What was missing

Valentine sat with one leg over the other, opposite her parents who were perched on the black leather chair she picked out for them in their newly refurbished parlour. Valentine’s mother, Angela had both her hands tucked comfortably between her husband Sampson’s. The side of her body relaxed against him too, placing her weight on his. Her feet were crossed at her ankles while his were placed far apart.

Even in the way the sat, they showed their affection for one another. Valentine witnessed it live and direct. She grew up with them, she had no choice seeing that they were all she had. They loved her strongly almost with the same intensity they felt towards themselves. She wanted that for herself, she wanted to feel that strongly too. 

However, as of right now, any tenderness she felt toward them melted and was engulfed in waves of anger. She didn't want to talk about this.

The large parlour felt a little too small for the three of them, ventine could almost feel the air’s invisible hands wrapped around her neck. She folded her arms underneath her breasts and wrapped them into fists allowing the blunt of her nails to graze her palms. Her eyes shifted to the painting above her parents. It was a large picture of her, her parents and a possible version of how her brother would have looked if he were still alive. 

‘He wouldn’t have looked like her.’  valentine thought to herself.She looked away quickly, jaw clenched.

She didn’t want to talk about this.

“I don’t think you should reopen the case.” valentine spoke lightly, in an even tone. Her calmness surprised her.Her father laughed. It was a loud and strong laugh that rocked her mother’s body with each round. Her mother grinned. Valentine rolled her eyes. Her father continued:“ my love, that’s a decision your mother and I have made long before now,” He said, lighter and softer this time as he rubbed his round stomach gently. His laugh had reduced to a tiny smile, similar to the one his wife wore on her face.My love.He’d called her that almost every day since valentino was killed.In her university days, valentine asked him why and he replied: “After your brother went missing, you talked to no one and you answered no one. Your mother and I were very scared and worried. The doctor said nothing was clinically wrong with you, and that we may have to be patient and see what happened. You never once answered to ‘valentine’ One day I called you ‘my love', it was rather random and I didn’t expect anything, but you looked up from your storybook and answered.”

“my love,” His jaw was set and his eyes became glossy, just like that day. “I believe this is the right time to search for him again,” he seemed to have zeroed his focus on valentine. She was looking around the room at the metal doorknob, the bar across the window, the electrical fireplace that was only a status symbol. She looked everywhere except at him.

“Why now? After twenty-something years, why does now seem to be the best time to do this? Don’t you want to move on?” Her tone was harsh but quiet.Her father Sampson looked up. He opened his mouth to say something but he shook his head, closed it then tried again. 

“I never believed he was murdered,” he said, "Around the time, before we moved to Lagos. There was this rampant child kidnapping happening in the surrounding villages, rumours about child labour and selling children to other families. But nothing like that had ever occurred in our community, the king had assured us that it won’t happen. That we, that our children were safe." Valentine felt a weight landing on her heart and hot tears line her eyelids. She didn’t like the direction this story was going in. Her father continued, his voice laced with a heaviness he had carried for years in his heart.“And so imagine a day comes and I hear you screaming 'Dad! Dad !' And all the alarms go off in my head. Your mother was not back from the market that day. I ran into the hut and I saw you screaming and crying, blood covering your clothes and the space beside you empty.” He let out a quiet sniff lifted his hands to wipe his face that was now streaked with tears. “You were shouting 'they've killed my brother, they've killed my brother!' Where does a seven-year-old hear things about killings?” He chuckled. “When I did not see your brother, I just knew my worst fear had come to pass. I told your uncles and aunties, your grandparents,” he stopped and laughed again. “They spat in my face saying that my son was dead and that my wife needed to dance and sing and do some foolish rituals keeping a wooden doll in the house as a symbol for valentino. My love, imagine the disrespect. I told them he was kidnapped but they laughed in my face and said I was foolish for believing that. I don’t blame them, I was the only one that it happened to in the whole village.”

Tbc........