The package on my doorstep had my name, but I definitely didn't order it.

It was the sort of cardboard brown, rectangular parcels most delivery orders came in. The box was quite small, about the size of my hands. It had a note taped to it. It read: To Madeline Okopi.

Absentmindedly, I traced the cellotaped opening with a false nail. I looked up at Amarachi who wore a look of undisguised curiosity.

"You found this at the doorstep?"

"I told Thomas to help me pick the stuff I ordered from Jumia. He dropped them at the door. This was among them."

I frowned. "This doesn't have a delivery note or description."

"Exactly! I didn't order this. Did you?"

"Certainly not. I don't even know what's inside."

"To Madeline Okopi." I read aloud."From who? Is this one of your pranks Amarachi?"

The pretty nineteen year old rolled her eyes daintily at me. "Just open it let us see."

"Who is us?" I frowned at her. "Did I see your name on the box?"

"They wrote it with invisible ink." Was her sarcastic retort.

I shook the package. It made a rattling sound, like a trinket was inside. Was it a surprise gift from Charles? I dismissed the thought as soon as it came. If my husband wanted to send me a gift, it would have been delivered to my front door, his gifts were usually of the expensive variety, bracelets from Tiffany's and other designer brands. This was just a plain brown box.

"What if it's a bomb?" Amarachi wondered aloud. "No it's not possible. That box is too small to hold a bomb."

In the end curiosity won me over. I was sure this was a prank from either Amarachi or the twins. Or both. I would deal with them later. I sliced through the tape with my nail and tore it open. I looked into the box and my blood ran cold. It was a simple cheap silver trinket, already showing signs of age. This was definitely not a gift from Charles, nor could my children have pulled off such an evil scheme. I could feel my heart thudding in my chest.

The silver chain had unleashed a flood of painful memories I would have given anything to forget. It took me back to those horrible years marked by suffering. A past I had done everything to leave behind.

Laughter rang out from the living room. I swayed on my feet startled, I didn't notice when Amarachi reached out to steady me.

"Where is Maddy?" I heard Fiona ask. "She needs to see this."

"What is it?" The playful tone had left Amarachi's voice, my reaction had clearly frightened her.

"What is it?" She repeated. I noticed her trying to look into the box and rushed to cover it.

"Take this, drop it in my room, okay?" I placed the box in her hands.

"Don't look at it." I warned.

"Try and find out how it got to your things. Be discreet. Don't tell anybody about this." She nodded.

I watched her walk up the stairs, while trying to calm myself. When my heart rate had settled to a reasonable level, I pasted on a smile and walked into the living room.

"Sorry I was gone for so long ladies. Had to sort out some things." I waved my hands as I spoke to indicate triviality.

Fiona and Vera sat on the peach leather sofa, encrusted with silver fittings. Nadine lounged in an armchair opposite them, wine glass in hand. My heels clicked against the marble tiles as I walked to the armchair besides Nadine, stopping to pick my wine glass from the table before I sat, legs crossed at my knees.

Four of us were married to some of the most powerful men in the country. We were also powerful women in our own rights, Nadine ran a cancer research institute, Fiona ran a nationwide chain of supermarkets, I owned the second largest farm in the state which supplied grocery stores nationwide, Vera, well she had been born into the family which founded our country club, and she loved to shop.

"What did I miss?" I asked my friends. Despite several invitations to premieres, events and galas, I preferred to remain a society recluse. It was from meetings such as these I found out what was happening in society.

"Just this stupid Minnie girl that's Otunba's flavour of the month." Fiona kissed her teeth as she passed her IPhone to me. On the screen was a video of a young girl, not much older than Amarachi clad in a bikini dancing provocatively on a yacht. I could make out the crest of the DaSilva family on the chair behind her.

"His wife is in the hospital fighting for her life, his mistress is twerking on the family yacht. I don't even blame these girls, it's the stupid men giving them the audacity to disrespect us!" Vera fumed.

