MasukThe house felt different without Mimi’s voice darting through it. Titi had taken her out to the park not long after breakfast, promising her ice cream if she behaved, and the sudden quiet that followed was almost startling. Amina stretched out on the couch, one arm resting along the back. She had her phone in her hand but wasn’t really scrolling, just flicking at the screen. Chi sat nearby, flipping idly through a magazine that she wasn’t reading either. The silence between them wasn’t awkward, it was the kind that comes only when people know each other deeply enough not to fill every gap. Vanessa came in from the kitchen with a glass of water, her hair tucked behind her ears. She moved carefully, as though her body was still remembering to occupy space again. She sat on the armchair opposite Amina, curling her legs beneath her. It was Amina who spoke first. “Feels too quiet, doesn’t it?” “Too quiet,” Chi agreed, without looking up from the magazine. Vanessa smiled faintly.
The drive back into Lagos felt like being swallowed by the city all over again. No radio, no playlist, just the low growl of tyres on Third Mainland Bridge and the occasional sharp honk from a danfo that refused to yield. The villa already seemed like something that had happened to other people—bright lights, broken glass, too much cedar cologne and not enough air. By the time the SUV nosed into Chi’s quiet street in Surulere, the sky had turned that bruised purple that means rain is coming whether you like it or not. Mimi was waiting at the gate like she’d been counting heartbeats. Barefoot, rainbow beads clicking in her twists, she launched herself at Chi the second the car door opened. “Mummy!” The word was half-scream, half-prayer. Small arms locked around Chi’s waist so hard she stumbled. “You took forever!” Chi dropped to her knees right there on the cracked concrete driveway, laughing through sudden tears. “I missed you more than plantain, baby girl. More than jollof on a Su
The hallway felt smaller tonight, like the walls themselves were leaning in to listen. The single bulb overhead buzzed its tired complaint, throwing weak yellow light across chipped white paint that had seen too many rainy seasons in this part of Lekki. Outside, the city refused to hush, a distant generator growled, an okada engine revved past the gate, someone’s gateman laughed too loud at a joke on his phone. Inside, though, the villa held its breath.Chi leaned into the wall, the plaster cool against her spine. Her phone had died hours ago; she didn’t care. Time didn’t matter here anymore. Only the ache in her chest did, the one that had started at breakfast when Vanessa finally cracked open and let the truth spill like palm wine from a broken calabash.“She hits me.”Not “he.” She. Stan. The same Stan who used to be Chi’s ride-or-die back in school, the one who’d sneak her out of hostel to smoke on the Unilag lagoon front, who’d held her while she cried after her first girlfriend
Morning filtered into the villa, soft but merciless. The kind of light that didn’t flatter, exposed. The air smelled of stale pepper soup, cigarette smoke clinging to curtains, wine still sticky in glasses half-drained. The group shuffled into the living room in fragments. Kingsley stretched loud, yawning, his boxers hanging low on his hips. Bisi trailed behind him, her wig tilted, lips swollen from too much kissing. Chi curled into a cushion, nursing a mug of coffee like it was holy water. And Stan was already there, commanding the space. She sat sprawled across the main couch, phone in hand, laughter too bright for the morning. Her voice filled the room as though the night before hadn’t ended in cracks and whispers. Vanessa came in last. Her smile was careful, lips pressed but not wide, her eyes shadowed. She slid into a chair at the edge of the room, as far from Stan’s reach as she could get without drawing notice. Amina clocked it instantly. The distance. The way Vanessa wrapp
The villa did what people always did after tension: it tried to heal itself with noise. Kingsley turned the volume up on the TV, forcing everyone’s attention back to FIFA. Bisi cracked open a can of malt and made a show of sipping it like champagne. Chi threw her head back, laughing too loudly at nothing in particular. It worked on the surface. The villa swelled with chatter again, card shuffling, insults flung across the room. The storm pretended itself into silence. But underneath, the air stayed different. Vanessa sat on the edge of the couch, Stan’s arm draped across her shoulders like a banner. She smiled when she was supposed to, nodded at jokes, even tossed a card onto the table at the right moment. But her body was a sculpture — stiff, deliberate, carved into obedience. Every so often, she caught Amina’s eyes across the room. The gaze wasn’t pity, wasn’t accusation just quiet knowing. Amina didn’t press. She only watched, steady, like someone leaving a door cracked ope
The sun hung higher, and the villa moved in slow waves. Some sprawled on the beanbags, nursing half-empty bottles of water. Others lingered near the balcony, the lagoon glittering under the Lagos noon. It was one of those lazy in-between hours: too late for breakfast, too early for lunch, everyone still caught between the night’s haze and the day’s demands. Vanessa stood at the sink, rinsing plates that weren’t hers, just to keep her hands busy. The water was cool, the sound of it almost drowning out the laughter from the living room. Almost. “Leave that jare,” Amina called, padding in with her juice in hand. “We have a cleaner coming in later. You’re not staff now.” Vanessa smiled faintly, setting another plate down. “It helps me think.” “About what?” Vanessa shrugged. “Nothing important.” Amina leaned against the counter, sipping her juice. She tilted her head, her gaze sharper than her voice. “You don’t have to lie to me, you know.” The words pressed against Vanessa







