Chapter 5: The pressure

The nights became the hardest.

During the day, there was always something to do. Lawyers to meet. Police officers to question. Relatives to reassure. Neighbours to avoid.

But night...

Night left a man alone with himself.

Emeka lay awake on the narrow bed he had slept in since secondary school. Above him, the ceiling fan turned lazily, pushing warm air from one corner of the room to another. Through the open window came the familiar sounds of the neighbourhood—a baby crying, a generator humming somewhere down the street, the distant barking of dogs.

He had dreamed of this room while he was away.

Now it felt too small to contain the thoughts in his head.

Sleep came only in fragments.

Whenever he closed his eyes, he saw the same faces.

His brother behind iron bars.

Colonel Adio beneath the mango trees.

His mother wiping tears she thought no one saw.

By morning, he was more exhausted than when he had gone to bed.

Mama Ngozi found him sitting beneath the guava tree just after sunrise.

She placed a steaming cup of tea beside him before lowering herself onto the wooden bench.

For a while, neither spoke.

The guava leaves shimmered softly in the morning breeze.

Finally, she sighed.

"I know that look."

Emeka glanced at her.

"What look?"

"The one your father used to have whenever something troubled him."

She smiled sadly.

"He would pretend he was thinking."

"But really..."

"...he was carrying the whole world."

Emeka looked away.

"Mama..."

She reached across and held his hand.

"You have always been the son who believes every problem has an answer."

Her fingers tightened gently.

"But some answers cost too much."

He remained silent.

"The colonel has been good to us."

"I know."

"When your father died..."

"...who helped you stay in school?"

"The colonel."

"When you fell sick in Maiduguri?"

"He paid part of the hospital bill."

"When you wanted to join the peacekeeping mission?"

"He recommended you."

She swallowed hard.

"Some debts cannot be repaid."

Emeka looked at his mother.

"Is that what this is?"

She closed her eyes.

"No."

"This is fear."

A tear rolled slowly down her cheek.

"I have already buried one man I loved."

"I don't know if I have the strength to lose another."

The words lingered long after she stood and returned inside the house.

That evening, Adaeze arrived.

She looked exhausted.

Pregnancy had softened her face, but worry had hollowed her eyes.

She waited until Mama disappeared into the kitchen before speaking.

"I went to see him today."

Emeka nodded.

"How is he?"

"He smiled."

She laughed quietly.

"You know your brother."

"He smiles when he's trying to stop other people from crying."

She rested one hand gently against her stomach.

"The baby kicked while I was there."

Emeka smiled faintly.

"Really?"

She nodded.

"I placed Chidi's hand on my stomach through the bars."

Her voice trembled.

"He couldn't even feel it properly."

Silence settled between them.

"I lied to him."

"What did you say?"

"I told him everything would be alright."

She looked directly at Emeka.

"I don't know if I lied to comfort him..."

"...or myself."

For a long moment, neither spoke.

Then Adaeze reached into her handbag and pulled out a folded piece of paper.

"I found this among Chidi's things."

Emeka unfolded it carefully.

Inside was a list.

Baby names.

Some had been crossed out.

Others circled.

Beside one name, Chidi had written in untidy handwriting:

"If it's a girl, let her smile like her mother."

Emeka stared at the page until the words blurred.

"He made this weeks before he was arrested."

Adaeze's voice was barely audible.

"He hasn't even met his child yet."

She looked at him with quiet desperation.

"You were there that night."

It wasn't an accusation.

It wasn't even a question.

It was simply the truth.

"I don't know everything that happened."

"But I know you."

"And I know when something is breaking your heart."

She took a slow breath.

"If there is something you know..."

"...please."

"Our child deserves to grow up calling an innocent man 'Daddy.'"

She stood before he could answer.

As she reached the gate, she stopped without turning around.

"I don't want revenge."

"I just want the truth."

Then she left.

Long after darkness covered the compound, Emeka sat alone at his desk.

The folded leave pass rested inside the drawer.

He stared at it for several minutes before taking it out.

A single piece of paper.

Nothing more.

Yet it carried the weight of two families.

He struck a match.

The tiny flame danced at the tip of the stick.

Slowly...

he held it beneath the corner of the paper.

The edge began to brown.

Curl.

Smoke rose into the still night air.

Just one more second...

and everything would disappear.

No witness.

No questions.

No choice.

Then another voice rose inside him.

Not the colonel's.

Not his mother's.

His father's.

He had been thirteen years old when he accidentally broke a neighbour's window while playing football.

Terrified, he had blamed another boy.

Later that evening, his father had called him outside.

He hadn't shouted.

He hadn't raised a hand.

He had simply said,

"Son..."

"A man who lies for peace today..."

"...will one day be asked to lie for evil."

"Be careful which road you choose."

Emeka closed his eyes.

The match burned his fingers.

He let it fall.

The flame died on the concrete floor.

Slowly...

very slowly...

he folded the paper once again.

When he placed it back into the drawer...

he knew something had changed.

He still hadn't decided what he would do.

But he knew...

he was no longer trying to forget the truth.

He was trying to find the courage to speak it.