The drive home was slow and quiet. Maureen positioned herself to the mirror snorting, crying and once, releasing a throaty laughter. It was filled with pain and an untold thirst for revenge. Dominic held tightly to the steering wheel while pages of memory flipped in his somewhat distant memory- the memory filled with youthful lusts and mistakes.

Beatrice had held him close to herself, her swollen abdomen hitting his trunk in a close affection.

"You can't leave me, I'm pregnant with your child," she said. He tried to look away and his eyes stuck to an old picture frame.

"Abort the baby," he replied. He had gently pulled her hands apart as they locked over his neck.

"What? No!"

"You know I'm married," he said defensively.

"You should have known that when you made love to me." Her wrapper was tied firmly in an odd knot and rested on her waist. She moved away from him and towards the lowered window in her one room apartment and stared at the thick darkness that the night brought. The breeze was gentle and even gentler was the way his hands wrapped her thin waist now slightly widened because of pregnancy. He would tell Maureen it had been a long day at work as he did whenever he escaped to meet her.

Maureen had been saying something and he only realized minutes later as his car gently swerved nearly into a ditch. He halted and let out his hands from the wheel. Breathing in, he continued to the stop that was directly in front of their house. Maureen looked at him puzzled.

"Please get down. I'm going somewhere," he said.

"That is all you have to say? You cheated on me Dominic and yet again you're going out? We still have to talk."

"I'll tell you everything when I come back." His breath was slow and words hurried.

"Where are you going to?" She asked.

"I'm going to find my daughter."

*****

Ashley hastened her steps in a longing manner but stood dazed at the possibility that her thoughts might just be a mirage. She held a small bag with a thin strap knitted with dull colours of brown and black. Parts of her phone peeked out through the knitting and the small extra money for her transport back home. Her fingers folded slightly and she allowed herself to knock.
She knocked twice and when no voice echoed from within, she made to leave until the door chimed and it opened.

Martins pushed his head out. His hair had been overly grown and small sprouts of beards tugged at his jaw and chin. He looked shabby and drained of refreshing newness.

"It's true," she said. "You're out of jail."

"How did you know?" He asked, uncapping a tube of toothpaste and smouldering his toothbrush with the starchy paste.

"Sola told me. What happened?" She asked. He walked into the bathroom and she heard the rapid sounds of the bristles against his teeth. It was violent and she feared it would hurt him. Her eyes poured graciously on the widely spaced room.

His bed was dumped at one end and the rest of the aerated space had been filled with a large wardrobe of similar designed shirts, a chair and a desk, which had scattered sheets of paper on the top. The room was richly cream coloured and it seemed that with each visit, a newer design was added and she did visit quite often.

"My father bailed me," he said after a long wait. He sealed his lips together, pressing out the brush water from his lips.

"You were the one Thelma said the detective spoke about right?" Ashley asked. Her smooth hair had fallen generously on her shoulder and settled there. They still shone of excessive lubrication and moved about despite the constraint of heat and friction. "I called to tell you Thelma did it and you still took the blame?" Ashley asked.

"The detective came to me when I was in detention and told me that I was the one." His hands rested on a reading lamp with a flexible steely spine.

"-and you didn't refute?" Ashley asked. She was settled comfortably on his bed with a floral patterned sheet.

"Thelma wouldn't be able to spend a single day at that place. I had to be moved to the larger cell. The experience-" he stopped and feigned nausea.

"It's OK," she said and walked over to the desk sighting a closed laptop and recalled thinking of it as a big book. "It's all over now."
Her voice, her touch, seemed to temporary disperse every thrill of worry. It was comforting.

"Why are you here?" He asked. A sharp piercing on the once still air.

"What do you mean? I heard you have been released from prison and I came as a good girlfriend to see you," she said.

"Friend. You're just my friend now." He left the lamp and ignored the dim wiliness of her unsettled eyes. He was focused on his laptop now, an effort that intended to dispel distractions. She was a distraction and she figured this by the way her long talks demanding even longer responses were summarized by one word replies. She ran her painted fingers along the seam of the pillow. It was fat and stuffed with cotton.

"Since I'm not your girlfriend anymore, is it OK if I now date Kelvin?" She asked and he stopped tapping at his keyboard. He didn't want her but at the same time, wanted her to be close, to be the person he could confide in and being with Kelvin wouldn't permit that. He didn't respond but slowly continued typing. She would have leaned closer and asked about whatever he was doing, but she didn't. He further numbed the margins of his fuzzy brain and shoved out thoughts of Ashley and Kelvin together by placing a headphone on his head.

