Her comparison and discrimination only got worse.

One day while I was washing the dishes, a ceramic plate mistakenly slipped my hand and hit the floor, but didn’t break. I was so glad, but mama already believed that I had spoiled something and she started screaming,

“If not for your bad character, will your younger sister get married before you? Agwa gi ajoka, Nkeiruka, change… I am your mother and I will tell you the truth.”

Every little offence became a family meeting. Mama would always report me to my sister, who wouldn’t even care to ask if what Mama said was true. She would just call and say,

“Nkeiruka ogini? Please, instead of you to kpai mama for me, go and rent a house or better still, get married. At this age that mama is supposed to be resting, you’re still causing her high blood pressure. Please, rent a house and leave, you have come of age.”

She would say that and hang up.
At that time, she was already pregnant, and I didn’t want to exchange words with her.

One evening, I tried to have a heart-to-heart talk with Mama.

“Mummy, why do you report me to Ugo for every little thing? Is it for her to beat me? Or to insult me some more? Why can’t we talk about our issues like mother and daughter?”

But to my greatest surprise, she snapped.

“I reported her because she’s married. Are you married? If E easy, run am! Nkeiruka, if E easy, run am. Izu zuo ezuzu (If you try any Nonsense) my daughter will come here with her handsome husband and give you your position! Ha!… ha ga enye gi oche!”

My own mother was raking like I was her co-wife.

“So it has gotten to this? It’s no longer my sister alone, it’s now my sister and her husband? It’s okay.”

She pointed her hands so close to my eyes that I had to walk into my room before she blinded me.

But that didn’t end it.

Because I walked out while she was still talking, she picked up her phone and called Ugo’s husband.

“Nkeiruka wants to k!ll me! Asi na okro anaghi akari onye koro ya, mana Nkeiruka akaria mu! (they said Okro cannot grow taller than its owner, but Nkeiruka has grown bigger and taller than I am) Onwa n’etiri obodo! I’m personally calling you to join hands and do something.”

Before I could breathe, my sister was calling.

I knew it was to rake too, so I didn’t pick.

I turned off my phone.

And for the first time in my life, I wept.

Not because I wasn’t married.

But because all my life, I had worked so hard, given so much, sacrificed everything, hoping that one day, just maybe, my mother would love me the way she loved Ugo.

But they kept hurting me. They knew I had a good heart. They knew I would stay. I was desperate for love, for a family.

But not anymore.

I made up my mind that I was leaving the next morning. I didn’t care where. I just had to leave before I completely lost myself.

The next day, I packed my few belongings.
I walked to Mama’s room, after greeting her, I said,

“Mama I want to say thank you for everything, and to also tell you that I’m leaving today.”

She looked shocked but didn’t believe me.

She thought I’d go and return—like always.

But if only she knew…

I moved in with a friend. I stayed there until I got a better place. I started healing. Slowly.

I began to love myself.
To see myself.

I took more work seriously.

Mama didn’t destroy my destiny, but she did try to crush my self-worth and esteem.

I joined a gym after a year of leaving.
I Made new friends.
Began to glow.
And one day, at the gym, I met Nnamdi.

We were friends before anything else.
He told me he admired how I carried myself.
I smiled, because I knew what it had cost me to get here.

Four months later, he asked to meet my mother.
I hadn’t been home in over two years.

When I returned, Mama welcomed us warmly.
But then she took me aside and said:

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?” I asked.

She lowered her voice.

“For everything. I didn’t realise how good you were until you left and didn’t look back. I was the problem. I raised you girls in rivalry and partiality.”

She told me Ugo had put to bed—but lost the child.
I went to visit her.
She was quiet, tender, and surprisingly humble.

“I’m sorry, Nky. I was blind. I thought Mama’s love made me better. But I see now. You deserved better.”

I held her hand.
We both cried.

I got married to Nnamdi and I could remember during my traditional marriage, It drizzled as I was stepping out to greet my husband’s people, unlike me who would start thinking that no one loves me, or that even the nature was figh. ting against me, but I smiled and danced, all I could say was,

“This is a rain of blessing, I know it”

It wasn’t long, the rain stopped.

Truly, when we fight to be loved, we see almost everything as of they are working against us.

Our true identity shows up when we begin to love ourself… when we become the biggest cheerleader of ourselves, and finally begin to thank God for almost everything.

Mama blessed us, and my uncles stood in the gap of my late father and also pronounced Blessing on us.

Truly, Our home was peaceful, I took in few days after our wedding.

Later, Ugo also got pregnant almost at the same time with me.

But She gave birth first—to a beautiful girl.

She named her Nkeiruka.

She named her after me.

“Truly,” she said, “The one ahead is always better.”

I gave birth to a boy.

And finally, we had the sisterhood and family I had always prayed for.