I glanced around the Airbnb apartment, taking a moment to appraise the space. It was modest - a one-bedroom ensuite with a small kitchen and a sparse living area. The walls were painted a dull cream, the furniture plain and functional. It wasn't cozy, but it was comfortable enough. Most importantly, it was mine. The moment I walked in, I felt a small sense of ownership, a quiet relief. It wasn't much, but it was better than a hotel room or the lingering discomfort of being a guest in my daughter's house.
Dropping my bags on the small sofa, I sank onto the bed. The mattress creaked beneath me, but I didn't care. A roof over my head. That was enough for now. For weeks, I had lain awake worrying about where I would go, what I would do next, and how I could start over at this age. Thirty years of marriage gone, and with it, the home I had spent decades building. Now, I was here, alone but free.
Tessy had made her stance clear from the beginning. My first daughter, the pragmatic one. Always straightforward, always practical.
"You don't expect to live in my house forever, do you?" she had asked, staring at me with those sharp, unblinking eyes of hers.
The question had stung, but I couldn't blame her for asking. Tessy was her father's daughter - forthright and, at times, unyielding.
"Of course, you should have thought it through and made good plans before you took the bold step of leaving your own home and quitting your marriage," she stressed. "Secondly, I don't want to be in Papa's bad book when he finds out I'm hiding you."
I remember the silence that followed her words, how my breath caught for a moment as I processed her bluntness. I had expected her to let me stay longer, maybe three months, but Tessy was firm. She was right, of course - I had walked out of my marriage with no plan, no direction. One morning, I woke up, grabbed a few things, and left without looking back. I didn't stop to consider where I would go or what I would do. I just knew I couldn't stay. Thirty years, I thought bitterly. Thirty years of being overlooked, dismissed, and neglected.
Tessy had knocked on my door early this morning, her heels clicking softly against the tiles as she stepped into my room. I was already awake, sitting up in bed, staring blankly at the window.
"Yesterday was exactly one month since you came here, Mom," she said, her tone firm but not unkind. "Have you decided where else you want to go?"
I looked at her for a moment, trying to gauge whether there was any wiggle room, a hidden softness behind her words. But Tessy was Tessy - practical to a fault.
"Not yet," I replied.
"Why?" Her voice carried a slight edge, her brows knitting together. She glared at me, the way a mother would glare at a child refusing to do their homework. "Please, I hope you decide and be gone before the end of the workday."
She turned as if to leave, then hesitated. Without warning, she turned back and walked toward me. For a moment, I thought she might change her mind, offer me more time or suggest an alternative. But Tessy had always been full of surprises - small gestures that softened her hard edges. She leaned down, hugged me gently, and whispered, "Don't take it personal, Mom. And take care of yourself."
Before I could say anything, she pulled back and walked out, shutting the door behind her with a soft click. I sat there, staring at the closed door, a strange emptiness settling in my chest.
I shook my head and let out a quiet breath. Don't take it personal. How could I? Tessy wasn't cruel - she was just practical. She had carved out her life and her boundaries, and I couldn't blame her for that. I wasn't going to beg her for more time. I was done asking for favors, done explaining myself, done hoping to be understood.
Thirty years of my life have been spent serving others. Thirty years of waiting to be heard, to be seen. But no more.
Before I could overthink or second-guess myself, I stepped out of the guest room and made my way to the dining area. There, I found my sweet, adorable granddaughter, Angel, sitting with her breakfast. She looked up with her bright, curious eyes and gave me the biggest smile, the kind that melted away every worry, every lingering doubt. I knew this moment would be my hardest, but I had already decided I wasn't going to say goodbye - at least not in a way that would leave her heart heavy.
"Grandma, are you okay?" she asked innocently, noticing I had been unusually quiet.
"I'm fine, my darling," I said with a warm smile, brushing her neatly plaited hair with my fingers. "How's your food? Are you enjoying it?"
"Yes, Grandma," she nodded eagerly before taking another spoonful.
I made sure she was well fed and neatly dressed for school. As I buttoned up her uniform and straightened the collar, I stared at her for a moment, trying to hold onto the sight of her glowing face, her carefree laughter - everything that reminded me of pure love. I kissed her forehead and pulled her into a hug, holding her a little longer than usual.
"You'll have a great day today, Angel, and Grandma will see you very soon," I whispered softly. She didn't notice the emotion behind my words, which was a small mercy.
