***
"Written by Stella Adewale?" Cynthia asked, picking up Stella's Robber's Heart from my bed. "Isn't that our school nurse?"
"Yes," I said. "She writes."
"Seriously? She doesn't even look like a writer. I could never have guessed. What's the book about anyway? Let me guess. Someone falls in love with a thief?"
I nodded. "That's the plot in one sentence. It's a great read. There are many twists to it. A thief jumps into a compound to steal, but breaks his leg and is nursed by a little girl who develops a daughter-father love for him, and so she hides him in her room, away from her mum."
"Does the woman ever get to see him?" Cynthia asked.
I smiled as I thought back to the slow and steady relationship building between the woman and the thief. "Yes. And it's a very humorous scene. To please her daughter, she allows him stay with them till he recovers. But whenever he's about to recover, he breaks his leg all over again, just so he spends more time with the girl. And then, for the few weeks it takes for him to recover, the woman envies the bond he has with her daughter. And so, it's as though they are competing for the girl's love. The robber seems to be winning in everything. A fight between the girl and her mother makes him feel bad and he sneaks out one night, never returns. His absence makes him realize he's fallen in love with the woman. And the woman realizes this too."
Cynthia grinned. I had no idea she fancied fiction. "What happens next? How does it end?"
"The man is back to being a thief," I said.
"What?" she asked. "Why?"
"He'd rather return to his old self than be this love-sick puppy," I said. "I can't tell you more. I am yet to complete the book."
"I want to read it so bad," she said. "It's my kind of story. Give me when you're done? Deal?"
"Deal." We sealed our deal with a smile. The door lazied open and my stepmother walked in with three wine-filled glasses on a tray.
"What are we celebrating?" Cynthia asked, reading my mind.
My stepmother smiled. As though learning a pattern, she fixated her eyes on the wine glasses. "We are a family again. And my health has returned. This calls for celebration, doesn't it?"
"Of course it does," I said.
Cynthia reached for a wine glass, but my stepmother sidestepped with such speed that alerted us. "Mum?"
My stepmother feigned anger. "Do you want to kill the joy? I'm the only one allowed to serve."
"Oh, sorry," Cynthia said.
My stepmother's focus adjusted to Cynthia's black dress and her made-up face. "Why are you all dressed up?"
"Party," Cynthia said. "A friend's about to relocate to France, so we're hosting a send-forth party at some club. Didn't I tell you about this?"
My stepmother set down the tray on the bed. "Oh, you did. I forgot. When will you be back?"
"I'll be back around eleven," she said. "If I can't make it though, I'll call to tell you not to expect me. I'd like to take Vicky along."
"Don't even think of it!" my stepmother yelled, a dark shadow creeping to her face.
"Mum, please, calm down," Cynthia said. "What's wrong?"
"Victoria has never been to such parties," my stepmother said. "How do you think she'd handle the boys, the bear and all? I would never place her in any situation that could harm her. And besides, I want her here with me tonight. Or do I not deserve to have her with me?"
"Mum please don't talk like that," I said. "I'm not going to any party. I'm staying here."
"Thank you. Now let's drink to our happiness." She fixated her gaze on the wine. Taking the first glass, she presented it to Cynthia. "This is yours."
"Thanks, mum," Cynthia said.
"And you, my dearest-" She moved her hand to pick mine, but then she froze, her palm hovering over the two glasses as though she were trying to remember something. Her face contorted with confusion.
"Mum?" Cynthia called.
My stepmother clutched her head. "My head hurts. But neither headache nor any other intruder can separate me from my share of happiness. This is yours, dear Victoria."
Smiling, I gripped my glass. "Thanks, mum."
My stepmother raised her glass in salutation. "Let's toast to our happiness."
Cynthia and I raised our glasses. "To our happiness," we chorused.
Cynthia lowered her glass with a speed that emptied it of its contents.
My stepmother gasped. "Tonye!"
