Purple Lines Don’t Meet by Blessing S. John-Abhulimen
Synopsis
“Stunning, haunting, absolutely beautiful storytelling…” – GEEK DIGEST
Tessy’s life is a portrait of near-perfection: a fulfilling career, a devoted fiancé, and the joy of family. But when a buried family secret explodes into the open, triggered by a DNA test, her world fractures. The man who raised her isn’t her biological father. And the truth? It’s been hidden in plain sight.
As tensions spiral and loyalties falter, Tessy makes a shocking decision: she abandons everything, her family and the wedding she once dreamed of, to flee to the UK under the guise of pursuing a master’s degree. But her real mission is far more personal. Armed only with a long-deleted text and a vague suspicion of his workplace, she begins a covert search for the man she suspects is her true father, a ghost from her mother’s past.
What she uncovers will force her to confront not just the man behind the mystery, but the woman who shaped her life with silence. And as Tessy edges closer to the truth, she must ask herself: is knowing worth the cost of everything she’s left behind?
1
On a good day, she would be half awake by the time her alarm struck. But because this was no good day, Tessy’s alarm sliced through her deep sleep like a blade through a reed. 5:30 a.m. She blinked once, twice, then reached for her phone with the reflex of someone trained by deadlines and deliverables. The screen lit up, thirteen missed calls. Seven texts. All from Ikenna and Jidenna.
Her heart didn’t race. Not yet. The twins were dramatic, especially Jidenna. But the timestamps were clustered, starting just after midnight and ending minutes ago. That was unusual.
She sat up, the air in her bedroom still heavy with the scent of last night’s rain and the faint musk of unopened windows. Her thumb hovered over the first message.
Tessy pls call. It’s serious. We need you to come home. Now. It’s about Daddy.
She didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Just stared at the words until they blurred.
Tessy didn’t reply. Not yet. She placed the phone face down on the bed, as if muting the urgency would make it less real.
She moved through her morning routine like it’s choreography, deliberate and practiced. The bathroom tiles were cool beneath her feet. She brushed her teeth with mechanical precision, counting strokes like she used to count campaign impressions. The shower hissed to life, steam rising in soft plumes, fogging the mirror before she could meet her own eyes.
She dressed in navy slacks and a cream blouse, the kind of outfit that said competent, composed, unshaken.
By the time she picked up her phone again, her coffee had gone cold. Her fingers hesitated at the buttons. She could feel the texts pulsing behind her, like a second heartbeat.
She dialled Ikenna first. He picked up on the second ring, breathless.
“Tessy, thank God. We’ve been calling…”
“I saw. What’s going on?”
A pause. Then, “They fought again. All night. This time it’s bad.”
She closed her eyes. “How bad?”
“He left. He packed a bag. Said he’s not coming back unless…” Ikenna’s voice cracked. “Unless we all do DNA tests.”
Tessy sat down slowly on the edge of her bed. “What?”
“It was Jidenna who heard them better. Mum said something… something crazy. That we’re not his. Any of us.”
Silence. Not the kind that waits, but the kind that breaks.
“She said it in the heat of it, but he took it seriously. He said he’s done taking any of it. He wants proof.”
Tessy’s fingers curled around the phone. Her mouth was dry. “Did she take it back?”
“She didn’t say anything meaningful. You know mum, wouldn’t stop yelling cusses at him. He slammed the door and left.”
Tessy stepped onto her balcony, the city already humming beneath her. She dialled Uncle Bolaji, thumb trembling slightly. He picked up with his usual warmth.
“Tessy baby. I was just about to call you.”
“You’ve heard?”
“Ikenna called me. Jidenna too. I’ve spoken to your mum. Don’t worry, I’ll talk to oga Uzor. We’ll settle it. It’s nothing you should be worried about.”
She leaned against the railing. “Uncle, what’s this rage about DNA tests?”
Bolaji sighed. “Ah. Your mother, Ronke, that woman and her mouth. Like a broken tap. Always leaking nonsense when she’s angry.”
Tessy didn’t laugh.
“It’s baseless, Tessy. You know your father. He’s proud. Once she said that thing, even if it was just heat-of-the-moment talk, he took it personally. You know how men are.”
