My Past Life- Part 7.
For as long as I could remember, love had always been a stranger to me. Not the kind of love that people talked about in stories or songs—real love, the kind that wraps around you like a warm blanket and makes you feel safe. I never felt it from my parents, not even from Favour or Ella. Maybe my heart was locked away too tight, buried under layers of disappointment and silence.
After five long years, I finally left primary school. My father didn't waste any time before sending me off to secondary school. But the years passed, and nothing changed at home. My parents still fought—loud, angry battles that shook the walls of our house. No matter how much time went by, the screaming never stopped.
Our church was a towering building, three stories high, with a massive auditorium that echoed with prayers and songs every Sunday. It was divided into sections—the children's section, the teens' section, and the adults' section. By then, my father had been put in charge of the teens. From the outside, we looked like the perfect family. We dressed in clean, expensive clothes. We went to the best schools. We smiled in public, stood tall, and never let anyone see the cracks in our lives.
But inside? Inside, we were all broken.
Each of us carried secrets too heavy to share. Each of us was struggling just to breathe, to keep pretending that everything was fine. We were actors in a play, performing for the world while our real lives crumbled behind closed doors.
After finishing primary school, I didn't start secondary school right away. I stayed at home for months, waiting. During that time, I made new friends in the church—people who didn't know the truth about my family. And then, I met him.
He was a young man, part of the church's youth group, and he knew more about the internet than anyone I had ever met. He taught me everything—how to search for information, how to use different websites, how the digital world worked. I respected him because he was smart, because he had answers to questions I didn't even know how to ask.
After months of learning, I finally understood enough to call myself his student no longer. I had graduated. But knowledge wasn't enough—I needed a tool, a way to practice what I had learned. I needed a laptop.
So I went to my father.
I begged him. I pleaded. I told him how important it was, how much it would help me. He had the money—I knew he did. I had seen him pay for other people's school fees, seen him send money back to his family in the village, seen him spend thousands on building a house in his hometown. But when it came to me?
Nothing.
Not a single word. Not even a promise.
I asked for months. Months turned into a year. And still, nothing. No laptop. No explanation. No conversation. Just silence.
The more I asked, the more I realized: he didn't care. He would help strangers before he helped his own child. He would spend money on everyone but me.
So I stopped asking.
And in that silence, something inside me hardened. The disappointment turned into anger. The anger turned into hate.
I hated my father.
Not just for the laptop—but for every time he chose someone else over me. For every time he made me feel invisible in my own home.
And so, I locked my heart even tighter.
Because if love was never going to find me, then I didn't need it anyway.
My mother never had any financial help in her life. The only money she ever got was from the small contributions made by members of our household or from whatever little she managed to save from feeding the family. She never finished school because of my father. She dropped out just to marry him, believing his promise that he would send her back to school once he had enough money. But that promise was never kept.
Instead, my father spent his money sending other people to school while my mother was left behind, forgotten. Watching this happen over the years made me bitter. It hardened my heart.
Despite everything, my mother never gave up on us. Every month, she would gather all her children and give us advice, teaching us the little she knew about life. Every morning, without fail, she prayed with us and blessed us before we started our day. My father, on the other hand, hardly cared. In six months, he might join us for prayer once or twice—if at all.
After I broke up with Favour, I tried to fill the loneliness in my heart by turning to my sisters. It was wrong, but I didn't know any other way to cope. Ella and I barely saw each other until the year 2013, when everything changed.
That was the year my father's elder sister sent her daughter to come live with us. I had never met any of my cousins before, so this was a complete surprise.
I was asleep when I heard a soft knock on my door. Groggy, I got up and walked over, opening it slowly.
The moment I saw her, my mind froze.
Wow.
That was the only word in my head.
She was beautiful—perfectly shaped, with a presence that filled the room. And she was older than me.
Before I could say anything, she spoke first.
"Are you Peter?" she asked.
I nodded, still trying to process who she was.
"Is this Mister Chris's home?"
"Yeah, it is," I replied.
Then she smiled.
Her smile was full of innocence and joy—so bright it reminded me of Gojo Satoru from Jujutsu Kaisen, a character known for his effortless charm.
Confused, I finally managed to ask, "Who are you? What's your name?"
But before she could answer, my mother suddenly appeared, pushing me aside. She gave me a sharp look.
"Don't you know this is your cousin?" she said, her voice carrying a warning.
"No, Mom, I didn't know," I answered quickly.
How the hell was I supposed to know? I've never seen her before in my life! I thought to myself.
Without another word, my mother grabbed my cousin's hand and pulled her inside, leaving the door open for me to lock. She led her into the living room, where she made her sit before rushing off to call the rest of the family.
I closed the door quietly and went back to bed, but my mind was racing.
Something is about to happen now that she's here.
I didn't know her, but the look in my cousin's eyes… it was the kind of gaze that could bring chaos.
To be continued…