The tension was palpable, but I stayed quiet, my mind too consumed by the staggering sums of money being casually discussed. What could I even say? I simply sat there, absorbing the conversation, feeling like an outsider in my own family.
But as Dad tried to dismiss Jacqueline's question, my thoughts wandered. Something had always felt off when it came to Monica.
First, there was her striking resemblance to Mom. Her mannerisms, her voice—even the way she carried herself—reminded me of the woman we'd lost. Monica even referred to Mom as "dada," something none of us questioned but often felt strange.
And then there was her relationship with Dad and Grandpa. It was so close, almost as though she weren't just a housekeeper but someone much more significant. Even now, despite being 32, she wasn't allowed to go out alone. The only times she ever left the house were when she was accompanied by Dad, Grandpa, or, back when she was alive, Mom. It was as though they were shielding her—protecting her from someone or something.
What puzzled me most was her past. I'd overheard conversations suggesting she had lived abroad since she was twelve, only returning to join us a few years ago. Her polished scouse accent only confirmed the rumors.
Then it clicked. Mom had a younger sister—a sister none of us had ever met or seen. The pieces began to fall into place, and a thought struck me like lightning: could Monica be that sister? Could she be our aunt?
But why hide it? Why keep such an important part of her identity secret from us? If she was truly Mom's sister, what were they all protecting her from?
I stole a glance at Monica as she quietly sipped her tea. Her expression gave nothing away, but her presence spoke volumes. The questions swirling in my mind only grew louder, but I bit my tongue, deciding it wasn't the right time to voice them.
For now, I would wait. But deep down, I knew I couldn't let this mystery go unsolved
The tension in the dining room gradually dissolved as everyone finished their breakfast, though the unspoken questions lingered in the air. Slowly, one by one, they began to leave.
Dad was the first to stand. Adjusting his tie, he looked at me with a stern but fatherly gaze. "You need to start preparing to get back to school as soon as possible," he said. "You've been away for quite long and your final exams are just around the corner ."
"Got it, Dad," I replied, though the thought of returning to school felt far from appealing.
Dad then glanced at Emily, who had been unusually quiet throughout breakfast. "Emily, are you ready? We're leaving in five," he said.
She gave him a quick nod before standing up and grabbing her handbag. "I'll just grab my things."
Mark rose from his seat as well, adjusting his jacket. "I'll drive separately. Need to make a quick stop before heading to work."
Dad nodded in approval. "See you then."
"Sure thing," Mark replied, and the two men exchanged brief goodbyes before heading out.
Jerry leaned back in his chair, glancing at Jacqueline. "Guess we've got the day to ourselves," he said with a smirk.
Jacqueline rolled her eyes. "Don't get too comfortable. You're not spending the whole day on the couch."
He chuckled but didn't argue, and the two of them headed upstairs to their respective rooms, their footsteps fading as they climbed the staircase.
Monica quietly collected her teacup and excused herself, her movements graceful and deliberate. She disappeared down the hallway toward her room, her usual calm demeanor unchanged.
Meanwhile, Hassan and the other housekeepers began clearing the table, efficiently moving plates, cups, and utensils. The faint clinking of dishes echoed through the room as they worked.
As Monica moved gracefully toward her room, I hesitated in the hallway, watching her. Something about her calm, nurturing presence always made me feel safe—just like Mom used to. Without really thinking, I found myself following her.
When she entered her room, I knocked softly on the half-open door. She turned to face me, her warm smile lighting up her face. "Sweetie, everything okay?"
"Yeah," I said, stepping into her cozy room. It was neatly arranged, with soft pastel curtains and a small bookshelf in the corner. It had the same warmth Monica exuded.
She gestured for me to sit on the armchair by her window while she perched on the edge of her bed. "You don't look like you're just here to chat about school," she teased lightly, her tone comforting.
I fidgeted with my fingers, unsure how to begin. "Monic, can I ask you something?"
"Of course," she replied, tilting her head slightly in curiosity.
I looked at her for a moment, trying to find the courage to say what I'd been feeling for a long time. "Is it… okay if I call you 'Mom' sometimes? You remind me so much of her."
Her expression softened, and she blinked a few times as if caught off guard. "Oh, Sweetie…" she began, her voice low and tender. "You don't have to call me that, sweetheart. Your mom was one of a kind. But if it helps you feel closer to her, I wouldn't mind."
I felt a knot in my throat and nodded, swallowing hard. "You're just… so much like her. Your appearance, the way you talk, the way you care for everyone. Even your voice is similar. Just like mom's younger version."
She reached out and took my hand in hers, squeezing it gently. "That's the greatest compliment you could give me. Your mom was my role model, and I'm honored you see her in me."
I hesitated, my next question lingering on the tip of my tongue. "Monica… can I ask you something else?"
"Of course, Sweetie. What's on your mind?"
I leaned forward slightly, lowering my voice even though it was just the two of us. "Are you… are you Mom's sister?"
Her smile froze for a moment, and her eyes flickered with something I couldn't quite place—surprise, perhaps, or maybe unease. She let out a soft laugh, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "What makes you think that?"
"Well, it's not just how much you're like her," I said, my voice steady despite my nerves. "It's how Dad and Grandpa treat you. It's like they're protecting you from something. And then there's your past. You lived abroad for years, and no one really talks about why. It all feels… connected."
Monica's gaze lingered on me for a moment, her expression unreadable. She finally sighed and gave me a small, enigmatic smile. "You have quite the imagination, don't you?"
"That's not an answer," I pressed, my curiosity burning brighter.
She chuckled softly, standing and moving toward her dresser. "Sometimes, it's better to leave certain questions unanswered, Dorcus."
I frowned but didn't push further. Her response wasn't a denial, but it wasn't confirmation either. It left me even more curious, but I could tell I wouldn't get any more out of her today.
As she turned back to me, her smile returned, warm and reassuring. "What I can tell you is this: your mom loved you more than anything. And as long as I'm here, I'll do my best to take care of you the way she would have."
I nodded, a small smile tugging at my lips despite the whirlwind of thoughts in my mind. "Thanks, Monica. That means a lot."
She leaned down and kissed the top of my head. "Anytime, sweetheart. Now, off you go. You've got a big day ahead."
I left her room feeling both comforted and more curious than ever. Monica's words lingered in my mind, leaving me with more questions than answers. But for now, I decided to let it rest. There would be plenty of time to uncover the truth later.