Vera had met her husband Femi, as a bright but struggling computer student in university. She had fallen in love and married him despite her father's disapproval. Her family connections had opened doors for him when establishing his business and now, a tech magnate, he spent more time visiting clubs and in the arms of young university students than at home. Out of the three of us, she was the only one born and not married into wealth. When the rest of us grappled with the classism and shunning that came with Lagos's moneyed circles, Vera had been a welcoming smiling face.

I glanced around the room, these women knew details of my life nobody else knew. Yet, I had kept the truth hidden from them. I listened absentmindedly to the rest of the conversation, 'hmm' ing and 'aah' ing when appropriate. My mind was on much bigger complications.

I avoided my room for the rest of the day, even after my friends left. I stayed in the living room, took up the daunting task of clearing my inbox while emptying a bottle of wine. Naza and Zara, my twins were at boarding school and Charles was currently in Morrocco on business. Amarachi had gone to visit a friend and my only company was Stella, one of my maids.

After dinner, I dismissed her, picked another bottle of wine from the bar and went upstairs to face my past. The box was on the bedside table. I sat on the bed and picked it up, fingered the necklace gingerly with a sigh. On closer inspection, I noticed a white piece of paper inside. The content of the note left me fuming.

'Obiageli I know you are surprised to hear from me. It has been so long, so I left you a gift to jog your memory. I have been trying to reach you. Please call me on this number let us pick a date to talk. 08177689235.'

I'm a firm believer in taking your life into your hands. I don't believe in fate or letting things take their course. That's for people who were born into money, or homes with parents who didn't abandon them. Everything I have, I fought for it, I planned and schemed and it all paid off in the end. If I had been hoping on fate, or waiting for someone to save me, I would still be in that stupid village, suffering in pain and poverty.

The magazines and blogs called me the 'billionaire recluse wife'. Wife to Chief Charles Okopi, former senator, CEO of Okopi Oil, one of the largest oil exploration firms in the country. My husband thinks his wife grew up in Lagos state. He thinks I lost my parents to a car accident when I was ten. I told him my father's relations kicked me out of the house. He thinks Amarachi is my elder sister's daughter and she lost her mum to a brief illness.

I mean it wasn't a complete lie, just some embellishments. I grew up in a remote village in Southeastern Nigeria. Not the ones with large shiny mansions lining the streets and loud parties every December. The ones with mud houses and thatched roofs, the ones without a single tarred road, where everybody knew everybody.

My mother came out of the womb to her mother heaping curses on her as she was born. Her mother later died during the birth. She grew up as the village witch, a cursed child. Nothing is more dangerous than a mind where superstition has cast it seeds of hatred and fear.

She was trained by a stepmother who believed she was the cause of all the problems in the family. She lived a horrible life, till she died giving birth to me. At least she didn't curse me. My father vanished two months after her death. We later heard the bus he boarded was crushed by a trailer. The accident left no survivors. He left me with his elder sister Aunty Nkechi, and she was in no way pleased about her added responsibility. I was five when her husband died. I remembered the pastors, the beatings and starvation till I confessed I had killed her husband. That was the beginning of the hell of my life for the next thirteen years.

So you can't blame me for realizing how badly my life was headed and running away. I have Oluchi to thank for my moment of realisation. It was during Christmas 1999, when Oluchi came to the village for her mother's burial. She had gotten into a fight with someone, can't remember who, who retaliated by telling the entire village Oluchi was a prostitute in Lagos. There is nothing the good people of Mkpor loved more than pulling down anyone they perceived thought themselves higher than them. I didn't care, they said way worse about me.

In a rare moment of bravery, I had drawn closer to the older girl who wore stylish clothes. I had found Oluchi surprisingly kind. She was the only one I opened up to about how bad my living situation was, the first person to ask me what I wanted to be. The question puzzled me. I told her I was cursed and nothing could work for me.

She had calmly turned to me. "Nobody can tell you who you are. Except for you. You are the only one that can choose your own destiny."

I didn't believe her, no matter how much I badly wanted her words to be true. She left after New Year 2000, leaving me with some money and her phone number on a piece of paper. Three weeks later, I stole some money from my aunt, added to the sum she gave me and boarded a bus to Lagos. I can't forget the shock in her voice when I called her and told her where I was.

