Is daddy dead?

   “Is daddy dead?”, David asks his mummy, interrupting her YouTube  session. 

   She was watching a video about a family playing pranks on each other and having fun. 

   She didn’t know when he crept in on her, neither did she notice he’s been staring into her iPad for the past 2 minutes. 

   Straightening her hair, she asks in a distractive tone, “are you done with breakfast?”. 

  “No, my mummy”.

   “Then go finish up your meal”, she tucks the iPad away in an attempt to distract his  inquisitive mind. 

    “I need some water”, he smiles at her innocently. 

    “Then go take some from the kitchen my cuddly bear”.

    He hops out of the room heading towards the kitchen to get some water. 

     He accidentally spills some on the floor and looks back to see if his mother was anywhere around to notice. 

    She couldn’t notice because lately she’s been a mess, she has not  had her bath for the day and her hair looks like she’s been in a war with a cat who wants to play with hairs. 

    Rushing into the bedroom, she shuts the door behind her and undresses hurriedly. 

   “A warm bath perhaps”, she whispered to herself. 

   That might do the magic and help take away all the anxiety and stress. She still couldn’t get the eye bags out no matter how hard she scrubbed. 

   “More water”, she thought, trying to splash more and more water unto her face while scrubbing with a sponge. 

   She stared into the image in the mirror and it looked nothing like the woman she knew 7 years ago. 

   She wasn’t a stunner nor a fashionable young lady but she was very vibrant and energetic. To include smartness isn’t an exaggeration of her looks. 

   But there staring right back at her was someone she couldn’t imagine was anything like her former image. 

   She shook her saggy stomach and promises faintly again. 

   “I’ll start working out tomorrow”, in a rather procrastinating tone. 

   Then a faint call of “my mummy” reminds her of the little chaps she had fed that morning who didn’t get a chance to thank her after their meals.

   How they started calling her that name still remains a misery, they are too fond of her such that they’ll rather call her “my mummy”, not “mom” or even “mummy”. 

   She rushes out again, repeating the same cloth she had taken off. 

   “My mummy I’m done”. 

   “My mummy, Martin dipped his finger in the butter”.

   “My mummy he’s eating it”.

    “My mummy, I’m sorry the butter touched me, I didn’t touch the butter”. 

   She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at their little lies. But somehow, she has to manage a smile to keep the kids away from her reality.  

   As soon as she’s done creaming just a few parts of her body, the doorbell chimes. 

   “My mummy, someone’s at the door”.

   “My mummy, should I get the door?”.

  They both chorused as they struggled to get the keys into the keyhole of main entrance. 

  Marilyn, snatched the keys from the kids who were already fighting over who would open the door first, opens it to find her delivery man standing outside. 

  “I called you an hour ago and you’re just showing up”, she smiles at him to prevent him from noticing her mood. She just noticed she was still putting on a transparent pajama.  

   She stretches out her shoulder in a shrug to mask the breast from showing it’s fullness and transparency.

   “I’m sorry, the traffic was terrible this morning”, he wipes the sweat on his forehead.

  “I’ll get the goods now, just don’t delay any further in delivering them”. 

   “Good morning uncle”, the kids chorused at the delivery guy. 

   He could only respond and wave back  as he didn’t want to spend an extra time greeting and hugging the little minions who don’t let go of any extra face that shows up at their doorstep.

   Marilyn hurries and hands him some goods which were well packaged. 

   “Pls don’t waste anytime, my customers are  complaining as I’m already behind schedule for the delivery, I don’t want to ruin my business”. 

   “Ok ma’am “, he says as he waves the kids goodbye with a promising wink. 

   He always had the habit of hugging and carrying them a little higher whenever he came for the days package, but he couldn’t do so today as he already noticed Marilyn’s mood. And he was behind schedule by arriving an hour late for her deliveries. 

   Marilyn shuts the door behind him and heads back to the couch where she had dropped the iPad. 

   Lifts her head up to notice the kids watching their favorite cartoon channel. They know how to operate every switch and device in the house, so it was a bit of a relief to her  since they’ve learnt how to do a lot without her help.

  She picks up the device and tries to scroll through her social media handles but something in her made her scroll back to her gallery. 

  She speeds it back to its 2017 memories. It was the last time she ever had a physical contact with their father. 

   A particular picture of all four of them by a snowman during winter keeps her transfixed, she didn’t notice when the little man sneaked up on her to question again. 

  “Is daddy dead?“, he squirmed with his tiny 6 year old voice, shaking as if he was expecting a hush or a rebuff from mama. 

  “My mummy, is daddy dead?”, he persisted.

   This time his mother jolts back to reality as she realized he was asking the same  question she’s been avoiding for the third time that day and the fourth time that week.

    She pulls him closer in a cuddle, kisses his forehead and reassures, “he’s not dead”. 

He hasn’t been able to express himself properly. Being a child has its limitations. You can’t tell whether you want something or actually need it. They lack ways to express the importance they attach to items, talk more of a person.

   “Then why hasn’t he called us?”, he queries even more as his younger brother’s attention is drawn to their mother’s sudden affection towards his older brother. 

   “David, daddy is not dead, he’s only busy”, she lied. 

   “I want to go with daddy”, the younger one who is 5 year chips in excited. 

   “He promised to buy us some big cars and buy us some new shoes”. 

   Marilyn stares at both of her sons in bewilderment, wondering how they grew so much to question the absence of their dad and demand a logical explanation for why he hasn’t called for some months or even fulfilled the promise he made to them. 

  One of the traumatic experiences she had was him sending a divorce letter, telling her he was tired of her and the kids. 

  He didn’t want anything to do with them, as he has found a mistress. She couldn’t even remember when last they spoke as the only contact they had was a middle man, who was also her brother inlaw. 

   He is in a strange land and the best gift he could give after spending 2 years away from his family was a divorce.

   All that had transpired the past years was quarrels, fightings and arguments over the phone, explanations to where she’s been and who she was speaking to. 

  The cheating allegations was much, even when she had given up on the marriage, she couldn’t get him to keep up with child support. 

  The best she ever did was sign the paper and be done with all those taunting memories. 

   But where do she start from and how can she let them know that they may or may never get to see their father again.

   Letting go wasn’t an easy task but somehow she’ll have to try, all the hate and the despise was making her sick but she wants to groom her kids in love .

   “No David, daddy is very busy and he’ll buy you gifts for Christmas”, she lied again.

   She hugs Martin who was also craving for his own cuddles and kisses on the forehead. 

   They always behaved like twins who wants the same exact affection from her or sometimes compete for bigger to know who’s her favorite. 

   She may have a better explaining to do  in future, but for now stalling them might be the only way to preserve their innocence and might also seem to be another way to help her heal without having to deal with their want for a replacement. 

   “Every child needs a father “,she whispers, “whether dead, alive or even an adopted one”.