It’s been quite a good first season, getting acquainted with these six friends. Now it’s time to see how this first season ends…

The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon as Becky parked her car in front of the modest suburban house.

The familiar suburban house.

It had been a long time since she last passed by this house; it contained so many memories.

Memories of growing up in that house. Memories of Christmas get-togethers and birthday celebrations. Memories of fights with her sisters and subsequent make-up sessions. Memories of talks outside with her mother. So many good memories.

But there were many other bad memories as well.

Memories of the revelation of those cancer diagnoses of both parents. Memories of that fateful day they came to meet a house devoid of their father’s belongings. Memories of that heartless response on the phone. Memories of the day they returned from the hospital, absolutely shattered and weeping after the passing of their mother. Memories of meetings with family members who angrily cursed Victor out for blatantly refusing to show up or do anything a husband ought to do.

And the inflictor of many of those memories was back. Back in the house they had all departed since, tired of having to relive those awful memories whenever they woke up.

Breathing in and out, she lifted her eyes to the ceiling of the car. She really wasn’t looking forward to this. But she was here now. No turning back.

Taking another deep breath, she stepped out of the car and opened the gate. She walked toward the front door, dread growing stronger and stronger in her chest as she approached it.

Once at the door, she raised her hand and knocked firmly, her knuckles rapping against the wood in a rhythm that betrayed the anger simmering beneath her calm façade.

The door opened, and there stood Amankwaah.

He took a look at the expression on her face and sighed. He knew that look of bridled anger too well.

She nodded curtly at him and entered the living room.

Everything was in place as it had always been. From the painting of an African village hung right above their sleek 24-inch TV which rested on a wooden media console to the portraits of Mr. and Mrs. Owusu-Bempong on the floor near the console. Very little had changed, which was obvious, considering nobody had lived there for a while.

She turned to where the cream-coloured sofa set was, and as she saw the single seat adjacent to the TV, her heartbeat increased.

There he was.

Mr. Victor Owusu-Bempong.

The grey-haired, bespectacled old man she had not seen in years.

In a wheelchair placed right next to the seat he had always occupied.

Looking slightly haggard. With a nurse seated by him.

One look at him, and it was obvious this relapse had hit him pretty hard. He was not looking as pathetic as he did the first time, but he was certainly not in good shape.

He had this stern look on his face as his eyes fell upon her. Back in the days, that look filled her with fear, as she knew she had done something wrong. But at that moment, that look filled her with disgust.

She had promised Amankwaah not to let her anger get the best of her, but one look at him, and she couldn’t help it. That anger was already boiling in her.

The last time she saw his face was that day he bolted. She still remembered those last words to him: Okay Paapa, I’ll come and prepare some eba for you to eat with the okro stew.

She obviously never got to make that eba for him.

Now he sat there, looking like he was displeased that the dish she had promised many years back was not ready.

“Maayaa!” he called out in a serious tone of voice.

She snorted to herself. She hadn’t heard that voice call her name in years. It hadn’t changed much, not that she expected it to, though.

“So we meet again, Father,” she replied, her tone steady but laced with a hint of bitterness.

The man’s face immediately contorted in disapproval. “Ah, is that how to greet me?” he demanded. “Young lady, what is the meaning of that?”

Her eyes narrowed and her jaw clenched.

Biting her tongue to keep the retort in her brain from popping out, she mumbled reluctantly, “Good evening, Father.”

He gave her an up-and-down look, then shook his head, contempt written all over his face. “You young people of today. Only God knows where you learn these disrespectful ways of talking to your parents. Ah, you meet your father after so many years, and the best you can say is ‘so we meet again’. Mtcheww!”

Becky looked at Amankwaah, who was standing nearby. He winced at the bubbling rage on her face.

The absolute f**king nerve of this man! The absolute f**king nerve! she seethed inwardly. He truly had some audacity, acting as if he had simply gone away on a trip. Was he really expecting her to run into his arms and give him a big welcome hug or something? After all he had done?

“Or you too, you’re angry about me leaving?” he asked, already shaking his head and rolling his eyes. “Please! Let me think! Look, I did what I had to do. I did what I had to do. You’re a woman, so you’ll be too emotional to understand. It’s Amankwaah who will understand when the time comes…”

Five minutes hadn’t even passed, and this man had already destroyed that minute hope inside that maybe he would realize his folly in justifying his attitude. It was crystal clear that Amankwaah was right; not a cell of remorse could be found in his body.

His face had now taken on a look of defiance. A look that conveyed his belief that he had had every right to do what he did.

And how it was already wearing her nerves thin!

“Fine, I might have walked away from you people at a sensitive time, that’s true. But look, the fact of the matter is, we men are not equipped for those sorts of things. That’s the truth. You people were probably comparing me with your mother, saying that while she stayed and cared for me, I rather ran away when she got sick. But she was made for that. That was her responsibility. I just couldn’t handle it the way she did because it’s not how I was made. That’s not how men are made. It’s just in our veins…”

With each word out of his mouth, Becky found herself slowly losing the will to rein in her rage.

What in the senseless delusion was this garbage he was blabbing about?!

Was this man actually suggesting that men were not created to be committed to their families through hard times? That it was okay for a man to just walk away from his family when times got tough?

