The sound of laughter floated through the compound like confetti—bright, scattered, and everywhere. Children bounced gleefully inside the inflatable castle, their giggles rising like a chorus with every leap. The twins were glowing. Peace had already stained her dress with strawberry ice cream. Patrick, now barefoot, was sword-fighting with two cousins using inflated balloon sticks.
I leaned against the veranda rail, watching it all.
"You're not smiling enough for someone whose siblings are being celebrated," a voice said beside me.
It was Chris again.
I glanced at him, offering a polite smile. "I'm just... taking it all in."
"You've been quiet all day." He nudged me gently with his elbow. "Thinking too much?"
Maybe.
But I didn't say that. Instead, I shrugged. "Just a lot on my mind. School. Projects. Life."
He nodded slowly. "Still, you look stunning. Your mum was right—you really are her jewel."
I looked away, uncomfortable under his gaze. Normally, his compliments warmed me. Lately, they just felt... rehearsed.
Before I could respond, the MC's voice thundered from the speakers again.
"All adults, please gather for the group photograph! And we need our celebrants and their gorgeous elder sister in front ooo!"
Chris offered me his arm. "Shall we?"
I took it, forcing another smile.
---
Photos clicked. Smiles were frozen. Grandma pretended not to know which way to look. The aunties fluffed their geles and arranged themselves with military precision. Dad kept trying to escape but was dragged back by Uncle Dele.
Through it all, I kept thinking:
This is supposed to be the happiest day for my siblings. Why do I feel like something is off?
After the pictures, the party officially kicked off. Music blared a little louder. The buffet was unveiled. Children tugged at their parents for juice boxes and candy bags. The MC danced exaggeratedly across the compound, making everyone laugh.
Mum called me over with a wave. "Come and help me serve Grandma. You know how she doesn't like too much pepper."
As I handed the plate over, I overheard two aunties chatting nearby.
"She's grown into such a fine girl. God bless the Adeyemis. They've really raised her well," one whispered.
The other one leaned closer. "Hmm. Do you know I still remember the day they brought her home... eh, let me not talk too much."
I blinked.
Brought me home?
I tried not to let the words settle. Maybe I misheard. Or misunderstood. Or—
"You look pale," Mum said beside me, frowning slightly. "Have you eaten anything?"
"I'm fine," I muttered. "Just a little tired."
"Go and rest upstairs for a few minutes. The games are about to start soon."
I nodded and slipped away from the noise. My heels clicked softly on the staircase. When I reached the landing, I paused—just long enough to let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding.
Those words: "the day they brought her home"—they echoed like a bell behind my ears.
I pushed them aside.
Not now. Not today.
But deep inside, I knew something had shifted.
And no amount of laughter or music could silence the strange pull inside me—like truth was circling closer… waiting.