She swallowed, walking back into her room. “But why would she say it?”
Bolaji paused. “You know your mother. She talks to cause maximum destruction. It doesn’t mean it’s true.”
Tessy stared out at the skyline, the morning light sharpening everything. “You really think it’s nothing?”
“I’ll talk to him. He’ll come back. Just give it time.”
But time, Tessy knew, didn’t erase doubt. It only taught people how to live with it.
Tessy ended the call and stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her blouse was crisp, her makeup minimal. She looked like someone ready to pitch a multi-million-naira campaign, not someone whose family might be unravelling.
She sat on the edge of her bed, phone in hand, weighing her options. Go to Surulere and walk into a house thick with silence and accusation. Or go to work, where the stakes were measurable, the outcomes clean.
Bolaji said he’d handle it. He always did. He was the family’s unofficial fixer, the one who could talk Uzor down from any ledge. Maybe this time would be no different.
She stood, grabbed her laptop bag, and slipped on her heels.
“I have a presentation at ten,” she said aloud, as if reminding herself. “I’m not letting this derail me.”
The elevator ride down was quiet. Lagos was already awake, already pulsing. As she stepped into the morning traffic, she felt the familiar hum of purpose settle over her.
But beneath it, something else stirred. A question she hadn’t yet allowed herself to ask.
Tessy walked into the office like she owned the morning. Her heels clicked with purpose, her smile practiced but not hollow. She greeted colleagues with nods and warmth, her voice steady, her posture tall.
Inside, her thoughts were a mess of fragments, her mother’s hurtful words, her father’s rage, Uncle Bolaji’s bravado. But she refused to let them in. Not today. Not before the pitch.
She passed the glass-walled conference room where her team was already setting up. The campaign deck was solid. She’d rehearsed it twice last night. She could do this.
At 9:42, she slipped away to the cafeteria. It was quiet, save for the hum of the espresso machine and the low murmur of early risers. Chiedu was already there, leaning against the counter, two paper cups in hand. One steaming hot choco drink and the other one a freshly brewed mint tea with cream.
He smiled when he saw her. “There’s my superstar.”
She walked into his arms without a word, letting herself exhale for the first time that morning.
“You okay?” he asked softly.
She nodded. “Just… family noise. I’m not letting it touch today.”
He handed her the tea. “Good. Because you’re about to crush that presentation. You’ve got the numbers, the story, the charm. They won’t know what hit them.”
She smiled, this time less rehearsed. “You always say that.”
“Because it’s always true.”
He kissed her forehead, brief and grounding. “Go make magic.”
Instead of leaving, Tessy sat down across from Chiedu, cradling the cup between her palms. The steam curled upward, soft and slow.
“They fought again,” she said, eyes fixed on the table. “My parents. All night, apparently.”
Chiedu’s brow furrowed. “What happened?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know the details. Just… shouting. Angry shouting which is my mom’s trademark. Doors slamming. My dad left the house.”
“Left?”
“They say he packed a bag and said he’s not coming back. My brothers are panicking. Uncle Bolaji’s trying to fix it.”
Chiedu reached across the table, his hand brushing hers. “I’m sorry, babe. That’s heavy.”
She nodded, swallowing the knot in her throat. “It’s just bad timing. I’ve got this pitch, the campaign’s finally coming together, and now, this.”
He leaned in, voice low and steady. “You’ve worked too hard to let this throw you off. You’re allowed to feel it, but don’t let it own you.”
She looked up at him, grateful for the steadiness in his gaze. “I’m trying.”
“You’re doing more than trying. You’re showing up. That’s strength.”
She smiled faintly, the kind that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “You always know what to say.”
“That’s my job,” he said, squeezing her hand. “Now go remind them why you’re the best in the room.”
Tessy stirred her coffee absently, watching the swirl of cream dissolve. Chiedu leaned forward, sensing the shift in her silence.
“You’re thinking about the wedding, aren’t you?”
She nodded, eyes still on the cup. “I just… I don’t know how I’m supposed to plan anything with all this family drama. They’re going to ruin it.”
“They won’t,” he said gently. “We won’t let them.”
“There’s still so much to do,” she said, voice tightening. “The guest list isn’t final. We haven’t locked down the caterer. My dress isn’t even ready. And now this?”
