By Clifford Ejenavi
It is said that life has a way of revealing hidden truths when you least expect it. For me, the truth came crashing like a thunderstorm, the day I discovered that the man I had been deeply in love with, the one I thought was my destiny, was actually my biological father.
A Rough Beginning
I grew up never knowing who my real father was. My mother raised me single-handedly after what she described as a “painful past.” She told me my father had died before I was born. We lived in a small town in Edo State, managing to survive on her petty trading.
When I was 17, she passed away after a brief illness. I was left alone in the world, no relatives willing to take me in, no money and no direction. For the first time in my life, I knew what loneliness truly meant.
A kind woman in our neighborhood helped me get to Lagos to “start life.” I worked as a house help for a family for years, saving little by little to survive. But life in the city wasn’t easy. At 24, I had left the family I worked for and began working at a supermarket. That was where my life changed or so I thought.
Meeting The Man I Fell For
His name was Emeka. He was in his mid-forties, well-groomed, soft-spoken and surprisingly humble for a man of his status. He came to the supermarket often and every time, he would smile at me warmly.
At first, I saw him as just another customer. But with time, he began to show interest, asking about my life, buying me lunch and later offering to help me “build a better future.”
One thing led to another and we became close, very close. He told me he was divorced and lonely, and I felt like I finally found the love and care I had missed all my life. For the first time, I was treated like a queen.
Months later, he got me a small apartment and promised to sponsor me to school if I wanted. I was beyond grateful. I had no idea that my entire world was being built on a dark, tragic secret.
The Shocking Discovery
It all started on a Sunday afternoon. We had planned to visit his family home in Enugu for a family event. He wanted to “introduce me to someone special.”
When we arrived, his elder sister, a gentle woman in her sixties, looked at me strangely. I noticed her eyes lingered on my face, then back to him. She looked pale, then suddenly burst into tears.
I was confused. My “man” quickly asked her what was wrong, but she just said, “Emeka, where did you meet this girl?”
When he told her my full name, she covered her mouth and said, “Jesus Christ, this girl looks exactly like your late girlfriend… the one who left without telling you she was pregnant years ago!” My heart stopped.
The Painful Truth
They asked for my mother’s name. When I mentioned it, Margaret, the room went silent. His sister turned to him and whispered, “That’s the same Margaret from Benin.”
He turned white, trembling. He grabbed my hand, staring at me like he was seeing a ghost. “What did you say your mother’s full name was?” he asked again. I repeated it. That was when everything fell apart.
He stood up, shaking his head in disbelief. “Oh my God,” he kept saying. “Oh my God, what have I done?”
I didn’t understand until his sister explained that my mother and Emeka had been lovers over 25 years ago. She left him after getting pregnant because his family didn’t approve of her tribe. He had searched for her for years, but eventually believed she aborted the baby and moved on. That baby… was me.
My World Collapsed
I ran out of the house in tears, screaming like someone who had lost her mind. Everything around me felt unreal. The man I had loved, the one I trusted, the one I had slept with, was my father. I felt dirty. Betrayed. Empty.
He tried calling me for days, begging for forgiveness, saying he had no idea. But how do you forgive something like that? I couldn’t even look at him again.
I moved away, changed my number and went into therapy with the help of a church group. It took months to stop hating myself.
Healing and Lessons
It’s been four years since that day. I’m still healing, but I’ve learned to forgive, not for his sake, but for my own peace of mind. He didn’t know and neither did I. We were both victims of circumstances and secrets buried too deep.
Now, I speak out to young women, know your family roots. Ask questions. Don’t allow secrets to ruin your life like mine. Sometimes, what you don’t know can truly destroy you.
I still live with the pain, but I’m learning to find meaning in my story. Maybe one day, it will help someone else avoid the same tragedy.