Oluchi was the mother I never had. When her Madam insisted I joined them at the brothel, she fought against it. She was the one who insisted I returned to school. Aunty Nkechi had pulled me out of school in SS2, she claimed I was wasting her money. If anyone was wasting her money, it was her son Obiora who failed JAMB five times.

When I got admission in UNILAG, she got money from her sugar daddy and paid my school fees. We weren't rich, but we were happy. I was not a witch, or cursed. I was free.

Life still found a way to knock me down. After a series of sicknesses, I insisted Oluchi was placed on admission at the hospital. She was diagnosed late and I lost Oluchi to AIDS in 2005. I was twenty-two, a new graduate with no savings and prospects, saddled with a three year old. I had promised Oluchi on her dying bed I would take care of her daughter.

When I saw Charles at the bar that night, silently sipping a drink, his Patek watch glistening in the light, I knew I had to do everything in my power to make that man want me.

The door suddenly opened and Amarachi walked in.

"Before you complain, I knocked. I was knocking for like ten minutes, you didn't respond."

She fell on her back onto the bed. "Do you know who it's from?"

Amarachi had always been too observant for her own good. One day, I feared she would uncover the truth of her past, the consequences were too dire for me to think about.

"Not yet. Did you do what I asked?"

"Thomas said he doesn't remember picking that from among my stuff. But he wasn't sure, I had a lot of boxes." She sat up. "There was something he said. There was a woman at the gate, she was arguing with the security or something. He said after he gave her some money she left."

She turned to me, "Do you think she's the one who dropped it?" Amarachi had grown into a fine young woman, she had inherited her mother's coloring and features.

"You've done enough. Thank you." I hugged her and kissed her forehead. "Go to bed."

The next morning, I called the number on the note and arranged a meeting for Thursday, the day after. Then I made some other calls to get some necessary ingredients for the meeting.

Thursday couldn't come fast enough. It started like a normal day, Charles called that morning to say he was coming home that night. I called the twins at school to check on them, teenage years are a trying period, the children who loved you for ages suddenly want to forget you exist. I had enough time to spare so I took my time applying my makeup.

I looked at myself in the mirror and for a minute, I was back in Mkpor, wearing rags and tattered oversized clothes. My head was shorn roughly, a tattered village girl looked back at me. I shook my head to drive away the image. I was not that girl anymore, I was forty-two for God's sake. I was successful. I could do this.

I drove out of the house by 9:30am. I picked the Mazda because it was small and the glasses were tinted. She was waiting for me at the bus stop we agreed on, glancing around nervously, Ghana-must-go bag at her feet.

I imagined driving into her and running over her body several times. The thought brought a smile to my face and by the time I slid in besides her, my hands had stopped shaking. She steeped towards the car, uncertainly. I wound down the glass and pushed the button to open the doors.

"Get in." She entered the passenger seat grunting. Once she closed the door, I zoomed off. The short ride was silent.

At the gate, I wound down my window just enough to take my hand out and hand the security guard a 1000 naira note. I nodded at his greetings and sped through the open gates till I was parked at my front door.

"Aunty Nkechi nno."

The years had not been kind to my aunt. Her weathered skin was marked with age spots, similar to the mottled skin of a lizard. Her hollow eyes, sunk deep into the sockets looked around her surroundings in wonder.

"Ehen. Obiageli nwa'm. Daalu rinne. Let's go inside." She followed me inside the house, making appreciative noises.

"So this is where you are living!" She whistled. "Hei! This is paradise! God is good oh!"

Her booming voice would have brought my maids out to see the guest. I had given everyone the day off, to resume in the evening. Amarachi was ordered to spend the day at a friend's.

I led her into the living room. She continued to give excited sqwaks, glancing around the room.I settled in the seat opposite her.

"Once again, you are welcome."

"Thank you my daughter." She twisted her neck side to side as she spoke.

"You know," I started, "I was surprised to see your message. I mean, you could have reached me another way."

