I hate my mother; I hate her for making us endure so much pain and suffering. My mother was my father’s mistress, a role that many young women take on solely for money. However, she began dating him and ended up getting pregnant. He told her to have an abortion, but she refused and threatened to go public with their affair. My father, a very wealthy man who didn’t want such a scandal, accepted the pregnancy and paid the bride price.

She moved into his mansion, but instead of keeping her there, he asked her to stay in the boys’ quarters with the promise that he was building her a house elsewhere. Somehow, she came to believe in him again and had my two younger brothers. They are twins. My father despises her so much that he transferred that hatred onto us. He wouldn’t allow us to call him “dad”; he ordered us to call him “Chief” so that no one would know he was our father. He treated us with such cruelty that at times I doubted whether he was really our father. We lived in those boys’ quarters for a long time.

One day, my mother confronted him, saying, “Chief, this is not what you promised me. Why do you treat me and my children so badly? They are your children too.”

He responded coldly, “Amaka, please stop crying those crocodile tears. I told you I never wanted to marry you, but you decided to ruin my life with that pregnancy. You wanted marriage; here is the marriage, so take care of it. I love my wife and I am not willing to share the time I spend with her with a girl like you. The matters I discuss with my wife I cannot discuss with you.”

My mother couldn’t hold back her tears as she grasped my father’s hands. “Chief, could you at least open a business for me? Remember you promised to open a boutique for me. At least let me have something to wear and be able to support myself as a young woman.”

“Amaka, I made that promise when we were dating, and I was already making plans for it before you told me you were pregnant. I’ll think about it,” he said as he gently pushed my mother aside and walked away.

I was standing at the door listening to everything. As soon as he saw me, my mother shouted, “David, are you going to come in?!”

“Amaka, don’t ever shout at my son like that again. He is not the cause of your misery,” he replied.

Chief never cared about us. Our half-siblings attended the best private schools. They celebrated birthdays, wore the best clothes, while we could barely eat well. His property was filled with luxury cars, and he never gifted one to my mother despite buying new ones every year.

Eventually, Chief decided to open a boutique for my mother. Mom was so happy and had big plans for the store, but we didn’t know that this was the beginning of our suffering. Chief stopped giving her money for our upkeep, food, and school fees. He told her to take care of us with the store.

We were moved from the local private school to a public school. Eating became very difficult for us. Mom cried a lot, and many times she vented her frustration on us. I finished secondary school, and Chief told my mother that I should learn a trade because he had no money for university, but that same month he bought two cars for my half-siblings for their 19th birthdays. Every day, Mom cried and cried; her business failed, and there was nothing to feed us. Sometimes she called her brothers for help, but over time they stopped helping her.

Then she fell ill, very ill. Several times we went to Chief to ask for help, but he wouldn’t listen. Luckily, Mom was able to contact one of her brothers, who came to the house and threatened Chief. It was then that he gave us money to take Mom to the hospital. Two days later, Mom was in the hospital bed crying and asking us for forgiveness.

“My children, please forgive me. I never knew that being a second wife to a rich man could be so painful. I thought life would be a luxury for us. But I didn’t know I was walking straight into my doom. Please forgive me.”

She could barely speak when she gave up. We couldn’t even cry; we had so many thoughts in our heads. Now she is gone. What’s next? How are we going to survive?

We went home and informed Chief; we couldn’t call because none of us had a phone. A few hours later, he came to the hospital and gave us black clothes to wear; an ambulance took Mom away. We were supposed to go to the village, but what my father did left us completely shocked.

After my father left us in that rented, dilapidated room, I realized that this was not a place to nurture dreams or hopes, but a cruel trial that my siblings and I had to endure. But in my heart burned a firm belief: that we would find a way out of this situation, that one day justice and happiness would come.

In the first few days, I took care of my siblings while also looking for work to earn money to buy food and pay for school. During the day, I worked as a domestic helper, washing dishes and cleaning; at night, I studied under the dim light of an oil lamp, striving to memorize every letter so I wouldn’t lose the chance to change my life. The children were too young to understand all the difficulties surrounding us, but they still saw me as their only pillar in the family.

Once, while washing dishes in a small nearby restaurant, the owner —Mrs. Ngozi, a kind woman— noticed my dedication and effort. She asked me about my family situation, and upon hearing my story, she was moved and promised to help me secure a small scholarship at a nearby vocational training center. She also advised me not to give up, because although life is hard, there is always a way out.

With Mrs. Ngozi’s help, I began attending night classes. Every day, after a hard day’s work, I made the effort to go to class, even when I was tired and on the verge of exhaustion. Each page of the books represented a step closer to my dream of escaping poverty, a light in the darkness of my life.

At the same time, I noticed that my siblings were starting to show signs of dropping out of school or despairing at the difficult life we were leading. I had to be patient, be a friend, mother, and sister to encourage them. I told them the story of our mother, the hardships she had faced, and the injustice of the father we could not choose. I reminded them that we are a family and that only unity would help us overcome everything.

I also began to connect with a group of young people from the neighborhood who, despite their difficult situation, were constantly fighting. We shared experiences, supported each other in studies and work. It was a positive change that made me realize I was not alone.

However, every time I saw luxury cars passing by or my father with his legal wife and their children dressed in expensive clothes, I felt a pain that cut through my soul. The betrayal and abandonment hurt like a wound that never healed.

On one occasion, during an unexpected encounter with a cousin, she told me that my father had promised to help me if I accepted to cut ties with my mother; he even proposed to her to mediate to “fix family matters.” But I rejected that offer. I didn’t want to sell my dignity or my family ties to receive help from a man who had abandoned my mother and me.

Over time, I accumulated a small capital thanks to extra jobs. I started a small business at home, selling handmade products and homemade snacks. Each small achievement was a joy and a boost to keep fighting.

My siblings also returned to studying, with renewed enthusiasm as they saw me persist. Especially the twins, though small, are intelligent and curious, always looking up to me.

One rainy night, sheltered in that small room, with the dim electric light giving us warmth, we shared stories about the future, about dreams of studying at university, of having stable jobs, and helping those in need. It was a moment when I felt the strength of family love, no matter how hard the world outside was.

One day, while selling on the street, a customer recognized me. She was a well-known philanthropist from the area, introduced to me by Mrs. Ngozi. She was impressed by my will and perseverance and offered to help me continue my university studies and grow my business. It was wonderful news, a blessing that opened a new horizon.

Since then, my life began to improve. I was able to study, enhance my skills in management and commerce. I expanded the small shop into a well-known and respected business. I took better care of my siblings and provided them with better educational opportunities. Little by little, we rebuilt our lives, leaving behind the shadows of the past.

I also learned to forgive my mother, understanding her suffering and weakness. Although she is no longer with us, I hold love and deep understanding for her. As for my father, I learned to let go, not to allow old wounds to rob me of the joy of the present.

In the end, I realized that maturity does not come from wealth or fame, but from inner strength, perseverance, and unconditional love for family.

Today, when I look in the mirror, I am proud to be a strong and brave woman who has overcome destiny to write her own story.

And I firmly believe that no matter how hard life may be, love and patience will help us overcome any obstacle.