Later that evening, Shade finally appeared at my front door. She confidently entered my modest house wearing an incredibly elegant, clearly expensive light blue dress. Her dark hair was perfectly styled in cascading waves that flawlessly framed her striking face. Her full lips were painted a soft, alluring red that quickly curved into a bright smile.
That specific smile, I must reluctantly admit, was undeniably charming. However, it felt exactly as if she had meticulously rehearsed it in a mirror solely to effectively charm and please anyone she met. “It is such an absolute pleasure to finally meet you, Mrs. Okonkwo,” she purred in a sickeningly sweet voice, bowing her head slightly in a show of deep respect.
I politely returned her bright smile, warmly invited her inside, and immediately served her a delicate cup of hot, aromatic herbal tea. “Your little house is incredibly cozy and charming,” Shade commented smoothly. Her sharp eyes rapidly scanned the many framed family photos hanging proudly on the living room wall.
Her gaze stopped abruptly on one specific photo. It was a beautiful picture of a radiant Bisi lovingly hugging a very tiny, laughing newborn Namdi. I nodded politely and thanked her for the compliment. But her cold eyes lingered heavily on that specific photo for much longer than I would have liked, and I instantly knew I wasn’t sure if I liked her invasive energy.
The formal dinner went on in an atmosphere that I desperately tried to make as warm and friendly as humanly possible. I proudly placed the massive, steaming dishes I had spent all afternoon carefully preparing right in the center of the wooden table. There was the rich, heavily seasoned rice with tender roasted chicken, a massive plate of perfectly fried plantains paired with a fiery spicy sauce, and a large, fresh salad topped with sweet mango, which was Namdi’s absolute favorite dish.
Kunle sat extremely close to Shade, his absolutely mesmerized eyes practically never leaving her flawless face. His profound, overwhelming happiness was plainly visible in every single, exaggerated gesture he made. “Mummy, Shade works as a senior executive in marketing at my corporate company. She is incredibly good at what she does,” he announced, his deep voice full of overwhelming pride.
Shade smiled coyly at his lavish praise. She gracefully served me a small portion of the seasoned rice with a very delicate, but highly calculated, sweeping movement of her arm. “Mrs. Okonkwo, this food is absolutely delicious. You really have to teach me exactly how to make it,” she gushed, giving me a bright, intensely friendly look.
I smiled thinly and responded with practiced politeness. But a small, stubborn part of my intuition remained deeply uneasy. There was something highly artificial about the exact way she spoke, and the practiced way she laughed. It genuinely made me feel exactly like I was sitting in an audience watching a very well-staged theatrical play.
Namdi, my precious grandson, was sitting quietly at the head of the table, remaining strangely and concerningly silent. This was a boy who normally wouldn’t stop happily chattering about his friends at school. But that night, he just nervously picked at his delicious food without lifting his small head even once to look at our guest.
I sharply noticed that he was actively, desperately avoiding Shade’s direct gaze. He looked exactly as if he were trying to shrink down and hide in a safe, invisible corner. Shade suddenly leaned over, pulled a large, expensive chocolate bar from her designer purse, and placed it directly in front of Namdi with a massive, radiant smile.
“This is just for you! It’s very, very good chocolate, Namdi,” she cooed in a voice so aggressively sweet it felt exactly as if she were trying to cheaply buy his affection.
But little Namdi remained completely still. His small hands aggressively gripped his silver silverware, his knuckles turning white. And then, he simply turned his small face completely away toward the wall without even touching the tempting candy. I clearly saw a sudden, raw flash of pure fear in his wide eyes, and I felt exactly as if my own heart would violently shrink in my chest.
Kunle immediately frowned deeply, leaning forward, clearly about to harshly scold his quiet son. “Namdi, what on earth is wrong with you tonight? Shade is being very nice and giving you some candy. Say thank you.”
I quickly and firmly intervened before he could ruin the boy’s night. “It’s absolutely nothing, Kunle. He’s probably just a little exhausted from playing at school today. Please, just leave him be, son.”
Kunle let out a heavy sigh, clearly annoyed, but wisely didn’t say anything else to the boy. He quickly turned his attention back to Shade and proceeded to serve her more expensive red wine, clearly eager to quickly lighten the sudden, heavy mood at the table.
Chioma, my quiet, adopted daughter, was also present at the tense dinner. She sat directly across from me, eating her meal in total silence. However, I sharply noticed exactly how her warm gaze instantly darkened with pain when Shade boldly reached out and took Kunle’s hand intimately under the table.
Chioma has always been an incredibly perceptive and deeply sensitive girl. I know for a fact that she fiercely loves Kunle just like a devoted brother. But sometimes, especially during moments like this, I seriously wonder if that hidden feeling isn’t profoundly deeper and more complicated than she admits.
When Shade possessively took Kunle’s hand, Chioma’s own hand abruptly stopped hovering over her water glass. I clearly saw her slender fingers tighten aggressively around the crystal stem. She didn’t say a single word of protest; she simply lowered her head back down and forced herself to continue eating her food.
But that heavy, suffocating silence radiating from her was vastly heavier than any angry words could ever be. I desperately wanted to ask her what was wrong. I fiercely wanted to fully understand exactly what was making her look so heartbroken and sad, but I instinctively knew it absolutely wasn’t the right time or place to push her.
After the exhausting dinner finally concluded, Shade aggressively insisted on washing the mountain of dirty dishes, even though I politely refused her offer several times. “Oh, please, Mrs. Okonkwo, you simply must let me! You cooked, so you need to sit down and rest,” she insisted with practically overflowing, theatrical enthusiasm.
I reluctantly agreed to let her help and quietly watched her confidently march into my kitchen. She gracefully rolled up the expensive sleeves of her dress and began humming a very cheerful, upbeat tune while she aggressively scrubbed the pots.
I must honestly admit that she executed the chore absolutely impeccably. The wet dishes were neatly and perfectly stacked, and the metal sink was left sparkling clean. For a brief, hopeful moment, I genuinely thought to myself, Perhaps I am wrong. This girl actually seems very caring and helpful.
But then, when I quietly walked back out into the main living room, I saw little Namdi sitting alone on the rug. He was quietly coloring in a book, his little hands tightly clutching a blue crayon. Shade confidently approached him and suddenly sat down very close to him on the floor, loudly praising his artwork.
“Wow, you draw so incredibly well, Namdi! What is that supposed to be? Let me see it,” she demanded cheerfully.