"My daughter biko, I'm thirsty. Is there not something I can drink?" I smiled at her and walked into the kitchen. I retrieved the carton of juice from the fridge and a tumbler. I arranged them on a tray and carried them into the living room, placed it on the side table in front of her.

"Thank you my daughter." She smiled showing crooked yellow teeth. I sat back smiling as she uncapped the juice and filled the tumbler till it nearly spilled before grabbing it with both hands and bringing it to her lips. She downed the glass in one gulp and leaned back on the chair.

"This your juice is very sweet oh. O maka. You know the place I was waiting for you, the sun is hot there."

I nodded with a half smile.

"My daughter to answer your question, I tried to reach you oh. It has been so long since you left me, you know? See how you're shining. Hei! Obiageli nwa'm oh!" She teased.

"Thank you." I replied stiffly. "How are you?"

"My daughter I have been managing. This economy has not been easy, you know? I have just been suffering since you left me. Nobody to go to farm for me. Obiora started following these bad boys."

My chest tightened at his name. "How is he?"

"My daughter. Obiora nwuola oh."

"Oh!" I tried to arrange my features to something sympathetic.

"Yes oh! So painful! Only God knows best. He was working for one man at Onitsha. Very wicked man, he maltreated my son. They said he stole, but I know it's not true. That's how those mad people put tyre on my son, poured fuel and killed him."

"Ewo!" I sighed. I hoped his death was long and painful, anything short of that was less than what he deserved.

"My daughter this world is so wicked. I was just struggling in the village, begging God to make way for me. And he has done it." She laughed.

"Nwunye chairman anyi, she was doing empowerment for we poor widows. She was showing us pictures of all the people who donated. I saw one picture, I said to myself, is this not my Obiageli? I asked her, she said your name is Madeline." She struggled to pronounce the name. "I said okay, maybe I'm mistaken. But I knew it's you, I started asking more questions, it was not adding up. You look like my late brother, you have his nose, see it now."

"I said let me come to Lagos. I was searching how to contact you. But even Facebook you don't have. Why na?" She poured herself another glass and gulped it.

"I had to ask and ask before I found your house. You know it has been so long, I was not even sure you'll remember me. So I said let me give you something you will remember." She gave me another crooked smile.

"Your security did not allow me enter. Then I saw somebody coming with package, I dropped it when they did not see me." She laughed.

I smiled. "You are very sharp aunty."

The trinket she left belonged to my late mother. It was the only thing I had of her and she had snatched it from me. I knew who must have sent the note once I saw it.

She beamed at the praise. "You know, I was even thinking if you did not respond, I will go to blog. I just said let me give you a chance to explain first."

"That's good of you aunty."

Her laughter ended in a coughing fit. "You know what you did to me, its not good. But I'm an old woman now, the past is gone. But how can I be dying of hunger in the village when my daughter has plenty that she's even giving people?" She poured another glass.

"So you see, I need support. After everything I did for you, if I did not take you after your parents died, you don't know what would have happened to you. Now that I am old, it will be good for you to take care of me."

She continued. "Because I know it will not be good for you if I go to blog. I am sure they will give me money but it will not reach what you can give me."

"Aunty you've spoken well. I understand."

"I know you will understand." She laughed.

"Ehen," She motioned to me with her hands, "What will you tell your husband about me? Maybe you'll say I'm your grandma. Because they said you're an orphan. Because I will have to live here with you, abi?"

My jaw dropped in shock. I had expected the emotional manipulation and blackmail. This level of audacity was staggering.

"Aunty who did you tell you were coming to see me?"

"My daughter who will I tell? Is it those wretched Mkpor villagers? Will they come and eat my blessings with me?"

"My daughter if you don't want people to know your humble beginning, I understand. But you have to carry your aunty along, I ghotara?"

"My dear bring me something I can chew. Maybe chicken. Let me use it to enjoy this drink." She stretched her hands on the back nodded the seat.

"Put on this your big TV for me, eh? Put African Magic. Daalu rinne."