I watched the nanny escort her to the waiting school bus and, as it disappeared down the street, I let out a quiet sigh. I couldn't bear to see her heartbroken over my departure, so sparing her the emotional goodbye felt right. I reassured myself that once I was settled, I would come back to her with strength and stability - something she could look up to, not pity.
*****
A few hours later, after pacing back and forth, I finally picked up my phone and dialed my nephew, Steve. He answered almost immediately, his calm voice a balm to my frayed nerves.
"Hello, Aunt Eva. How are you?" he greeted warmly.
"I'm fine, Steve," I replied, though my voice wavered slightly. "I… I just wanted to let you know that I've left my home. I've walked away from my marriage."
There was a brief silence on the other end before he spoke again, steady and understanding. "Are you okay, Aunt? Where are you now?"
His calm tone caught me off guard. There was no shock, no barrage of questions - just genuine concern. I hadn't realized how much I needed that.
"I'm fine," I said, my voice firmer this time. "I'm still in Lagos, but I… I don't really have anywhere to stay at the moment."
"Don't worry, Aunt," Steve said reassuringly, as though he had already anticipated this moment. "I'll take care of you for now - until you figure out what you want to do next."
The weight of his words brought tears to my eyes. There was something so steady and dependable about his tone, something that reminded me I wasn't completely alone.
He wasted no time. Within minutes, Steve had forwarded me a phone number and instructed me to call. "It's an Airbnb, Aunt. A decent place. You can check it out today. I'll take care of everything."
True to his word, an hour later, I found myself standing inside the Airbnb apartment. Steve didn't stop there. A few moments after I had settled in, my phone buzzed with a notification: a transfer to my bank account. It wasn't just rent for a year; it was also a generous sum for my welfare. I sat down on the edge of the bed, overwhelmed by gratitude.
"I may not be in the country right now, Aunt, but I'm here for you," he had said before hanging up.
I held the phone tightly in my hand and closed my eyes, breathing deeply. Steve had no idea how much his support meant to me at that moment. After feeling unwanted, after being shown the door so unceremoniously by my own daughter, his words and actions reminded me that I mattered - that someone cared. And for the first time since I had walked out of that house, I allowed myself to believe that things would get better. This wasn't the end of my story. It was the beginning of something new.
It was almost evening when I felt the sharp pangs of hunger gnawing at my stomach, pulling me out of my thoughts. I realized I hadn't eaten anything all day. My emotions and the whirlwind of the past few days had consumed me so completely that I'd ignored my body's needs.
I stood up and headed to the small kitchen, hoping to find something quick to prepare. As I scanned through the shelves and cabinets, I saw neatly arranged pots, plates, and utensils, everything I needed to whip up a meal - but nothing to actually cook. Not a single grain of rice, no spices, no vegetables, nothing.
With a resigned sigh, I leaned against the counter for a moment. It was yet another reminder that I was truly starting over. Every little thing, even stocking up on the basics, was up to me now. No ready-made meals, no bustling kitchen full of familiar smells like back home - just me in this quiet, unfamiliar space.
Determined not to wallow, I grabbed my purse and decided to go grocery shopping. It was a simple enough task, but it felt significant. It wasn't just about buying food; it was about taking the first small step in building a new routine for myself, a life that was mine alone.
I made a mental list as I locked up and stepped out into the fading daylight: rice, cooking oil, spices, fresh vegetables, maybe even a treat to brighten up this otherwise challenging day. This wasn't just about feeding my hunger - it was about reclaiming control, one little step at a time.
I wandered through the largest shopping mall in the new neighborhood, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings. It wasn't too far from the home I had known for the last thirty years, but it felt worlds apart. The mall, with its gleaming floors and bustling shoppers, was a far cry from the quiet, familiar streets I had once walked with ease. Everything about this place was new, and I wasn't entirely sure how I felt about it - whether it was the excitement of change or the anxiety of starting over.
I decided to take my time, carefully picking out everything I needed for my new place. From toiletries to food, I moved down the aisles with a sense of purpose, but also a quiet apprehension. There was something oddly satisfying about filling the empty shelves of my new apartment, but at the same time, it felt like I was in a world that wasn't quite mine yet.
The store was full of distractions - shiny, polished products and bright, colorful displays - and I let myself get lost in it all, relishing the feeling of independence, of having control over something so simple, yet so important.
As I reached for a bottle of cooking oil on the shelf, I felt a presence behind me. I turned instinctively, my eyes scanning the area, and then I saw him.