Maybe, You Will See Me Now

02

Ijeawele opened the fridge in her kitchen and carried out a bottle of water. She unbottled and gulped down some from it. In the next few seconds with the bottle away from her lips, she spaced out, forced to recollect the memory of her conversation with Kingsley's mother whom she once knew as her mother-in-law.

The older woman had hastened her steps towards Ijeawele right after the church service. Upon a call from her, Ijeawele could not help but draw to a halt on any further steps towards her plan to exit the premises. From the moment Mrs. Amadi stood in front of her, her nervous side glances were an indication that she would very much have preferred not to be seen with her. Ijeawele did well to ignore that as well as the voice in her head alarming her to walk away right now. Her divorce from her son had been nasty to her from their part and every moment she thought back at it, she regretted not having said or reacted in various ways. Still, the cultured part of her always made her into a victim of this exact scene.

The older woman's smile was faint and yet fake. Probably an attempt to shun any rumour that might arise about her speaking down to her previous daughter-in-law.

"Why did you come here?"

Ijeawele slightly parted her lips for a moment, the right words were unknown to her in that period.

"Maybe your plan is to bring more shame to my son."

The younger woman took in silent and yet, deep breath while she looked away from the older woman. The statement was ridiculous and Ijeawele was careful not to say anything to her in order not to be termed disrespectful.

Mrs. Amadi took a step closer, her gaze fixated on Ijeawele even though she was about two inches shorter. It was full of belittlement and entitlement.

"Don't you have any shame? My son is happy. Finally, I have a grandchild and you are not happy with that."

Ijeawele knew she needed to stand up to Mrs. Amadi, one way or another. She would be damned if she gave any of them the satisfaction of knowing she wasn't okay.

"Mama, this is a church. I am free to go to whichever church I wish to attend."

Mrs. Amadi shook her head. "No. You haven't been here in the past two years and today, on my grandson's dedication, you decided to show up... I know you have a plan in mind."

Ijeawele struggled between putting up a smile or wearing a frown. Mrs. Amadi's words upset her and yet, she would very much prefer not to let her know that so she tried her best to wear a smile. Instead, the expression of both came out clashing, alternating at uncontrollable intervals.

"It's fine. You always believed I never had good intentions and no matter what I said or did, it was never enough."

"Of course. I'm older and I know a snake when I see one. Kingsley was stubborn and I allowed him to make you his wife. But you, you have always been proud. You wanted a big office instead of a kitchen. Now, another woman has taken up the role you couldn't do and you are angry."

Ijeawele felt the anger rush through her body and she clutched tighter to her purse, trying her best to control her emotions.

Mrs. Amadi leaned a little closer, her eyes demeaning with a hint of ruthlessness. "Ijeawele, let me warn you, if you ever try to bring shame upon my family, I'll use everything in me to make sure I destroy you. Don't say I didn't warn you."

Ijeawele left the bottle of water in the fridge and shut it close. Her way of pushing out the memory from her thoughts. One would think two years was enough for her to accept she might have been villainized for life. But... no, it wasn't.

The moment she stepped into her bedroom, she took off the bob wig on her head and left it on the dressing table before having a seat on the bed. For a minute, she glanced around the room and felt as empty as the room looked. Ever since she moved in, not once has she tried to give it like a special renovation to make it feel like hers. The walls were painted plain white. Apart from her bed, and the dressing table, nothing else occupied the space in the room. Ijeawele wasn't sure why she never bothered to do something special or different, just that she never felt like it.