Chiedu reached for her hand. “Let me take some of it off your plate. I can chase the caterer, confirm the venue details, even talk to your mum if you want.”
She pulled her hand back, not harshly, but with a quiet resistance. “I appreciate it, I do. But I need to be the one doing it. I need to know it’s done right.”
He nodded slowly. “You don’t have to carry everything alone, Tess.”
“I know,” she said, forcing a smile. “But right now, it feels like the only thing I can control.”
He didn’t push. Just sat with her, letting the silence settle between them like a shared weight.
Chiedu watched her carefully, sensing the shift in her tone.
“You should talk to them,” he said gently.
“My mom?”
He nodded.
“You’re a newcomer to the family. You don’t know these people.”
He nodded again, “True. But since you have been told of the matter, ignoring it won’t help.”
“The only thing that would do is make me the target of her anger.”
“Even if it’s just to say you’re not getting involved.”
Tessy exhaled, long and slow. “I’m tired of mediating. They don’t deserve the fight. Neither of them.”
She stirred her tea again, eyes distant. “My mum’s a good person. She is. As much as she makes it impossible for people to notice. But she’s so damn stubborn. She’d rather bite her tongue off than admit she’s wrong.”
Chiedu nodded, letting her speak.
“And my dad… he doesn’t deserve the way she treats him sometimes. But he also doesn’t help himself. He takes everything she says like it’s gospel. Like he hasn’t lived with her for thirty years. Like he doesn’t know she says things she doesn’t mean.”
“True.”
She looked up, voice quiet but firm. “He should know her better by now. He should ignore her when she’s cruel. But he never does. He lets it get under his skin. Every time.”
Chiedu reached for her hand again; this time she let him hold it.
“You’ve been carrying their weight for too long,” he said. “You’re allowed to step back.”
She nodded, but her jaw was tight. “I just wanted peace. For the wedding. For once.”
“You’ll have it,” he said. “Even if we have to build it ourselves.”
Chiedu watched her carefully, his thumb tracing the rim of his cup.
“You know,” he said, “it’s a good thing you see all this. Your parents, their mess, it’s like a manual of what not to do. We’ll be fine. We’ll be better.”
Tessy smiled, but it didn’t quite hold. “I want to believe that.”
“You don’t?”
She hesitated. “I don’t know. Watching them… it’s like watching something rot from the inside. They love each other, I think. But they don’t know how to stop hurting each other.”
Chiedu reached for her hand again. “We’re not them.”
“I know,” she said softly. “But it’s hard not to wonder if marriage just… wears people down.”
He didn’t argue. Just held her gaze, steady and kind.
After a moment, he said, “We’ve been putting off our date for over a week now.”
She groaned, half-apologetic. “I know. It’s just been…”
“No excuses,” he said, smiling. “You owe me dinner. And I’m collecting tonight.”
She laughed, the sound lighter than she expected. “Fine. End of the day. No work, no wedding talk, no family drama.”
“Just us,” he said.
She nodded, and for a moment, the weight lifted.
Tessy sat in her office, the hum of the air conditioner barely masking the silence in her head. Her laptop screen glowed, open to the campaign deck, but the words refused to settle. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, unmoving.
She tried to focus, on the pitch, on the numbers, on the sleek transitions she’d rehearsed. But her thoughts kept circling back to the fight. To Ronke’s rage. To Uzor’s absence. To Bolaji’s assurances that felt thinner by the hour.
She sipped her tea. It was lukewarm now, maybe stale.
Then, without warning, the thought came.
What if I called off the wedding?
It wasn’t loud. It didn’t scream. It arrived like a whisper, absurd and unwelcome.
She blinked, startled by herself. No. That’s ridiculous.
She loved Chiedu. He was kind, steady, patient. He wasn’t her father. She definitely wasn’t her mother. She didn’t provoke or punish. He didn’t weaponize silence.
But still, the thought lingered. Not as a plan, but as a symptom. A sign that something inside her was adjusting.
She shook her head, stood up, paced once across the room.
Focus, she told herself. This is just stress. Just noise.
But deep down, she knew it wasn’t just noise. It was fear. The kind that doesn’t announce itself but waits. Quietly. Persistently.
