Chapter Five: What Silence Carries
Faith felt it before she heard it.
A mother always knows.
Her calls were no longer returned quickly. Video calls were avoided. Messages were answered with short replies, excuses, tired laughter that didn't reach the eyes. Something was wrong, and it sat heavily in Faith's chest like an unanswered prayer.
One evening, she turned to John.
"These girls are hiding something," she said quietly. "Especially Favour."
John sighed. "They're grown now. University life changes people."
"Yes," Faith replied, shaking her head. "But silence like this… it's not distance. It's shame."
Back at school, Favour stared at her phone as it vibrated again.
Mum calling.
She turned the phone face down.
Favorite watched her from the other side of the room. "It's Mama again, isn't it?"
Favour nodded, tears gathering. "I can't. I can't let her see me like this."
"You don't have to do video," Favorite said gently.
"She'll insist," Favour whispered. "And if she sees my body… my stomach… she'll know. I can't bear that look in her eyes."
So they kept the secret.
Phone calls were voice-only. Camera always off. Excuses prepared carefully—bad network, low battery, headache. Faith sensed it, but she didn't push. Not yet.
As weeks passed, money became another quiet problem.
The allowance their parents sent—once enough—now disappeared too quickly. Doctor visits. Vitamins. Food. Transport. Everything cost more. Favour hated asking.
"I feel like a burden," she said one night, sitting on the bed, rubbing her growing stomach.
Favorite sat beside her. "You are not a burden. You're my sister."
"But look at me," Favour cried softly. "I messed up. Now everything is harder."
Favorite reached for her hands. "Then we work harder."
And they did.
Favour began avoiding crowded places in school. She stopped sitting in front. She stopped laughing loudly. She walked with her head down, sweaters pulled tight even in the heat.
But people noticed anyway.
Whispers followed her.
"She's pregnant."
"Who's the father?"
"She's not even married."
Some laughed. Some stared. Some judged silently.
One afternoon, two girls passed her, snickering loudly. "This is what happens when you follow boys instead of books."
Before Favour could respond, Favorite stepped forward.
"Say that again," she said calmly.
The girls scoffed. "Relax. We're just saying the truth."
Favorite's eyes hardened. "The truth is you have mouths but no compassion. Move."
They did.
That night, Favour broke down.
"I didn't ask for this," she cried. "Why does everyone hate me?"
Favorite held her tightly. "They don't hate you. They fear what they don't understand."
Slowly, the sisters grew closer than ever.
They stopped being just twins. They became shield and shelter.
When school fees rose, they found part-time work. Cleaning shops. Helping at food stalls. Working late, coming home exhausted.
People mocked Favour openly now.
"Working while pregnant?"
"Where's the baby daddy?"
Each word cut deep.
Sometimes Favour wondered if her parents would ever forgive her. Sometimes she wondered if God still listened.
One night, she whispered to Favorite, "Do you think Mama would cry if she knew?"
Favorite swallowed hard. "Yes. But she would still love you."
That thought broke Favour more than any insult.
They stopped being carefree girls. They became women too soon.
Yet, in all the struggle, something beautiful grew—unyielding sisterhood.
Favorite never let Favour walk alone. Never let her cry alone. Never let her believe she was worthless.
And in the silence between calls, between prayers, between footsteps on hard ground… love carried them forward.
Even when the truth waited patiently to be spoken.