Episode 4
The house stopped breathing after my father’s declaration.
“The truth always comes out.”
Those words settled into the walls, into the floor, into my bones. That night, nobody slept. My father lay awake, staring at the ceiling. Amara moved like a ghost, careful not to make noise. I stayed in my room, listening to every sound, imagining footsteps that weren’t there.
Fear had become a resident in our home.
The next morning, my father asked for my phone.
The request came casually, too casually.
“Let me see something,” he said, stretching out his hand.
My heart slammed against my ribs. My phone held nothing incriminating—no messages, no calls—but fear doesn’t need evidence. Fear feeds on imagination.
I handed it to him.
He scrolled slowly. Too slowly. Then he nodded and returned it.
“You can go,” he said.
I left the room on weak legs.
That same afternoon, rumors began to spread in the village. Odafe had been dismissed. People whispered. Some said he stole money. Others said he slept with a married woman. Nobody mentioned names, but everyone looked at Amara differently.
She noticed.
Women stopped greeting her warmly. Some stared too long. Others avoided her completely.
“She knows,” Amara whispered to me that evening while my father was outside. “The village knows something is wrong.”
“It’s Odafe,” I said. “They think it’s him.”
“For now,” she replied.
That night, my father drank palm wine until his words slurred. He called Amara to sit with him.
“You think I’m a fool?” he asked suddenly.
Amara stiffened. “No, my husband.”
“I have lived long,” he said. “Long enough to know when my house is dirty.”
I stood at the edge of the corridor, hidden by shadow, my breath shallow.
“There is a snake in this house,” my father continued. “And I will crush its head.”
Amara’s voice shook. “What are you saying?”
“I don’t know yet,” he said calmly. “But I will.”
The next day, something unexpected happened.
My father announced that a diviner was coming.
My blood turned cold.
In Umuofia, you don’t invite a diviner for nothing. Diviners didn’t just see the future—they dragged secrets into the open.
“He wants to cleanse the house,” Amara whispered, panic flooding her eyes. “This is bad.”
“Maybe it’s just suspicion,” I said, though my voice lacked confidence.
Diviners didn’t come for maybe.
The man arrived two days later—old, bent, eyes sharp like blades. He walked through the compound, ringing a small bell, muttering words I couldn’t understand.
We sat before him in silence.
“There is betrayal here,” the diviner said finally. “Not from outside. From within.”
My father nodded slowly. “I knew it.”
“The spirits say the truth hides close to the heart of this home,” the diviner continued. “Closer than you think.”
Amara’s hands trembled.
I felt dizzy.
The diviner looked around, then stopped his gaze on me.
“Young man,” he said, “stand.”
My father’s head snapped up.
I stood.
The diviner studied me for a long moment. Then he frowned.
“There is confusion around you,” he said. “Strong emotion. Desire fighting duty.”
My father’s eyes burned into me.
“But,” the diviner added, “the blood is not yet spilled.”
Relief rushed through me—but it was short-lived.
“The truth will soon choose its own mouth,” the diviner said. “And when it speaks, there will be no hiding.”
After he left, my father said nothing.
That silence was worse than shouting.
That night, Amara packed again.
“I can’t stay,” she whispered. “Not anymore.”
“Where will you go?” I asked.
“Anywhere,” she said. “Before this ends in blood.”
I wanted to beg her to stay. I wanted to tell her we could survive this.
But deep down, I knew she was right.
As she stepped toward the door, my father’s voice cut through the night.
“Where are you going?”
We froze.
“I… I need air,” Amara said.
“At this hour?” he asked.
His eyes moved from her bag… to me.
Something shifted in his expression.
Something dangerous.
“Chinedu,” he said slowly. “Come here.”
I obeyed.
He stood between us now, tall, unreadable.
“Tell me,” he said, his voice low. “Have you ever touched my wife?”
The world stopped.
My mouth opened.
No sound came out.
Amara screamed, “No!”
But it was too late.
Because my silence had already spoken.
And in that moment, I knew—
This secret was no longer ours.
It had chosen its mouth.
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