Cynthia waved off her mother's worry. "Mum. I'm fine. Let's not spoil the fun." Turning towards me, she said, "Here, let's share yours."
"No," my stepmother said. "It's been years since we let Vicky drink wine. Let's allow her have a full glass. Let's share mine, please."
"Mum, I'm sure my sister wouldn't mind," Cynthia insisted. I could see tension rear its head between them.
"Do not bother the poor girl," my stepmother said. "If you won't share mine, just wait, I'll go get another bottle. Is that okay?"
"I'm not considering that option. I'm sure my sister wouldn't mind. And no, I insist."
Cynthia presented her glass, and just as I made to pour, my stepmother swatted at my glass. Both glasses hit the floor, spewing glass fragments and blood-red wine.
"You stupid girl!" my stepmother growled. "Do you have any idea what you've just done?" Shaking her head, she snapped her finger at me and stormed out of the room.
Cynthia sank down in the bed and dissolved into tears. "I can't believe mum tried to kill you. I suspected this. I knew it was all too good to be true."
Sniffing back her tears, she went on, "I'm so sorry this happened. She's hated you all her life. It was all too suspicious that she loved you overnight. I always had a bad feeling about it. But I couldn't bring myself to tell you. A part of me said I was jealous and couldn't handle having mum's attention diverted."
Moments passed, and I said nothing. "Vicky, please say something?"
"What can I say?" I asked. "Can you answer the questions swirling around my head?"
"I know you're upset," she said.
"Upset doesn't cut it. I feel nothing. I should feel angry, scared, anything at all. But I feel nothing. Nothing but curiosity. Why would she do this? I know she hates me to the moon and back. But kill me? Why? What would she gain?"
"I don't know what's in it for her. And I don't want to know. This is just too much. I'm ashamed of being her daughter. Where has my mother gone? I do not know the woman who tried to kill her daughter!"
"You're forgetting I'm not-"
"Blood be damned," she said. "Blood or not, you are my sister. We are family. Or do these past few days mean nothing to you? Mum has denied us each other for so long. Now that I've tasted what life is with a sister like you, I do not want to go back to the darkness life was without you. I'm going to talk to mum. If she ever tries to hurt you again, then she'll lose us both. If she doesn't like you, then fine. I won't force her to, but she shouldn't keep trying to hurt you."
I watched her storm out of the room, her blonde wig bouncing behind her. As sincere as she seemed, I didn't trust her. What if she had a hand in her mother's plan and had only changed her mind at the last minute?
Grabbing my phone, I dialed Sharon's number. She picked up almost immediately. "Heya. My sister from another mother. How are you?"
I swiped at my teary eyes. "Do you know if your parents are still interested in taking custody over me?"
"What's wrong?" she asked. "Did that woman hurt you? Shit! I knew it was all an act. Are you alright?"
"I'm fine," I said.
"Can you hear yourself? People who are fine don't cry like this."
"I...I miss my mum," I said.
"I'm sorry." Her voice had softened noticeably.
"If your parents will allow me return, I'd like to come tomorrow," I said. "I'm so stupid. I just thought she was really sick and that she'd changed and-"
"You're right," she said. "You're an idiot. I don't want to say I told you so, but did I not tell you I didn't believe she was really sick?
And then, when she insisted that she wouldn't go to a hospital, it made me even more convinced. And you just couldn't see it. That woman and her daughter are not related to you in anyway. I wonder how you are so attached to them. You are strangers living under the same roof. I should stop talking now and save the rest for when I see you in person. When are you coming anyway?"
Although I hated to admit it, even to myself, she had a point. "I'll come once it's morning. There's nothing for me here. I cannot stay here."
"You are leaving?" Cynthia stared at me from the doorway.
"Sharon, we'll talk later." I ended the call and put away my phone.
Unable to hold Cynthia's gaze, I looked away. Going away was the best decision I could ever make. Why then did the wounded look in her eyes rip out my heart?
"Don't go," she said. "Please. I know what mum did was not right, but please don't leave me again. We'll stand together."
