The pasta was burning.
And Mama was screaming — again
"Adesuwa! Phone dey ring! Pick am now now before I use slap reset your brain!"
I dashed to the dining table, grabbed my iPhone, and froze.
Incoming Call: Daddy (Milan)
My father hadn't called in five years. Not since he left Nigeria with promises of "greener pastures" and monthly allowances that stopped coming after Year Two.
"Hello?" I said, heart thumping.
His voice was too calm. Too collected. "Ada... you need to come to Milan. Now. I made some decisions... and they're starting to boil over."
Before I could ask anything, Mama grabbed the phone from my ear. "So you still get mouth to call, ehn? Foolish man! You leave your family and now you dey form international emergency?"
Click.
I didn't even get to tell him about Caleb — my good, quiet, church-going fiancé — or Drey, the tattooed one with secrets and a Benz who won't stop texting "I miss your chaos."
But that same night, I got a DM. From someone named Isabella Okonkwo.
"Hi. I'm your half-sister. Daddy's wife just found out about your mom. It's getting messy. You should come."
Wait. Half-sister? Wife?
I knew Daddy remarried. But side chick? Small wife? A half-sister in Italy I'd never met?
Mama hadn't said a word.
Upstairs, her voice sang from the bathroom:
*"No matter wetin happen, this family go still stand... even if blood begin flow."*
I didn't understand it then.
But I would soon.
Because within seven days of arriving in Milan, one of us would die.