CHAPTER 9 – THIS FAMILY CALLED MINE: COLOUR US UP

© Opeyemi Akintunde
As Inspired by the LIVING WORD

I went in and sat quietly, thinking about my next move. My step-cousins and stepbrothers were chatting happily as if my father’s demise was some birthday party. Their loud laughter echoed through the hallway, mingling with the scent of alcohol.

Setemi was fuming, her irritation apparent as she stared daggers at the strangers we were forced to call family. Finally, unable to stand their careless joy, she stood up angrily and stormed off, heading towards the rooms. As expected, Pamilerin followed suit, sticking to her like glue.

This was a perfect time…

My step-cousins and stepbrothers were already getting drunk. My two available sisters were about to lock themselves in one of the rooms, probably to make the call to the thugs.

I stood up, ready to begin my own mission, but then Tobe’s voice cut through the noise.

“Coward! Just like the rest of them!”

I froze, fury boiling within me. I wanted to scream. I wanted to throw everything at him and tell him how he had destroyed me… how he had turned me into a woman who couldn’t satisfy her own husband because of the trauma he inflicted on me.

But no. This was a distraction. He wanted to watch me break.

Instead of giving him that pleasure, I continued on my path, determined. My mind was set on one place…my father’s painting studio.

There had to be something there…something valuable. I would look for his diary containing his international contacts. My plan was simple. I would scan through his records during the day, and then at night, when everyone was asleep, I would carefully load the valuables into my car trunk.

I entered the painting studio, and my father’s familiar scent welcomed me. The earthy mix of oil paint, canvas, and varnish hung heavy in the air. It was as though his presence still lingered there, his essence captured within the walls.

I could see flashes of him in my mind, painting with full concentration, oblivious to the world. I remembered one of those days when I had dared to check on him, hoping for a moment of connection. The moment he heard my footsteps, he looked back swiftly and screamed, “Get out!”

He had built this place as his sanctuary. And now, I was invading it. But death was a leveler. His precious studio was now mine to ransack.

I walked cautiously, as if stepping on eggshells, fearful that he would appear any moment, but time wasn’t on my side. I needed to be quick before Tobe and his crew found me out.

I moved to the shelf that contained his books. I was searching for one thing…his diary. It was a blue leather-bound book with a lock. I didn’t know the code, but thank God for knives. I would cut through the lock if I had to.

I combed through the shelves, my hands trembling with anticipation. And then, there it was…sitting innocently on one of the shelves like a hidden treasure. It felt like a dignitary given a special place.

I cautiously picked it up, and to my amazement, the lock was already open. A grin spread across my face. I almost screamed for joy but held myself back. The celebration was premature. I tucked the diary into my blouse, making sure it was secure.

Finding that diary was a sign…an open door. But I wasn’t done yet.

Now, I was looking for art pieces. Staying at the gallery with Tobe had taught me to differentiate between valuable works and mere decorations. There were paintings that could be worth millions of naira and some that barely went for a few thousands.

I remembered my father once ranting to Tobe about a few valuable pieces he had created himself. I happened to be seated at a corner that day:

“Ewa Omo Naija” – A breathtaking oil painting of a young Yoruba girl, her braided hair adorned with cowries. The brushstrokes were so intricate, it looked almost photographic. My father had said he would never sell it below ₦10 million.

“Night’s Serenity” – An abstract depiction of the night sky, deep blues, and purples swirled with hints of silver. He had shown me an offer of ₦8 million from a French collector, which he had declined, claiming the piece was worth double.

“Battered Hope” – A striking watercolor depicting a child holding a broken toy, tears staining his cheeks. It was one of my father’s early works, but it had caught the attention of an international art critic. They once offered ₦3 million, but my father had refused.

The cheap ones were what he called his “studies”…quick sketches or experimental pieces meant to test techniques. Those went for as low as ₦50,000 each.

I needed to find the valuable ones. The ones that would fetch me fortunes.

I moved to a large cupboard and pulled it open. Inside, I found a stack of paintings. My hands trembled as I began sorting through them.

The first few were random sketches. Studies. Worthless to me.

Then I saw it—“Ewa Omo Naija.” Its rich colors, lifelike quality… it would fetch a fortune!

My heart raced. I continued searching.

“Night’s Serenity.” Another jackpot.

I kept moving through the stacks, sweat dotting my forehead.

” The Rich Man’s Folly!” Another Masterpiece… My God! This was Gold!

I saw two more valuable paintings. My joy was off the roof.

And then I saw another Jackpot..

“Battered Hope.” I pulled it out carefully, clutching it against my chest.

My father may have despised me in life, but in death, he was about to fund my future.

Just then, I heard footsteps approaching the studio.

Panic gripped me.

I quickly slid the valuable paintings behind a worn-out canvas and closed the cupboard.

The door swung open.

Tobe.

I stared at him, heart pounding.

His eyes darted around the studio, suspicion painted across his face.

“What are you doing here?” he sneered.

“None of your business.” I snapped back, trying to sound bold.

“Oh, but it is my business,” he replied, his grin dark and intimidating. ” I am the head of this family” He moved closer to me. That move was too familiar , I knew what would come next… he was about to pull me closer and force himself on me…

That would be bad!

Not just because of my trauma, but he would feel the Diary tucked in my blouse.

I clenched my fists and stepped back …

” Running away from me..I heard you don’t have kids yet, is it because your husband is not as hard as I used to be on you…Remember, there was a time you missed your period, we had to cancel the possibility of you getting pregnant by taking that pill…I am sure you were pregnant then… Don’t you think I can help your husband…” He hit the wrong chord… I Slapped him real hard!

He didn’t see that coming! He was beyond mortified. It kept him muted and dazed a few seconds…

Those few seconds gave me all the time in the world to scream for help and escape with my Diary…

“Setemi ! Helpppp!”

Tobe was more shocked…

If only he knew that the game had only just begun.

To be continued…

Thank you so much for your continuous support towards the SOLD Movie Project…We are halfway our fundraising 💃.( N3.6M already raised) Thank you so much.

If you are yet to support or you still want to give more, Kindly send your support to..

🔹 DEEP THOTS MINISTRY INTERNATIONAL
🔹 0123040309 (WEMA BANK).

We are doing our part as promised by releasing a second story for Free..”THIS FAMILY CALLED MINE: COLOUR US UP” to bless you, Kindly reciprocate by supporting our Movie Project… 🙏So that together we can bless more lives together.

For More Stories…
Visit the Daily Stories page on our Website, www.deepthoughtsintl.org, and you can follow Opeyemi Akintunde on the following platforms;

📍 Facebook: @OpeyemiAkintunde
📍 Instagram: @OpeyemiAkintunde
📍 YouTube: @DeepThoughtsTV
📞 +234-8151103646
Kindly share and give credit.

DEEP THOUGHTS NOVELS
Inspired by the TRUTH REVEALER
Written by Opeyemi Akintunde.
+234-8151103646.