The kitchen door swung open without warning. A stocky man with a receding hairline and a loud voice strode in from the garage, dusting his hands against his trousers.
‘John!’ he boomed. ‘And who is this? A new girlfriend?’
Ngozi’s heart leapt into her throat. The teacup wobbled in her grip, and she barely caught it before it tipped. She turned her back to the man and poured the tea down the sink, her hands shaking as she rinsed the cup.
‘Yes, Dad,’ John said smoothly. ‘My new girlfriend. Ngozi, say hello to my father.’
‘Good afternoon, sir,’ she murmured, keeping her face angled towards the sink.
‘Shy little thing, isn’t she?’ the man laughed. ‘I’m Mr. Chinedu. Welcome to our home.’
He set a large pizza box on the counter. ‘Here, make yourself useful. Slice this up.’
Ngozi took the box, found a knife, and cut the pizza into wedges. She kept her head low, opening cabinets until she found plates. She served the first slice and slid it towards him, still without turning.
‘That’s good. Help yourselves to the rest. This is enough for me,’ Chinedu said, taking his plate to the dining table.
‘I needed this. Thanks, Dad,’ John said, grabbing two slices.
They ate in silence. Ngozi chewed without tasting, her eyes fixed on her plate. She was terrified the man would look at her properly, would see the age on her face, the wedding ring she had removed before coming, the fear in her eyes. How would John explain a thirty-six-year-old mother of one as his girlfriend?
‘So you two are an item, then,’ Chinedu said, wiping his mouth. ‘I suppose you want to get back to your room.’
The innuendo was thick enough to cut. Ngozi’s ears burned, but she said nothing.
Later, in John’s bedroom, he shut the door and turned to her with a laugh.
‘So you’re my new girlfriend now,’ he said. ‘I suppose that’s accurate, after what we did.’
He held her shoulders and looked into her eyes. She glanced away, summoning a small shred of defiance. But when he pulled her into a hug, she melted against him. She knew it was wrong. She knew she was being foolish. But her body refused to listen to reason.
She kissed him, then pulled back.
‘I need to use the bathroom,’ she said.
He released her reluctantly. Ngozi walked to the door, and it took every ounce of willpower not to look back. If she looked back, she would stay. She knew that with terrible certainty.
This was her chance to escape. Even in the ridiculous t-shirt, even without her car keys, she would find a way. She had no cash, no credit card: John had taken her handbag and placed it somewhere she could not see. She would have to drive home in the borrowed clothes and sneak into her own house like a thief.
But she would be free.
Ngozi crept towards the kitchen, her bare feet silent on the tiles. She had almost reached the back door when a voice stopped her cold.
‘Where do you think you’re going?’
Chinedu stood by the fridge, arms folded across his barrel chest. He was a larger, older version of his son: same broad shoulders, same hard eyes, same air of command.
‘Home,’ she whispered. ‘I need to get home.’
‘You’re a tease, aren’t you?’ he said, stepping closer. ‘I know your type. Lead a boy on, then run away when it suits you. Look at me when I’m talking to you.’
Ngozi lifted her eyes, her heart pounding.
‘Sorry, sir,’ she said.
‘You’ve led him on, haven’t you?’
‘Yes, sir.’
The admission slipped out before she could stop it. Guilt pressed down on her…guilt for what she had done with his son, guilt for betraying her family, guilt for standing here in borrowed clothes while her husband and child waited at home. If this man accused her of anything, she would confess to it.
‘Get back in there and tell him whether you’re going or staying,’ Chinedu said. ‘Don’t mess him about. In fact, you’ll stay with him and keep him happy. I won’t have my son played with. He lost his mother last year. He hasn’t brought a girl home before. He must think something of you, so don’t disappoint him.’
The words landed like stones in her chest. What could she say to a man grieving for his wife, protecting his only son?
‘Sorry, sir,’ she murmured.
‘You’ve slept with him, haven’t you?’
‘Yes, sir.’
The truth kept falling from her lips. She could not stop it.
‘Do you love him?’
‘Yes, sir. I love him.’
The answer came automatically, and she knew why. The afterglow still clung to her, clouding her judgement. This man’s impassioned speech had burrowed under her skin, and she could not fight it.
‘So where are you going?’ he asked.
‘I don’t know,’ she admitted. ‘I don’t know where or why.’
How could she tell him she was running back to her husband and son? That she was a married woman, old enough to be his son’s mother?
‘Then you’ll stay,’ Chinedu said. ‘Go to him. Tell him you love him. Tell him you’re spending the night.’
Ngozi stared at him. He was a bigger version of John: louder, harder, more terrifying. She could see exactly where the boy had learned his methods. If she didn’t escape soon, she would drown in this family.
‘I can’t stay,’ she pleaded.
‘You will stay,’ he said, his voice dropping low. ‘I’ll call your people and make an excuse for you. Don’t cross me. In my house, you do as you’re told.’
‘Please, I can’t—’
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