"Cynthia, I cannot stay," I said. "I can't live like this. This is not the life I want for myself. I cannot continue in this fight. I give up. I lose. Your mum wins. Sir Aaron's family is ready to accept me as their own. I'll be happy there."
Cynthia's eyes blurred with tears. It would be a shame if she smudged her mascara because of my supposed selfishness. "And me? You won't even think about me?"
Nothing would happen to her, and we both knew that. Or could her mother give her stone instead of bread and snake instead of fish?
"You will be fine," I said. "Your mother loves you so much and you know nothing beats that. But when it comes to me, she despises the very sight of me. If you care about me, then you'll let me go."
"I need you," she said.
"You don't," I retorted. "You've never needed me, so-" The hurt look on her face alerted me to my thoughtless words. She looked as though a dagger had just severed her heart.
"Don't listen to me," I backpedaled, although I doubted words would be any good at this point. "I'm sorry I said that."
She sniffled. "No, go on. Say it. I guess that's how you feel. After what's happened, I know you don't trust me. For all you care, I'm with mum in this. That's what you think? That's how you feel, right?"
She had just described how I felt. But admitting to this would only break her. And I didn't want that.
"How would you feel if you were me?" I asked. "Would you continue living amongst people who have tortured you so much in the past and have now resorted to killing you? Would you?"
I awaited an answer that never came. Unless her tears counted.
"Your silence," I said. "It says it all."
"I am not with mum in this," she said. "You have to trust me, please."
"I know. I believe you. You knew nothing about it. But what does it matter?"
Careful not to step on shards of glass, Cynthia crossed the room to meet me. Placing her hands on mine, she pleaded, "Please don't go. Please stay. Don't leave me with her. After what she's done, it scares me to think I'll live alone with her."
"She would never hurt you," I said, stroking her disarrayed strands of hair into place. "You are safe with her."
"And as long as you are with me you are safe too," she said. "I will stick with you. Mum will not be able to hurt you. I give you my word. You stole my heart, Vicky. Who knows, maybe with your good conduct, your perseverance, your mildness, longsuffering and endurance, you'll be able to win over mum's heart too. You've always fought for this, haven't you? Now, just when you are at the brink of success, you want to give up?"
"It's a lost cause," I said, perching on the bed.
"You've made up your mind? This is it? You are walking away?"
I let her questions go unanswered. Her voice had taken a formal tone I didn't like.
"Okay," she said. "I will not try to stop you. I just...I hope you find happiness where you're going."
With the rigidity of a robot, she swiped at her cheeks and made for the door.
"Cyn?" I called.
She halted, but didn't turn to look at me.
"Can you ever forgive me?"
"I don't hold grudges, Victoria." She turned around with a transmissible smile. "And to prove that, I'm asking you to get ready and come with me to the party. After what happened here, I didn't want to go again, but now that I think of it, I really need to be out for an hour or two. I need to clear my head. And you need this just as much as I do."
"Party?" I asked. "Me? Not happening!"
She pouted. "C'mon, it'll be fun. Please? I know you're not the party type but-"
"Cynthia, I will not be going for any party at eight in the night. Not happening."
She plopped down beside me on the bed and draped an arm around my shoulders. "Hey I know you're probably thinking terrible things right now, but trust me. It's fun, and it's safe. You'll get to meet new people."
I would never attend a night party. Not bloody likely. Dad would writhe in his grave. Or at least his remains would. Why would I go partying at night? Possibly, I appeared old fashioned, but I had principles. Clubbing would speak no good of my personality, so what's the point?
"I know you're not the party type," she said. "But I've already explained why it's important that we go out for a while. After what mum tried to do, I don't feel good about leaving you all by yourself."
Arms folded, I stuck out my chin in defiance. "I don't feel good about you going for a night party either."
"Oh, come on," she said. "I've partied several nights."
Touch?. "And I've spend several nights alone with mum. I'll be fine."