REBORN ( Unedited)

chapter 2.Forgiveness

"Life is a chapter with pages; you can't skip to the ending without reading the beginning."

I stood unfazed as the white casket descended into the ground. The preacher chanted a part of the Bible, but I wasn't paying attention. I kept staring at the casket, remembering the short time I had with my mother.

It cost me all my savings and an argument with Aunty Esosa, but I didn't care. I did it for her, even if she was only a mother to me in her final days. It was short, but I wouldn't exchange those memories for anything.

For the first time in my life, I felt the love of a mother. I felt cared for, loved, and cherished. I experienced what it feels like to have a mother-daughter bond. Even if she cried for Kosi sometimes, I still won't exchange those memories.

A year of struggling to pay for chemo that didn't work was worth it if it kept her alive long enough for me to forgive her and embrace the joy of having a motherly figure in my life. When she nagged, I felt cared for and loved.

I didn't realize I had forgiven her until she asked. I might have felt like I never had motherly love, but deep down, I knew I couldn't hate her completely. I can't find it in me to hate Kosi or our father either.

Kosi and I used to be close, but everything changed when our father started favoring her over me. Instead of me hating her out of jealousy, she hated me. I once cried for my sister, begged, and pleaded for her to forgive me for a sin I never committed, but she never batted an eye.

As days passed, I stopped crying for my sister and accepted that the 16-year-old sister I once knew was dead. Instead, I was left with a 20-year-old who I no longer knew but hated me because I couldn't make our father love me.

At first, I thought she was scared of being around me, that our father would turn on her and beat her like he did to me. But it took me years to realize my baby sister wasn't scared but greedy, just like our father.

I took my eyes off the casket to watch Kosi, trying to find something that would tell me my sister was still in there. For a moment, her eyes connected with mine, and I saw my little sister, but there was something foreign there.

The preacher called for the family of the deceased to step forward and pay their last respects. I was the first to reach for the sand, followed by my aunt and her family, and then Kosi. I noticed a familiar figure stepping forward - our father.

I quickly grabbed the shovel from the preacher's hand and dumped the sand on the casket, preventing our father from disrespecting my mother again. I should have never invited him.

The buzzing noise of people gossiping and the sad music irked my soul. I maneuvered through the crowd, trying to find the quickest exit. I never wanted an after-party, but my aunt went ahead with it, claiming I needed socialization.

I looked around, trying to find a way out of this pity party. I didn't want any part of it. I would have rather gone hungry than ask my aunt for money. Staying in her home for free was already eating me up.

Whispers of new arrivals made me turn, just in time to watch Kosi and her family waltz into the house wearing sad looks. I snickered, knowing I wasn't the one who invited them.

I remember when I was 18, and we were invited to a dinner party at one of our father's friends' homes. Kosi pushed me because I told her she couldn't have alcohol at 16. She grew angry, and I spilled cranberry juice on our father's dress shirt.

That night, I begged for forgiveness, but I got nothing. I had a fractured ankle, a bruised cheek, and cuts on my arms and back. My mother came to my rescue for the first time since I was six, but I didn't want her comfort. I was angry at her, our father, and Kosi.

That night, I cried all night, and for once, I was happy I didn't share a room with Kosi. If we still shared a room, I wouldn't have been able to wince without our father barreling into the room.

I never understood what my mother meant by forgiving them, even on her deathbed. Even if I learn, I doubt I'll ever forgive them. They put me through hell.

My mother's so-called friends, whom I had only seen once or twice in my life, were scattered in the living room, chatting and laughing like they were at a friend's wedding, not a funeral party. Some sent me pity looks while others tried to make small talk of condolences with me, but I wasn't interested. I rudely waved them away, not caring if they were older than me. Mother's family is well-to-do. I don't really know my grandparents because they died when I was 13, but from what I've gathered, they own a lot of properties and businesses abroad and at home.

Judging by Aunt Esosa's house, which I recently found out she owned, calling Mum's family well-to-do is an understatement. Now, standing in the living room of my aunt's expensive house, surrounded by people who never cared about my mother but want to confirm if she was really dead, made me angry.

Especially the ones who made a show of cleaning invisible tears. An older lady whose face I know too well patted my shoulder. "Oh dear, we are really sorry for your loss. She was such a...good woman," Karina, my mother's supposed best friend for 23 years, said.

I stared into the woman's eyes, trying to find some sincerity in her words, but I couldn't find anything, not even pity. I've always disliked her ever since I've known her. She's a lying b**** who cares for no one but herself, using others for her own benefit.

I eyed both her and her minions, I hissed, stepping away from their sophisticated presence, dusting their fake care off me. Having had enough of the fake act of sympathy, I climbed onto my aunt's expensive cushion, which I couldn't afford even if I decided to save my salary for a year.

It would only pay for maybe a quarter of it. Silently asking for the cushion's forgiveness, I positioned my footing right, stood straight up, making sure everyone had eyes on me. "Hey, everyone, listen up!" I got the eyes of everyone in the room, including Aunt Esosa, who was more amused than mad that I was standing on her cushion.

She crossed her arms, watching me with a smile shadowing her lips. I heard silent whispers beside me; I sent them a glare, which got them sealing their mouths shut. The only thing I learned from my father is how to dislocate body parts, more like I have experience relocating them, but these idiots don't need to know that.

"Ask my excuse of a father, and he would enlighten you," I said, looking at Karina and her minions, who had their mouths hanging. I passed a silent message to them. I jumped down from the cushion, dusting it before walking out of the house through the back door, which leads to the garden.

I found a bunch perched in front of the garden. I took a seat, taking calm breaths to kill down my anger. I just wanted a small funeral, but it turned out to be an owambe. How would you attend a funeral dressed in ridiculous bright outfits? For heaven's sake, this is supposed to be a funeral, not a wedding ceremony.

"Can I...?"

..........

It seems our main character has a character. I just hope she can be a little bit nice even for a minute.

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