THREE WEEKS AGO
The smell of burnt toast filled the kitchen. Mom stood by the sink, staring out the window, motionless. She didn’t even notice the toast had caught fire. I watched her from the doorway, sensing something was off. It had been like this for days—her distant stares, the way her hands would shake when she thought I wasn’t looking. Something was wrong, and she was trying to hide it.
“Mom, the toast is burning.”
She flinched, her head snapping toward the stove as if she had just returned to reality. She quickly turned off the burner and tossed the charred toast into the trash.
“Right. Sorry,” she murmured, avoiding my eyes.
The silence between us stretched like a thin wire, taut and threatening to snap at any moment. I wanted to ask her what was going on, why she had been so distant, but something in the air felt too heavy. I could feel a storm brewing, the kind that breaks things.
“Prisca, we need to talk,” she finally said, her voice barely above a whisper.
I crossed my arms, leaning against the kitchen doorframe. “Yeah, I figured.”
She sighed deeply, like she was carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders. “It’s about your father.”
The mention of him made my stomach lurch. *My father.* A name I had barely spoken in years, a ghost of a man who had died before I could form memories of him. We didn’t talk about him. Ever. I wasn’t sure if it was because it hurt too much or because there was nothing to say.
“What about him?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.
Mom turned to face me, her eyes red and swollen like she’d been crying for hours. “Prisca… your father… he’s not dead.”
Her words hung in the air like a bomb that had just gone off, yet the sound hadn’t caught up to my brain. I blinked, sure I hadn’t heard her right.
“What?” The word came out flat, empty, like my mind couldn’t process what she was saying.
She took a step toward me, reaching out, but I backed away, my heart pounding. “He’s alive, Prisca. I know this is hard to understand, but I had to—”
“No,” I cut her off, shaking my head furiously. “No, no, no. That’s not possible. You said he died. You told me he was dead.” My voice was rising, trembling with confusion and anger.
“I had to protect you,” she whispered, her voice cracking.
“*Protect me*?!” I yelled, feeling my heart race faster and faster, like it might burst out of my chest. “You lied to me, Mom! For 19 years, you let me believe he was *dead*! You—” My voice broke as a flood of emotions surged inside me. Anger, disbelief, betrayal. I didn’t know what to feel first, but they were all colliding inside me like a hurricane.
“I’m so sorry, Prisca. I never wanted to lie to you,” she said, her voice desperate, her face pale. “But there were things you didn’t understand. There are still things you don’t know.”
I couldn’t breathe. The air felt too thick, too suffocating. “Then *tell me*,” I snapped, trying to force the tears back. “Explain it to me. What could possibly be so bad that you had to fake my father’s death?”
She opened her mouth, but the words seemed to die in her throat. Instead, she just stood there, tears silently streaming down her face.
“You’re unbelievable,” I whispered, my voice cold and distant, as if I was watching myself from outside my body. “You’re actually unbelievable.”
I turned away, pacing the kitchen as I tried to think, tried to make sense of the insanity she was throwing at me. I could feel the walls closing in, my heart beating too fast, my hands shaking.
“You were only a baby when I made the decision. I had to protect you, Prisca. From dangers you couldn’t possibly understand. Dangers that still exist.”
I spun around to face her. “What dangers? What are you even talking about? Are we living in some sort of Harry Potter story now? What am I supposed to be afraid of?!” My voice cracked as I nearly screamed the words at her.
She flinched at my tone, but I didn’t care. I needed answers, not cryptic excuses.
“I can’t tell you everything,” she said, wiping her tears with the back of her hand. “Not yet. But your father… he’s not just any man. He’s… involved in things. Powerful things.”
My blood ran cold. “*What* things?”
“I wish I could explain it all right now, but it’s too dangerous for you to know.” She looked at me with pleading eyes, but I didn’t care. I didn’t want her pity. I wanted the truth.
“Dangerous? I’m your daughter! What could be more dangerous than keeping this from me for nineteen years?”
There was a long, agonizing silence. She looked so fragile standing there, tears flowing freely now. I almost felt sorry for her. Almost.
“You have to leave, Prisca,” she said suddenly.
I stared at her, not sure I heard her right. “What?”
“You need to go live with him. Your father. In Africa. There’s a small country called Zimbabwe. You’re going to stay with him there. It’s the only way to keep you safe.”
I laughed bitterly, disbelief thick in my voice. “You’ve got to be kidding me. You want me to move to *Africa*? To live with a man I don’t even know? Someone you’ve hidden from me all my life, and now I’m supposed to just trust him?”
“You don’t have a choice!” she shouted, her voice shaking with desperation. “You’re in danger here, Prisca! I can’t protect you anymore, not from the things that are coming. Your father can. You have to go to him, today. It’s not safe for you to stay here any longer.”
I felt like the floor was falling out from under me. My entire world was crumbling, and I had no way to stop it. “You’re insane,” I whispered, backing away from her. “You’re actually insane. What the hell is happening? What kind of danger are you talking about?”
She shook her head, her eyes filled with sorrow. “I wish I could tell you. I do. But the less you know, the safer you’ll be. Please, Prisca. Trust me, just this once.”
I stared at her, my mind spinning with disbelief, anger, and confusion. How was I supposed to trust anything she said after this? But the look on her face—broken, terrified—it made me hesitate.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I never wanted it to come to this. But it’s the only way.”
I wanted to scream, to run, to do anything but face the reality she was throwing at me. But there was no escaping it. My father was alive. He had been all along. And now, for reasons I couldn’t understand, I had to leave everything behind to go live with him in a country I’d never even heard of.
It felt like the end of the world.