My mum preferred my younger sister to me, because she brings money home. (part 3)

“You won’t be able to walk till after two months.”

The doctor said it calmly. Too calmly.

As if she had not just rearranged my entire life with one sentence.

Tears slipped down my face immediately. Not just because of the pain in my legs. Not just because of the accident.

But because I had plans.

I wanted to go to Lagos. I wanted to hustle. I wanted to stop being the girl everyone pitied. I studied Guidance and Counselling in school for goodness’ sake. I came out hopeful. Motivated. Ready.

And what did I get?

Applications. Silence. Rejections.

Except for the few clients my HOD would recommend because she knew what I was capable of. And even the little money I made from those jobs never stayed with me long enough to breathe. It always entered the family account. Needs upon needs. Emergencies upon emergencies.

And not once did anyone say, “Thank you.”

So yes, I cried.

Because just when I finally gathered the courage to leave my comfort zone and choose myself… accident.

The doctor’s voice became distant as she adjusted her coat.

“You’ll be fine dear. Don’t allow anything to bother you.”

Easy for her to say.

She left. And then the elderly man, Mr George, held my hand gently.

“Child, I know how you feel that we put you in this condition. But see, whatever you need, don’t fail to tell me. I will make sure I take care of you till you’re whole again.”

I noticed something immediately.

Mr George was the only one talking.

The young man who actually knocked me down? He sat there like furniture. Like he had no voice. No remorse. No humanity.

Just silence.

I stayed in the hospital for one week.

My mum tried to come. Oh she tried. Probably to rant and calculate compensation in front of everybody. I told the management not to allow her in.

Vincent came down.

Chizaram travelled immediately she heard what happened.

Ifeoma visited one of those days and they all sympathised with me genuinely.

Chizaram even questioned Mr George seriously about my welfare and how they planned to handle everything. She wanted me to follow her back to Abuja after discharge.

But sincerely, I did not want to.

My sister is kind.

My mother is not.

The last time I visited Chizaram in Abuja where she works and lives, my mother called every single day telling me to come back home so Chizaram would concentrate and stop feeding two people.

She was convinced my presence would reduce the amount of money my sister sends her monthly.

In fact, she even pretended she was sick just to force me back.

So no.

Abuja was not peace. It was temporary shelter with daily guilt calls.

Mr George assured Chizaram he would take full responsibility for me.

And that was how I followed them home.

If only I knew what awaited me.

Back at their house, Mr George was genuinely caring. Attentive. Soft-spoken. I chose to focus on that.

As for Ramsey… I won’t say he lacks empathy.

But he truly lacks a sense of belonging to basic human decency.

Mr George made sure Ramsey served me my food every day in my room.

He would walk in.

Drop the tray.

Walk out.

No greeting. No eye contact. Nothing.

I also met Ramsey’s elder brother. His name is John.

John was kind. Charming. The type that smiles with his eyes.

Every morning he would check on me. Ask how my legs were feeling. In the evenings, he would help me walk around to exercise my muscles. Slowly. Carefully. Patiently.

His girlfriend used to come around often. At first, I could sense jealousy in her eyes. Who wouldn’t? Her boyfriend was constantly in another woman’s room.

But when she realized he was only helping me recover, she managed her emotions.

But Ramsey?

Ramsey was just… there.

Cold air in human form.

Then one afternoon, something unusual happened.

He brought my food and for the first time since I entered that house, he asked,

“How are you doing today?”

I almost looked behind me to confirm he was speaking to me.

“I’m good, thank you,” I replied cautiously.

He nodded and turned to leave.

Then he paused at the door.

Turned back.

And with a smirk that irritated my entire bloodstream, he said,

“Do and recover so that you will be going back to your parents’ house. I think my father and everyone in this house are doing their best to see that you recover. Don’t get too familiar with things here.”

I didn’t even realize when I said,

“Excuse me, I don’t think I heard me clearly.”

He smiled wider.

“I said what I said. Don’t get too familiar with this house. You will never be a part of it.”

Oh.

So this is what we’re doing.

For the first time since the accident, I decided to remember that if anyone should be angry here, it should be me.

“Ramsey or whatever your name is,” I began slowly, “I might not know what problem you’re battling with internally, but if there’s a victim here, it is me. If I wasn’t knocked down by you that day, do you think I would willingly choose to be close to someone who lacks manners?”

He stiffened.

“And to think you inflicted so much pain on me and not once have you apologized.”

“With all the money I’ve spent these past few days, what other apology do you want?” he fired back.

My head spun.

A grown man.

In his prime.

Still this empty emotionally.

“There is no money,” I said carefully, “that can stand beside a genuine apology. You are simply a spoilt brat raised by a good father. I cannot wait to recover so I can leave. Thank your stars I have a good heart and chose not to sue you.”

To my greatest shock he said,

“I know at the end of the day it’s money you want. You’re no different from that whoremonger of your mother who demanded ten billion Naira in damages. I’m surprised it took you this long to state your offer.”

I gasped.

The audacity.

“Do you really think if I wanted to sue you I would go for ten billion Naira?” I asked. “That’s too small. If I truly wanted to sue you, it would be around one hundred billion dollars… Yes! Dollars. Scratch that.”

His mouth opened.

I did not give him time to breathe.

“I would have been in Lagos living my best life, using my youth wisely, instead of being stuck here because an adult failed to drive responsibly. So Ramsey or whatever your name is, adjust your behavior. Because if not, I don’t mind that this is your house. I will make it very uncomfortable for you.”

Then I added calmly,

“Kindly leave my room and go fix your khaki trousers. They’re torn at the buttocks.” I added as I stared at his buttocks.

The shame… oh my… it was unbelievable.

The way he froze.

The way his hand flew backwards to confirm.

And the way he fled that room?

Priceless.

That evening John helped me take a stroll. He even massaged my feet gently before settling me back in my room.

I was grateful. Truly.

For John. For Mr George.

We spoke for a while before he grew quiet.

“Amaka… there’s something that has been bothering me for a long time.”

My heart skipped.

Was this about his girlfriend?

Was it about the argument with Ramsey?

He took a breath.

“Amaka, I’m in love with you. From the first day I set my

eyes on you.”

Everything inside me froze.

In love?

What about his girlfriend?

How did this even happen?

My mind filled with questions.

And suddenly, recovery became the least complicated thing in my life.