My father has always been a serious and strict man, but lately, his sharpness carried something else. Something like impatience, maybe even irritation. He would come home from work and eat dinner without saying much. My mother would often attempt to initiate small talks like how work went, who visited or what needed fixing. However, my father usually offered only an absentminded nod or replied with a single word.
I thought he was just tired at first. Work stress, maybe. My mother had the same thought. Then over time, it became difficult to pretend like that that was all it was, particularly when he started to snap at my mother over little things that really should not have been an issue. Too much salt in the soup, a misarranged file on his table, the television being too loud. The worst part was how she just took all he said and did quietly.
"Your father just has a lot going on" is what she said each time I asked about his anger. "It will go away eventually." That wasn't true though.
Instead, it got stranger. He started arriving home late, occasionally citing meetings but other times providing no explanation whatsoever. On weekends, he would go out alone and when my mother offered to accompany him, he would say, "You don't have to. Stay home."
Then came my grandmother's visits.
There was nothing unusual about it from the start. My grandmother - my mother's mother, whom I liked to just call Mama Grace, was very social and outgoing. She often visited with and told stories from her teens, as well as enjoyed gossiping. But she was suddenly around a lot. Like a lot. She would visit during the weekdays when my mother was out of the house for whatever, claiming she "happened to be in the neighbourhood". Sometimes, she would stay till evening, laughing in the living room with my father. Their laugher... never sounded right.
I got the house from school one day, and saw both my father and grandmother sitting very near each other and whispering to themselves. When they saw me, they quickly moved from each other. My father became rigid and my grandmother gave me a sweet smile.
"You're back, my dear. How was school?" She asked cheerfully.
"Good" I said, trying to ignore the uncomfortable atmosphere as I walked towards my room.
I started to notice more after that day. For instance, the way my father always seemed to not have work to do on days my grandmother was around, the way he would dress differently whenever she was visiting, the way he would check his phone continually, the way my grandmother was suddenly touchy with my father, and the way my mother appeared totally oblivious to what was going on, even though there was so much signs.
Then came the day everything fell apart.
It was a Friday afternoon. I went home early because my last three classes got cancelled. Getting home, there was no sign of my mother's car in the compound. But my father's was parked outside. And Mama Grace's shoes were by the door's entrance.
Not sure what to expect, I stood there like a statue. They could possibly just talking and I was overthinking it. But when I stepped inside, the sound I heard made my heart drop. It was laughter and it was low, soft, and intimate. I quietly walked into the sitting room and getting there, I saw my father seated closely next to my grandmother that their knees were touching. He had one hand on her cheek and his other hand on her exposed thigh.
Mama Grace face turned pale when she saw me. My father saw me next and that was the first time, I've ever seen him with look afraid. Without saying nothing, I turned and walked out of the house. I needed to try make sense of what I just saw. How could he? How could she?
The next day, being Saturday, I confronted him. I waited until my mother stepped out to buy foodstuffs. My voice trembled when I said, "I saw you. With Grandma."
He froze. Seconds went by before he released a sigh and instead of responding in a remorseful fashion, my father stared at me with annoyance.
"It is not as you think it." He said.
"Then what is it? Can you make it make sense to me... if that's possible in this case. "
He paused a moment before answering, "She isn't really your mother's mother. She is your mother stepmother. Stop behaving like I'm doing something sinful."
He continued to speak in a cold tone. "What happens between adults is not your concern."
I stared at him, horrified "You're still cheating on mum"
"Enough." His voice was firm. "You do not know what's going on with your mother and I marriage nor do you have any business trying to interfere in what you can not comprehend."
"I am going tell my mother." I said
He then directed a cold and dreadful stare at me. "If you tell her, I will end my marriage to your mother, and kick you both out of my house. You hear me, daughter? Your mother is a stay-at-home wife. She doesn't have a job or any savings, she is practically nothing without me. You want to destroy her life over something that you have no understanding of?"
My throat went dry. He turned back to his papers like the conversation was over and maybe it was.
I never told my mother. I didn't, even when I had thoughts of telling her and sometimes, I wonder if she already knows and has simply chosen to keep it to herself. Because what would happen if she found out from me? What if she believed him? What if she gets angry at me and thinks I'm the reason her marriage broke apart?
My mother does not work, she is a housewife. Everything is taken care of her by my father. In the events that he decides to kick us out of the house, we will be left with no place to go or anything to our names. So I stay quiet.
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