pots.
Adese stood in the doorway with her suitcase and looked around.
Mama Obi watched her carefully.
So did Papa Obi.
So did the three brothers in the corridor.
All of them were waiting for the complaint.
The horror.
The tears.
Instead, Adese smiled.
“The compound is nice,” she said. “Is there space for a small garden? I can plant tomatoes and peppers. It will help save money.”
Leave a Comment