BY
OLADUNJOYE MOWANINUOLA
CHAPTER ONE
Bola was the only child of Mr. and Mrs. Owoade. Mr. Owoade was a wealthy and respected man because of his generosity and help to people. Mrs. Owoade was a businesswoman. She was rarely at home, and she had little time for her daughter, Bola. But she made sure Bola lacked nothing.
Anytime Mrs. Owoade returned from a business trip, she came with expensive gifts and luxury items for Bola. She used them to make up for the time she didn’t spend with her. Bola’s father hardly went to work. He owned several companies, houses, and apprentices who managed his affairs and reported to him daily. Bola was sixteen years old. She attended Girls High School and was in Senior Secondary School One.When she came back from school, it was usually her father she met at home. She disliked being with him because he was boring, unlike her mother.
CHAPTER TWO
The clock struck 7:00 a.m. “Bola! Are you not ready for school? What are you still doing?” Mrs. Owoade shouted. “I’m almost done, Mum,” Bola replied from her room. She picked up her bag and kissed her father goodbye.
Outside, Bola apologized to her mother for the delay.Her mother accepted the apology and asked, “Do you need anything?”
Bola smiled. “I have everything, Mum.”
They both smiled. Thirty minutes later, Mrs. Owoade dropped Bola at school and drove off.
CHAPTER THREE
It was Saturday morning. Mrs. Owoade was away on a one-week business trip.Bola was cleaning the tables in the sitting room. She wore bum shorts and a crop top.
Her father sat on the sofa, watching her. His eyes moved over her body. Slowly, he stood up and touched her. Bola screamed. “Why are you screaming?” her father asked.
“Dad, why are you touching me like this?” Bola stammered, fear rising in her chest. “You’re no longer a child,” he said. “There’s nothing to be shy about.”
“Dad, I’m only sixteen. I don’t understand.......”
“Keep quiet!” He cut her off, looking at her from head to toe.
Bola tried to walk away. “I don’t want to talk about this.”
Her father grabbed her and pulled at her clothes. She struggled. He slapped her, tore her clothes, and forced himself on her.
Bola cried, but he didn’t stop. When he was done, he wiped his hands and said, “I’ll give you everything you want. Just keep quiet.”
Bola wept. “I’ll tell Mum what you did,” she whispered bitterly.
Her father laughed. “Do you think she’ll believe you? Or even listen? Remember the last time she came home? She didn’t even hear you out.” He pointed a finger at her. “If you say anything, I will deal with you.”
He left. Bola sat on the cold floor, shaking. What will people say if they find out? (she thought).
CHAPTER FOUR
In class, Bola stared blankly at the board. She didn’t write. She didn’t hear the teacher.
Her mind replayed what her father did to her every day. She remembered how she had once tried to tell her mother, but her mother was too busy and only sent money.
“Bola!” She blinked. The teacher was calling her.
“Are you okay?” the teacher asked.
Bola opened her mouth to speak, but fear locked her throat. She remembered her father’s threat and shook her head.
“I’m fine, Ma,” she murmured, and looked away. At closing time, she sat under a palm tree. The sky was turning orange. She wished the day would never end. Going home meant facing him.
CHAPTER FIVE
On Saturday morning, everyone was home.
Bola walked into the sitting room. Her mother was watching a movie.
“Mum,” Bola said.
“Yes, dear? What’s wrong?”
“I need to talk to you. It’s important.”
“Not now, Bola. I’m watching something. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
Bola wanted to insist, but then her father’s voice boomed from upstairs.
“Bola! Go and buy paracetamol for me!”
Her mother sighed. “Go and buy it for your father. We’ll talk tomorrow, I promise.”
At the sound of his voice, Bola’s stomach dropped. Fear gripped her. She turned and walked away, tears burning her eyes.
CHAPTER SIX
On a fateful day, Mrs. Owoade went to the market to stock the house.
Bola wanted to follow her.
“Let her stay,” her father said. “She can take care of me. I’m not feeling well.”
Mrs. Owoade hesitated, then nodded. “Stay and look after your father, Bola. I’ll be back soon.” The door closed. Fear gripped Bola. She knew what was coming.
Her father dragged her to the room. He slapped her and tore her clothes.
Bola struggled, but he was stronger. With her eyes closed, she grabbed a glass from the bedside and hit him again and again.
When she opened her eyes, he lay in a pool of blood, unmoving.
She screamed. Her mother rushed in. They carried him to the hospital, but it was too late. He was dead.
Mrs. Owoade turned to Bola, furious. “You killed your father!”
Through sobs, Bola told her everything. How he had been molesting her. How she had lived in fear for years.
Her mother’s face crumbled. “Oh my God. I’m sorry, Bola. I’m so sorry. I should have listened.”
But it was too late.
That night, Bola took a knife and ended her life.
THE END