Chapter 5: Daughterly Perfection

Gradually, my maturity and knowledge of etiquette won my teacher’s approval.

She would nod in satisfaction, tapping her ivory cane, while the other girls stole glances at me. After all, my soul was over thirty years old, so I picked things up faster than the rest.

Sometimes, I’d catch myself correcting the teacher in my head, wishing I could explain things the way we did in my old life. I memorized women’s virtues and precepts diligently, even as I rolled my eyes in my mind over and over.

In my thoughts, I would mutter, "See as you dey do as if woman no get sense." But my hands stayed busy. I embroidered dutifully. My fingers pricked by the needle, but my face calm as ever.

Each stitch felt like a small rebellion, but I made sure my face stayed smooth, like eba. I accepted my fate dutifully.

On the outside, I was the perfect daughter—inside, I was always calculating, always waiting for a sign.