Even the nurse seated next to him looked rather nauseous at this statement. He didn’t turn to look at her, so the repugnance on her face was as clear as could be.

She glanced at Amankwaah again. It appeared he was hearing this take for the first time himself; his face conveyed amazement. So much for hoping he would see reason; it was as clear as day that he didn’t.

At all.

Her glare on Mr. Owusu-Bempong again, she started slowly. “Sooo… it was okay for you to just leave us and turn your back on us and go have fun somewhere? Is that what you’re saying?”

“Look, Maayaa, you won’t understand-“

“No, Father, I perfectly understand,” she cut in, the dam holding her anger slowly cracking as her husky voice struggled not to crack. “I understand. What you’re saying is, whether women like it or not, they have to stay loyal to their families at all costs. They need to be there for those that they love, even to their very detriment, because they should. But as for men, at the first sign of discomfort, you can just bounce off into the sunset and seek your happily ever after. And it doesn’t matter whose life gets ruined by your actions, it doesn’t matter who you wound irreparably, it doesn’t matter how heartless it seems, it’s all right to just do you. Just because you’re a man.

“And you know what? I haven’t heard such side-splitting bulls**t in a long time.”

As Amankwaah gasped, Mr. Owusu-Bempong’s face darkened with displeasure. “Herh, Maayaa, watch how you ta-“

“Don’t tell me how to talk to you, Father!” Becky snapped, throwing her bag on the ground. The leaking holes in the dam had grown bigger. The time to try and act polite was over. “Because there’s no sense in what you’re telling me. None! None at all. You honestly want to tell me that as far as wedding vows go, ‘for better or for worse’ only applies to the woman? That for the men, it’s only about convenience? Whenever you feel like you wanna start over, just walk out and break many hearts and think nothing of it? Seriously? Is that what life is really about for you? Just your personal cares and nothing else?

“Father, we were all seated right here when you broke the news to us about your illness the first time. We saw Maame state without reservation that she’d do whatever it took to see her husband back to health. And you know what? We were inspired. We saw what true love entailed. I used to watch Maame feed you when you were weak and bedridden and tell myself that if this isn’t what true love is all about, then I don’t know what is. You took all that love, and when it was time to at least show it in your own way, you spat in her face and you have the nerve to tell me it’s not meant for men to show love? Really?”

“Maayaa-“

“I’m not done, Mr. Owusu-Bempong!” she snarled. “And you know what annoys me the most? The way you just waltz in here, expecting us to treat you like some victorious hero from the war front. You walked out on us. Amankwaah called you, and you told him point blank that you need to live and not be held down by taking care of your sick wife. You ran off to Axim and spent all those years with some useless tramp, doing only God knows what. You blocked us. Refused to get in touch with any of us. Acted like we were dead to you. We were abandoned through no fault of our own, just because you weren’t man enough to do what was right.

“And now you just walk back in and expect things to be the way they once were? After this diagnosis returned and that stupid little skank ran out, you now remember you have children? You only remembered us when it was convenient for you? And we’re supposed to just act like it’s okay? Like your absence at Maame’s funeral meant nothing? Like it was all good when you flatly rejected invitations from Amankwaah to be present at his wedding? Gimme a f**king break!”

“You won’t underst-” Mr. Owusu-Bempong started, his voice rising.

“DON’T TELL ME I WON’T UNDERSTAND!” Becky screamed, the dam well and truly broken. All that pent-up rage was now gushing out, soaking every word she bellowed at him. “YOU’RE NOTHING BUT A SELFISH, OPPORTUNISTIC MAN! YOU RUINED OUR LIVES WITH YOUR ACTIONS! WHEN WE NEEDED YOU MORE THAN ANYTHING, YOU RAN OUT! HOW DARE YOU TRY TO JUSTIFY YOURSELF! YOU’RE A TERRIBLE MAN, AND I DON’T EVER WANNA SEE YOU AGAIN! GO TO HELL, MR. VICTOR OWUSU-BEMPONG!”

Six years of agonizing rage and hurt poured out in that roar. With eyes blazing with ire and a heavily laboured breath, she had dished out all her feelings toward him. No holds barred.

Mr. Owusu-Bempong’s jaw hung low, his facial expression that of a man who had just been viciously obliterated by the indignation of a young lady wounded by his past actions. The nurse nearby also looked pretty overwhelmed by that outburst.

Becky turned, and there stood Amankwaah, looking massively embarrassed. All his hopes of their father seeing the damage Becky had obtained and having a change of heart had been dashed within minutes of her entering the house. He looked like he already wished he hadn’t convinced her to come at all.

She simply glared at him, crouched to pick up her bag, and marched to the front door, opening it and stepping out, not even looking back.

The front door slammed shut.

Boy oh boy, if that wasn’t intense! Becky’s father, though? Smh. What a disgraceful thing to tell your children.

What’s gonna happen from here onward? With Bruce’s new job, he and Asor’s quest to have a child, the twins and their issues, Clarence’s new relationship and search for a job… honestly, there are so many questions that need answers… oh, and what Bishop Gordon’s past is about, too.

Listen, season 2 needs to come quickly, so we know exactly how some of these issues are resolved, or at least, how far they’ll go…