MY STEPFATHER SECRETLY SL££PS WITH ME EVERY MIDNIGHT, MOM KNOWS
1
If I knew that the luxury life my mother promised us would turn me into this.
I would have run away from home the very first day she introduced me to Chief Patrick.
We used to live in a small room in Mushin, struggling to eat twice a day.
Then my mother met him. He was wealthy, quiet, and drove big cars.
Within two weeks, we moved into his mansion in Magodo.
I thought our suffering was over.
But the first night we slept there, everything changed.
It was around 2:00 a.m. when my door handle turned slowly.
I wasn’t sleeping deep because the new bed was too soft, and the AC was too cold.
I opened my eyes small, just enough to see what was happening.
My mother walked in first.
She was holding a small red candle that wasn’t lighted, and behind her was Chief Patrick.
He was wearing only a white tying wrapper.
I froze. My heart started beating like it wanted to jump out of my chest.
I expected him to do something bad, maybe force himself on me. I prepared to scream.
But he didn’t touch me.
He didn’t even look at my face.
He just climbed the bed, lay down beside me, and faced the ceiling.
He lay there stiff, like a dead body inside a coffin.
And my mother?
She stood by the door, watching him lying beside her own daughter.
And she was smiling.
It wasn’t a smile of love. It was the kind of smile a trader gives when she has made a huge profit.
She pointed at him, then whispered something I couldn’t hear, and backed out of the room, closing the door gently.
I wanted to jump up and run, but fear held me down.
Chief Patrick didn’t move. He didn’t cough. He didn’t scratch his body.
He just breathed in a heavy, noisy way, like he was dragging air from the room into his chest.
I lay there, tears running down my eyes silently, until 4:00 a.m.
Then, just as the cock crew in the distance, he stood up.
He didn’t say a word to me. He adjusted his wrapper and walked out.
By morning, when I came out to the sitting room, my mother was setting the table for breakfast.
Fried eggs, tea, bread, sausages.
She looked happy. Her skin was glowing.
“Good morning, my daughter,” she said, pouring tea into a gold cup.
I looked at her, my hands shaking.
“Mummy, why did Chief sleep in my room last night?” I asked, my voice barely coming out.
She stopped pouring the tea.
She looked at me, and her face became serious, but not angry.
“Nneka,” she said calmly. “Did he touch you?”
“No… but—”
“Then eat your food,” she cut in sharp. “The car is waiting to take you to school. Don’t ask questions that will bring bad luck to this family. We are enjoying now. Let us continue to enjoy.”
I couldn’t eat.
That night, I decided to lock my door. I pushed the chair behind the handle.
But at exactly 2:00 a.m., the door pushed open.
The chair slid across the tiles like it weighed nothing.
My mother walked in again, smiling that same smile.
Chief Patrick followed her.
But this time, he was holding something in his hand.
A small, black pot covered with a red cloth.
He placed it under my bed before climbing up to lie beside me.
And as he lay there, I heard him whisper one name.
Not my name.
He whispered the name of my late father.
To be continued… on Bcdblog Plus
WRITTEN BY tom jen
