Chapter 11 : Echoes of forgiveness

Amaka didn't speak. Couldn't speak. Her emotions sat in her throat like a stone.

He looked at her, nervous. "I… I know it's late. I just—couldn't let you leave without seeing you. Without saying something."

Still, she said nothing.

"You look… you look just like your mother," he added quietly.

She blinked hard at that, fingers still on the door.

"I know I have no right to be here. But I came because… I had to. I had to try. Please, can I come in? Just for a moment?"

Amaka took a deep breath. The air felt heavier in her lungs, but she stepped aside and nodded silently.

He walked in cautiously, as if the floor beneath him might reject him. The apartment was modest, warm, neatly arranged. He looked around briefly before turning back to her.

"Thank you," he said.

Amaka crossed her arms, leaning lightly against the door, waiting.

"I don't even know where to begin," he started. "I left when you needed me most. And I know… there's nothing I can say that will erase that. I wasn't a good father. I was angry, confused, scared—and selfish. I walked away from responsibilities I should've held onto tighter."

He paused, struggling to catch his breath. "I didn't even know how much you'd grown. I didn't know… how strong you'd become. You and Kene—God, that boy. I knew he'd never forgive me."

Amaka swallowed hard.

"I missed years, memories, tears. I missed birthdays, graduations. And I've lived with that silence every single day. But when I heard you were leaving for the UK, I knew… if I didn't come now, I might never get the chance to look you in the eyes and say I'm sorry."

He sat down slowly on the edge of the couch, head bowed.

"I don't ask for your love. Just… your forgiveness."

The room went still.

Even the ticking clock on the wall seemed to pause, giving the moment its space.

Amaka's chest rose and fell with quiet breaths. She looked at the man before her—the man who had once been her hero, then became her shadow.

And then, quietly, she walked over to him and sat.

"You know what hurts the most?" she said softly.

He looked up, afraid to meet her gaze.

"That you left Kene to carry the world on his back. You left me with questions no child should ask themselves. You made life harder than it needed to be."

She blinked again, a tear finally rolling down her cheek. She wiped it immediately.

"But I never hated you. Not once. I waited. I just… I hoped. And when hope dried up, I moved on."

He lowered his head again, ashamed.

Amaka reached for a napkin from the table, handing it to him.

"I forgive you," she said quietly. "Not because you asked. But because I need peace. To err is human, to forgive… is divine."

His shoulders shook with silent tears. "Thank you," he whispered, barely audible.

They sat in silence a while, letting the years fall away in stillness.

"Have you seen Kene?" he finally asked.

Amaka shook her head. "Not yet. He's… on his honeymoon. With Zara. I didn't want to disturb them. But I'll tell him."

He nodded slowly. "Will he want to see me?"

She gave a sad smile. "Kene's not like me. He guards his heart. But I'll talk to him."

He rose to his feet, wiping his eyes. "I'd like to come to the airport tomorrow, if that's okay."

She nodded. "Of course."

He bowed his head gently in gratitude. "Thank you, Amaka. You don't know what this means to me."

As he left, he glanced one more time at her—his little girl now a woman, strong, forgiving, radiant.

Outside, the clock read 12:17 AM.

Amaka locked the door gently and leaned her back against it, letting out a deep sigh.

She had survived it.

She had forgiven him.

And as tiredness settled in, she drifted off on the couch, the weight of years now replaced by a strange sense of lightness.

The morning sun spilled through Amaka's bedroom curtains like a gentle reminder—today wasn't ordinary. It was the day everything would change. She stretched, yawned, and lay in bed for a few more seconds, eyes scanning the ceiling, mind replaying the emotional encounter of the night before.

Her father's voice still lingered in her head. Not just his apology, but the weight in it. The quiet desperation. The regret. The tear he tried to hide but couldn't. She had forgiven him, but she couldn't erase what had been lost. Still, something inside her felt lighter.

She got up, walked to the bathroom and stared at her reflection. She looked different somehow—matured. Like someone who had walked through fire and came out, not unscathed, but unbroken.

A soft smile played on her lips. "Thank you, Lord," she whispered. "For healing. For strength. For love."

By the time Caleb knocked on her door, she was already dressed in comfortable jeans, a fitted white top, and a light jacket. Her hair was tied back neatly, her suitcase by the door. She opened it to find him holding a bouquet of white lilies and a coffee cup.