*****

Beatrice led Mary into her home and slowly into her life. The house had varying shades of cream, gold and white in the living room. An older lady wiped both sides of her busy hands on her apron as she appeared from the kitchen at the end and held Beatrice's bag. She smelled of many food seasonings and she appeared in the manner Mary saw cooks in the television- The South African cone shaped crown hat with folds at each end, the buttoned up white shirt and lofty stature.

Mary was dazed. It would take many stacks of chairs to make it to just the chandelier with polished little bulbs of a warm golden hue. The lady understood her abashment but didn't understand who she was. She perceived her to be a new help except her Mistress was kinder and smiled more often as she spoke to her. Leading Mary up the stairs designed in a hollow curved slide manner as her Mistress had instructed, she opened the door into one of the bigger rooms. It all belonged to her and Mary rolled from one end of the bed to the other when the kind looking lady had left.

Beatrice walked in in grace, pointing where her own room was should Mary need anything. The maid will stir the bath water and serve her lunch later. There was a knock on the door and Beatrice hurried to get it. Perhaps it was Nedu her publisher she had said. She found out sooner that the man on the sofa was Dominic, the gruffly voice and suntanned skin reassured her. He had reclined a bit due to age but still managed to stretch upright. He looked into her eyes and for long moments, no words were said.

"Beatrice I'm sorry for leaving you pregnant and alone. Where is the child?" His jean was grayish at the front and when he stood, he felt overwhelming, suppressing and dominating. She missed the moments she would freely rush into his sturdy arms and feel secure even though she knew he was married. The eagerness to rush didn't spring up like they did years back. They had been lovebirds from what seemed like eternity and yet were separated and refused to be together because the elegant beauteous once upon a time model, was not a full mouthed Easterner. She tried so hard to please Dominic's unsatisfied mother, who seemingly had a problem with her sweeping style, her not so seasoned food or too seasoned food, her Bayelsan carriage and her being. His well meaning mother had someone else- the cultured and well Igbo trained daughter- Maureen, whom he had been coerced to be with.

"You left me poor and alone Dominic." Her voice began to falter. It cracked from the strain of suppressing the pain his presence dug up. "I had no choice but to leave the baby at the front of a church."

They reached the incandescent luminous church and asked about the well known orphanage that was situated there. Dominic had learned about the altruistic orphanage after Mary's visit amidst the numerous questions of identity. They walked into a young seminarian filled with vigour and apparent commitment. His cassock stopped at his ankle and his glasses with a bold black frame pushed up to his eyes. He was new and knew nothing about any child but directed them to the longest serving priest.

The priest welcomed them and Dominic wrapped both hands around the man's wrinkly ones. He too had his glasses on and stared with a detrimental disgust when Beatrice said she had left a child at the front of the church under cold and dew.

"I was the one who picked up the child after mass that early morning," The priest said. Beatrice and Dominic gasped heartily, she placed her hands on her chest as she seemed relieved. "She could have died, what sort of callous behavior was that? How can you call yourself a mother?" He reprimanded. "We named her Mary," he finally said.

"Mary?" Dominic asked.

"Did I stutter?" The priest shot back. The petit man stood up, grunting and rolling his eyes at Beatrice. His lips formed a frown as his fingers searched for something on a shelf. He returned back to his peeled chair with a magazine and opened up a page where all the children on it wore a navy blue top and the faint scribbling of Sacred Heart Foundation topped their malnourished chests. He pointed at the end where Mary stood. Beatrice and Dominic peered into the blurred image of the poorly printed graphic. They instantly recognized her, Mary.

When Dominic got home that day, he was a subdued shadow of himself. He had figured out that not only was Mary his child, it was Maureen's child too. The doctor had called him to break the news to him. It didn't make sense, but it happened. The nurse seemingly nursed her curiosity and conducted a test. The matching strings of related disease and the oddity of related blood groups. It was too much a coincidence and the result was positive.

"What are you telling me Dominic? Mary is my child?" Maureen asked, staring at Dominic's haggard self.

"What?" Ashley asked, her silvery voice calling out from behind Dominic. "Mary is my sister?"

Author's note: Thanks for reading! Please vote this chapter by clicking the star button underneath OK? I love you all!

Hell Mary will be coming to an end soon sadly. It's not going to be rushed, but every beginning should have an end. You'll certainly want to see the end of it.

Today's chapter is dedicated to Beebs_B 💕