Last part of Chapter 1
She stopped. Chief smiled. "That passage has challenged me for many years." She looked surprised. “You too?”
He chuckled. "Oh, yes.There have been many days when I wanted to be impatient." She smiled faintly.
"There have been days I wasn't kind." Her smile grew.
"And there have certainly been days I became angry." She laughed quietly. “I thought fathers always got it right.”
He smiled "No. We simply keep learning." The room became quiet agBut it didn't change anythingain.
“Daddy...”
“Hm?”
"I apologized. But it didn't change anything" Chief nodded thoughtfully. "An apology is the beginning of healing." He paused before continuing. "But healing is a journey." She listened carefully. "Love doesn't stop with the apology. It stays." Ire lowered her eyes.
“I don't know if Derin even wants to see me.”
"Perhaps not today. And that's alright. It may take her a little time." He closed the Bible gently. "Love is patient, remember?" A small smile appeared on Ire's face. “I suppose I have to be patient too.”
He stood and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Real love is not measured by how people respond to us. It is measured by the choices we make." Ire nodded slowly.."
As she reached the door, Chief called after her.
"And Ire?" She turned. "Don't wait for the perfect moment to talk to her. Sometimes love begins with a simple knock on a bedroom door." She smiled, this time without forcing it. “I'll remember that.”
She stepped out and quietly closed the door behind her. Chief remained seated for a moment. He looked down at the open Bible on his desk and whispered a prayer.
"Lord, teach my daughters how to love one another." Then he closed his eyes, trusting that the One who had begun the work in them would be faithful to complete it.
Ire walked slowly towards her room, her father's words echoing in her mind. She stopped in front of Derin's room.
The door was shut. For a long moment, she simply stood there. She imagined knocking. She imagined Derin opening the door. She imagined apologising again. She also imagined the door closing in her face.
Her hand lifted then slowly dropped. "Not yet," she whispered. With a heavy sigh, she headed to her room, grabbed backpack and headed for school.
The house felt quiet after everyone had left. Chief Mofolawe stepped out of his study and noticed the broken picture frame lying on the hallway table. It must have shifted when Derin slammed the door.
He picked it up carefully. Inside the frame was an old family photograph. Shade stood in the middle, smiling. Derin had her arms folded because she didn't want to take pictures that day. Gbemi stood proudly beside her mother. Irawo hid shyly behind Daddy. And Ire had laughed at the exact moment the camera clicked. Chief smiled.
His smile faded as his eyes rested on his late wife's face.
"I miss you." He gently dusted the frame with his handkerchief before placing it back on the table. “You always knew what to say. I wish you were here.”
Footsteps echoed softly behind him. “Sir?”
He turned. It was Mrs. Bisi, holding a folded cleaning cloth in one hand. "Yes?" “I've finished cleaning the hallway.”
"Thank you." She hesitated before speaking again.
“The girls are grieving and so are you.”
A faint smile crossed his face. “Yes.”
She lowered her voice. "Madam would tell you not to carry this alone." Chief glanced back at the photograph.
"I know." Mrs. Bisi gave him a gentle nod before quietly returning to her work. Chief remained where he was, staring at the photograph a little longer.
Then he quietly picked up his phone. He scrolled until he found a familiar name. Emmanuel. He pressed "Call." The phone rang twice. "Brother!" came the cheerful voice from the other end. Chief smiled, "Emmanuel..." There was a pause. “I think it's time you came home.”
The smile disappeared from Emmanuel's voice. "What happened?" Chief glanced upstairs. “The girls need their uncle.”
"I'll be there tomorrow." Chief ended the call and looked toward the window. He closed his eyes. “I just hope I'm doing well enough.”
Miles apart
In a classroom, Ire stared blankly at the notes on the whiteboard. The lecturer's voice faded into meaningless background noise. She had read the same sentence in her notebook three times. Her mind wasn't there.
Back at home, Derinsola sat on the floor of her room, surrounded by pages stained orange. She picked one up and sighed. "I shouldn't have said that," she whispered.
The words were too late to be heard. But they were a beginning.
Under the same grey sky. Two sisters carried the same burden. One blamed herself for the accident. The other blamed herself for the words that followed. Neither knew the other was hurting just as deeply. And somewhere between guilt and grief. Love waited patiently.