"Morning, my flight queen," he grinned.

Amaka chuckled. "You're impossible."

"Impossible to resist," he teased, stepping inside.

She closed the door and took the bouquet. "You're something else, Caleb."

"And you're everything, Amaka."

They had breakfast—simple bread, fried eggs, and tea—and talked about everything except goodbyes. They laughed at the burnt toast, teased each other about whose tea was better, and ignored the looming countdown.

But eventually, it was time.

The drive to the airport was quiet, not awkward but soaked in the kind of silence that spoke louder than words. A soft emotional ballad played from the car stereo, and Caleb gently reached out to hold Amaka's hand. He rubbed it tenderly with his thumb, his gaze fixed on the road.

"I still can't believe this is happening," he murmured.

She turned to him with a small smile. "Neither can I."

Behind them, Kene and Zara followed in their car. Kene was humming to the music, one hand on the steering wheel, the other locked with Zara's.

"You okay?" Zara asked, reading the emotion behind his smile.

He nodded. "Yeah. It just feels strange. My baby sister is flying out to a new life."

Zara squeezed his hand. "She'll be fine. She's stronger than even she knows."

—

The airport buzzed with the usual blend of movement and murmurs. Announcements echoed across terminals, trolleys rolled by, children chattered, and emotions rode high in every corner.

Amaka's flight was boarding in 30 minutes.

They stood near the entrance gate. Caleb was arranging her luggage, scanning tags, getting them weighed and processed. Zara stood beside Amaka, their arms entwined.

"You sure you have your passport?" Zara asked.

"Yes, ma'am. Everything's in my carry-on," Amaka replied with a chuckle.

Zara leaned in and whispered, "I'm proud of you. So, so proud."

They hugged tightly, rocking gently as the moment pressed into their hearts.

"I love you, Zara."

"I love you too."

Amaka turned to her brother next. Kene stood strong, his expression unreadable at first, but the moment she wrapped her arms around him, something in him cracked.

He hugged her like she was a part of him leaving.

"I'm going to miss you, bro," she sobbed.

He held her tighter. "You better not forget me over there," he whispered, voice thick. "Text me. Call. Video call. Send me pictures. Anything."

"I will," she sniffled. "All of it."

They stayed in that embrace for longer than either expected.

But just as Kene opened his eyes mid-hug, his gaze caught sight of someone walking toward them—a familiar limp, a face older and more rugged but unmistakable.

His arms loosened.

He stepped back.

There, standing just a few feet away, was their father.

The man he hadn't seen in years.

The man who had walked away from their childhood.

Their father's voice was soft. "Good morning, Kene… how're you doing today?"

Time froze.

Kene's eyes narrowed. He looked at Amaka, who froze beside him. Caleb stepped closer, confused.

Kene scoffed. "This has got to be a joke, right?"

His voice was sharp—cutting through the warmth of the morning like a knife.

Amaka stepped forward quickly, her eyes wide.

"Kene, I—he came to see me last night. He apologized."

Kene's jaw clenched. "Apologized?"

Their father stepped forward slowly, hands open in surrender. "I don't expect anything from you, son. I just wanted to see you. To say I'm sorry. I've lived with the guilt of what I did every day."

Kene shook his head. "You don't get to walk in here and pretend to be a father now."

"I'm not pretending," he said quietly. "I'm begging."

Amaka placed a hand on her brother's arm. "Kene, please."

Kene looked at her, then at Caleb, then back at the man he once called Dad. Emotions clashed violently behind his eyes—anger, confusion, pain.

The airport announcement rang out overhead: *"Flight 322 to London now boarding at Gate 3…"*

Amaka turned, tears brimming again.

She stepped toward the gate, her heart torn in too many directions—love, forgiveness, family.

Caleb ran up beside her, holding her bag. "Let me walk you to the gate."

She nodded, taking his hand tightly.

Kene didn't follow.

He stood there, fists clenched, eyes fixed on the man who broke his world years ago.

As Amaka walked away, she looked back one last time.

Her brother and father stood a few feet apart—silent, distant, yet tethered by blood and years of pain.

She turned back to Caleb and whispered, "That wasn't goodbye, was it?"

He looked at her with a soft, gentle smile.

"Maybe not."