@instablog9ja Yes o I support the man
Why will u be given money to do something that will when be of benefit to you and you are doing accounting,for someone you leave in the same house with and share the same bed..
She should go and sort herself
The next morning, I saw my landlord outside.
He greeted me warmly.
But something felt off.
It was almost as if he was studying me.
Watching my every move.
My heart skipped a beat.
"What's wrong with him?" I asked.
She hesitated.
For a moment, it looked like she wanted to tell me a secret.
Then she changed her mind.
My uncle's hands were shaking.
"That's impossible," he said.
The lawyer looked up.
"Is it?"
The room was dead silent.
The investigation report stated that on the night of the baby switch, only three people had access to the maternity ward.
A nurse.
A doctor.
And my uncle.
My mother immediately stood up.
"You were in Lagos that year!"
My uncle looked away.
That was all the confirmation we needed.
Then the woman named Amara spoke.
"What are you hiding?"
For the first time in my life, I saw fear in my uncle's eyes.
Real fear.
The kind of fear a man carries when he has buried a secret for decades.
The lawyer opened another envelope.
This one had my father's handwriting too.
> "If my brother is present when this letter is read, ask him one question."
The room became so quiet that you could hear the ceiling fan.
The lawyer adjusted his glasses.
Then he read the question.
> "Where is the third child?"
My uncle froze.
My mother froze.
Even the woman froze.
Third child?
What third child?
The report mentioned two babies.
Mine and Amara's son's.
Who was the third child?
My uncle suddenly stood up.
"I am leaving."
The lawyer shouted.
"Sit down!"
But my uncle was already heading for the door.
Then something happened.
An old woman who had been sitting quietly at the back of the room stood up.
Nobody had paid attention to her all day.
Not until now.
She pointed at my uncle and said:
"Tell them the truth before I do."
My uncle stopped walking.
The old woman took a deep breath.
Tears filled her eyes.
Then she said the words that changed everything.
> "The third child never died."
The room erupted.
People were shouting.
Questions were flying everywhere.
But before anyone could ask another question...
A black SUV pulled up outside the compound.
Three men stepped out.
One of them was carrying a photograph.
My photograph.
#StoryTime
My father died and left me โฆ200 million.
At the reading of the will, everyone expected me to inherit the money because I was his only child.
Then a woman I've never seen before walked into the room holding a brown envelope.
"Before you share anything," she said, "there's something this family needs to know."
The lawyer looked confused.
My uncles were angry.
Then she brought out a DNA test.
The result showed that my father had another son.
A son nobody knew existed.
The room went silent.
But that wasn't the shocking part.
The shocking part was that the DNA test showed I wasn't his biological child either.
๐ Continue? #StoryTime
The room went silent.
I looked at my mother.
Then I looked at my father's lifeless portrait hanging on the wall.
None of this made sense.
"If he knew I wasn't his son," I asked, "why did he leave me โฆ200 million?"
My mother started crying.
The lawyer cleared his throat.
"There is more."
My heart sank.
The lawyer opened another envelope.
"This letter was to be read only if the DNA results were presented."
Everyone froze.
He unfolded the letter.
It was written by my father.
> "If you're hearing this, then the truth has finally come out."
My hands began to shake.
> "Yes, I knew you were not my biological son."
The room fell silent.
> "But neither is the man claiming to be my biological son."
The woman screamed.
"What?!"
The lawyer continued reading.
> "Twenty-eight years ago, someone switched two babies in a hospital."
The room exploded.
Nobody knew what to say.
Then the lawyer revealed one final document.
An old hospital investigation report.
According to the report...
I wasn't my mother's child either.
The entire room stopped breathing.
The woman dropped to her knees.
My mother fainted.
And then my uncle stood up.
Slowly.
Nervously.
Sweating.
Because the report contained one more name.
His.
Part 2 ๐งต
For a few seconds, nobody spoke.
I stared at the DNA report, convinced it had to be fake.
"There must be a mistake," I said.
The woman shook her head.
"There is no mistake."
My mother's face immediately turned pale.
That was when I knew she already understood what was happening.
"Who are you?" I asked.
The woman took a deep breath.
"My name is Amara."
"Your father and I had a child together 28 years ago."
The room exploded.
My uncles began shouting.
My mother burst into tears.
But I wasn't listening anymore.
I was staring at the DNA result.
According to the report, the man I had called Dad all my life wasn't my biological father.
I turned to my mother.
"Tell me the truth."
She lowered her head.
Then she said the one sentence I never expected to hear.
"Your father knew from the beginning."
The room fell silent again.
I felt my knees weaken.
"What do you mean he knew?"
She wiped her tears.
"The man who raised you knew you weren't his son... but he chose to love you anyway."