"Aunty Nkechi." She met my hard gaze. "Do you remember what Obiora was doing to me?"

She looked around the room and laughed awkwardly. "My daughter that was a long time na."

"Do you remember how your son repeatedly raped me? For five years?"

I remembered the first time it happened like it was yesterday. Although there were bed foams in the house, I slept on a threadbare mat in the small living room. I was huddled up on the floor, trying to ward off mosquitoes when I felt a sinister presence looming over me.

Puberty had come for me at thirteen. One moment I was rail-thin and straight lines. The next thing, I had breasts that shot out and hips that refused to stay hidden. Aunty Nkechi had refused to buy me new uniforms so I was stuck with too tight clothes which emphasized my body. The attention I got from male students and even teachers embarrassed me. It was the same hungry look I saw on my cousin's face that night.

I never got the chance to scream or protest before he pounced on me, hands pressed tightly against my mouth to muffle my screams. I remembered the pain at my core that threatened to split me into two. I had fainted during the course of his torment and woken up to my aunt slapping and kicking me, calling me Jezebel's daughter who came to destroy her son.

Fueled by his mother's behaviour, Obiora kept coming to me at night. I soon got tired of fighting him, there was no need. He even brought in his friends. I was held down while they all took turns raping me. The comments made everything worse. The laughter and mockery when I walked round the village, hawking trays of seasonal fruits. The misplaced hatred from the girls in the class. Adaku and her friends had ganged up on me once at the stream and beaten me silly for 'sleeping with her man'.

Aunty Nkechi refused to meet my gaze. "Obiageli those things are in the past. Let bygone be bygone. Do you want your husband to know your reputation in Mkpor?"

"Maybe everything was God's way of preparing you for your future."

"So your son and his friends raping me, and you maltreating me was God's plan?"

"Don't say that. I did not maltreat you." She coughed again.

I laughed bitterly. "You starved me. You beat me till I passed out repeatedly. I was cooking all the food in that house and eating the least. I was working in the farm for you all day, all the housework I did it. The only way you could pay me was to say that I was a witch. That I was cursed. That I killed your husband. I killed my father."

I stood up. "Have you forgotten? And now you want to come and live in my house and eat from my success. You are even more wicked than I thought. In fact, you are the real witch."

"Obiageli watch your tone." She coughed more, clutching her chest. "Don't think because you married a big man you are now big too. If I go to the blog, it's over for you."

I smiled at her. "You are not going anywhere. The only person anything is over for is you."

"What do you mean by that?" She was cut off by another coughing fit.

"When you get to hell, greet Obiora for me."

"God forbid!" She screamed.

"Aunty it's okay. Just allow the poison to work." I sat back still smiling.

"Chineke! I'm finished."

She clutched her chest. I watched as she tried to stand and fell to the ground, knocking down the table and it's contents.

Maybe I was a witch after all. I felt no form of sorrow or regret as I watched her writhe on the floor. The scene was even comical, I didn't try to stop my laughter. I watched as she took her final breath and stopped moving.

I waited for the remorse and guilt to hit me, all I felt was a sense of peace. A calmness I had never experienced. The monsters that tormented my childhood were gone. I was free. Obiageli had finally died today, never to resurrect again.

I took out the white rubber gloves from my purse and put them on. I had used a similar pair when I injected the carton last night with enough tranquilisers to put a horse to sleep. I had the rest of the day to get rid of the body, and I knew just the spot. Soon enough, her body and everything she had touched would be burning in the incinerator at the back of the house.

When Charles came home, we needed to discuss changing the living room furniture. Peach is so last season after all.





Glossary

JAMB Joint Examinations Matriculation Board. A major exam to write in Nigeria to gain admission into the university.

UNILAG University of Lagos

Nno Welcome

Nwa'm My child

Daalu rinne Thank you very much

Biko Please

O maka. This is good

O nwuola He is dead.

Ewo! What a pity.

Nwunye chairman anyi Our chairman's wife.

I ghotara? Do you understand?

Image gotten from Pexels. I do not own the rights to the image.