Sunday evening descended softly on Lagos. The dim light of the living room illuminated the scattered bags of chips and half-drunk cans of soda between Aduni and Eniola.
The two women sat comfortably, each lost in their own thoughts, but for different reasons.
Eniola had made herself at home in a way that still seemed unnatural to Aduni, given the tension that had settled between them.
Yet, there was a sense of solidarity that had formed between them, a quiet understanding of betrayal, family, and the need for escape.
Aduni hadn't said much, but the quiet companionship felt like a relief. They had exchanged little, but a lot had been said in those moments of silence.
But then the phone rang.
Aduni glanced at the screen, seeing the familiar name. Gbenga.
Her stomach clenched, though she didn't show it. Eniola looked up briefly, sensing the shift in atmosphere. Aduni sighed and answered.
"Hello, Gbenga," she said, her voice steady but with an edge of weariness that only her brother could draw out of her.
The voice that came through the phone was filled with anger.
"Aduni! What the hell is wrong with you? Why haven't you unblocked Dad yet?"
Gbenga's voice was rising, and Aduni could almost see his red face through the phone screen. "You've crossed a line, and I'm done trying to be patient with you. You know, I've got a peaceful family. My wife respects me. She doesn't block her father. But you? You're always the black sheep of the family. Nothing but a shadow on social media. That's who you'll always be. A shadow that no one cares about."
Aduni's fingers clenched around the phone, but she kept her voice calm.
"Gbenga," she said, her voice cutting through his anger. "You have no idea what you're talking about."
He continued without pausing, the words spilling out in a rush. "You've let work go to your head, Aduni. You're obsessed with being some kind of independent feminist, and now you've turned your back on the family. You won't have us anymore. If you don't make things right immediately, I swear we will disown you. You can go on being alone, just like you wanted. No family. No name. And don't you dare think anyone will care."
Aduni's heart didn't skip a beat. She'd heard it all before. She leaned back into the couch, the sarcasm in her voice lacing her words.
"You know what, Gbenga?" she said, her tone almost too light, "You're right. I've always been the black sheep. But I think I like it that way. A shadow, huh? At least I don't have to pretend to be someone I'm not."
Gbenga's voice was rising to a near yell. "You'll regret this, Aduni! Don't think you'll get away with it. You're just a lonely woman with no family to turn to. Mark my words, you'll be the one paying for this."
The call ended abruptly, the silence in the room palpable. Aduni stared at the phone in her hand for a long moment. She couldn't help but laugh.
Her laugh, at first quiet and controlled, bubbled up into something darker, something almost hysterical. She laughed so loudly that Eniola looked up, startled by the sound. It wasn't just laughter, it was freedom. It was the sound of releasing years of built-up resentment, frustration, and suffocating expectations.
Aduni's laughter echoed through the room, and she leaned back, wiping tears from her eyes.
"Are you okay?" Eniola asked, though she already knew the answer.
"Oh, I'm more than okay," Aduni replied, her voice tinged with both humor and a dark satisfaction. "It's just… perfect. The audacity of that man. Can you believe it?"
Eniola shook her head, clearly unsure of what she was witnessing. "I don't know what to say, Aduni."
Aduni's smile was sharp. "You don't have to say anything. You just need to get out of this place. We've got work to do."
She grabbed her phone again, tapping out a message to her contact. "Let's make this happen, Eniola. I'll help you escape this nightmare, and fast."
Eniola looked at her, confused but also oddly comforted by Aduni's sudden confidence. "What do you mean by that?"
Aduni's fingers flew over the screen as she worked. "I've got a person who can get you a visa. To Canada. For you and your kids."
Eniola blinked. "Canada? But… how?"
"I know people, Eniola. You just need to pack your bags, and I'll handle the rest."
By the time the night fell, Aduni had arranged everything.
She didn't waste time. She called again, this time to someone she trusted, asking for a visa for three people to Canada. Then, she reached out to another contact, one who could help Eniola find a job that would suit her education and skills.
The days that followed were a whirlwind.
Eniola had little time to process what was happening, but Aduni kept the pace steady. Everything was falling into place seamlessly. Aduni had always been good at organizing, good at making things happen, even if it meant playing with fire.
She didn't just stop there.
Aduni started digging deeper into Gbenga's life. She had always known something was off, but now she had the means to investigate.
The information she uncovered left her stunned. Gbenga, the man who had been so quick to judge her, had a dark side she hadn't expected.
She discovered that Gbenga had three children outside of his marriage three boys, all from a woman he'd secretly married in Akure. The betrayal, the secrecy… it all added up, and Aduni's blood boiled with every new piece of evidence she uncovered.
With a steady hand, she composed a message, attaching all the evidence she'd gathered.
"Gbenga, I'm sending this to you because you need to know. I know about your secret family. I know about the three kids, the woman you've been hiding. If you don't want this to go public, I expect three million naira in my account. And I'll keep quiet. Don't make me send this to your wife and family. The choice is yours."
The transaction was swift. Three million naira. No hesitation. It was done.
That same week, Aduni saw Eniola off at the airport. The woman who had been so quiet, so broken just a few days ago, now had a new life ahead of her. The kids were settled, their bags packed, and Eniola had the glint of hope in her eyes that hadn't been there before.
Gbenga had declared his wife and children missing by the time Aduni received a final message from her contacts the wire transfer had been completed, and Eniola and her kids were on their way to Canada.
The peace that followed was eerie, but Aduni felt it deep in her bones. She had played the game, a dangerous one, but one that felt right.
Back in Lagos, Gbenga would spend the next few weeks trying to explain his family's disappearance, but the damage was already done. The web of lies and secrets had begun to unravel, and there was no way he could cover it up.
Aduni leaned back in her chair, staring out the window. She didn't feel victorious, not exactly. But there was a sense of finality, of having crossed a threshold.
One chapter was closed. Another had just begun.