Writers 
THE DAUGHTER HE HID...1
Sometimes, the first person to make a child feel unwanted is the very person whose love she needs most.
I've not been the luckiest of humans, but I've learnt how to live life regardless. My name is Caroline. I hail from the northern part of Nigeria, and this is my story.
I first noticed my father's cold stares towards me when I was four years old. I was too young to understand what they meant, but old enough to know they didn't mean anything good.
Since I was a baby, my parents had always been at loggerheads. There was hardly ever peace or laughter in the house. My father claimed he had been forced to marry my mother, but, surprisingly, they had two children together. I had a baby brother who died barely two years after he was born.
I had heard the story about how my father was forced to get married at the very young age of sixteen. My mother was barely a teenager when she married him too. I later learnt that they had been married to sustain a friendship between their families. Theirs was a loveless marriage, and my father didn't hesitate to transfer that resentment to me. He saw me more as a product of the woman he had been forced to marry than as his own child.
I was eight years old when my father left for the city. In his defence, he went to pursue his education and build a better life for himself. Of course, he left my mother and me behind. It wasn't as though he had ever cared much about us.
My mother finally got the opportunity to leave and reunite with her childhood lover. She left exactly two months after my father did. I was left alone, almost like an orphan—an eight-year-old already reaping the consequences of their forced marriage.
My paternal grandfather took me in, and I became one of his many grandchildren living in the house. It was a big extended family, with most of his children, their wives, and their own children living under the same roof. It didn't take long before I blended into the family, and I gradually stopped thinking about my mum and dad as often as I used to.
Seven years later, news came that my father was on his way to visit us, along with his new wife. Before his arrival, he had sent word that I should be sternly warned never to tell his wife that I was his daughter. Apparently, he had never told her about me or my mother.
I had mixed feelings about the visit. I was genuinely happy about seeing my father again after such a long time, but I was hurt by his denial. He didn't want his wife to know I was his daughter. I didn't even care about his new family; I only wanted acceptance from my father.
My father looked different when he arrived. He was much more handsome and full of life. He had indeed gone to school and was working in one of the state's ministries. Life had favoured him.
His new wife looked very young and beautiful, as though she had been picked from the pages of a fashionable magazine. She was indeed pretty. I soon discovered that her character was as beautiful as her appearance; she was really nice to me.
My dad seemed happier too. He was finally with the woman he truly loved, and I was genuinely happy for him, in spite of myself.
As expected, my father's new wife called me aside one evening to ask who I really was to my father. She had clearly noticed the striking resemblance between us. I honestly didn't want to lie to her. After all, she had been very nice to me.