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He turned back, looking like someone who saw his own death coming.

"What?" His mouth gaped open.

He opened the gate and walked toward me. He yanked my shoulders and dragged me with him inside our compound. His grip on me was so tight and painful that I winced aloud.

Dad, please, your hands hurt; take it easy on me. Release your grip on me." I pleaded.

He remained silent while he locked the gate. My father is one of those people who keeps fingernails. The nails were really hurting me. Somehow I was happy; at least I have stepped foot inside our compound after about eight months.

My mom was in one corner, looking at how my dad had dragged me like a thief. My baby was crying, and there was nothing I could do. My mother wanted to rush to us immediately when she

My dad looked at her in a manner that suggested she shouldn't dare come close.

"Woman! Come over here!" He called out my mom while making pointed speeches to alleviate his anger.

His deep voice was scarier than his face. He shove