Chapter 1: Regret Under Rain

The beloved chief's wife once said, before she died, that she regretted everything.

Rain had patted the zinc roof that evening, echoing through the corridors of the big house. She sat on her favourite carved chair by the window, wrapper bunched at her waist, eyes dull, like charcoal after heavy rain—black, but no fire left. Nobody in that compound ever saw her so weak—not the stewards, not the kitchen girls, not even Chief himself.

"If there’s another life, I want to swap with you. I’d rather be a lowly housemaid, endure till I reach twenty-five, leave this compound, and finally get my freedom."

Her voice trembled, thick with the kind of pain only a woman who has seen too much can carry. She stared at my hands, rough from years of scrubbing, as if they held the answer to all her sorrow.

"This so-called chieftain's favour, this empty wealth and glory—anybody that wants it can take it."

She coughed, her gold bangle rattling weakly on her wrist, and wiped her face with the edge of her wrapper. Her voice fell low, like a secret between us and the wind. Sometimes, I think she wanted the world to hear, but shame wouldn't let her shout.

She cried, saying all she ever wanted was true and honest love.

Her sobs mix with the smell of hot yam porridge—sweet, but now bitter for everybody wey hear am. Her sobs were soft, broken—like a child’s. Outside, the night watch called the last round. Yet, inside, everything felt hollow, even the grand portraits on the wall seemed to weep with her.

Even at the end, she held my hand tightly.

Her grip was iron, surprising for someone that frail. She squeezed as if she wanted to swap souls right then, fingers digging into my skin, desperate.

"Yemisi, you fit do am? You fit swap with me?"

Her breath was warm against my ear, smelling of stale kola and old sorrows. The words hung heavy between us, sticky with longing.

With tears running down my face, I pressed my lips close to her ear.

The taste of salt filled my mouth as I forced the words out, my voice trembling but sure. The old kerosene lamp flickered, throwing our shadows together as one.

"This servant dey willing."

My answer came from deep inside—the part of me that had learned to bury dreams. I felt a strange peace, as if my own chains loosened, even while hers tightened.

After spending my whole life cleaning up after her, I truly taya.

It was the kind of tiredness that seeps into bone, the kind that doesn't leave, no matter how much you sleep. Yet, even in my exhaustion, I pitied her—a woman with everything, but joy.