The morning sun filtered softly through the nursery curtains, casting a warm glow on the room. Ada stood beside the changing table, speaking gently but firmly to the nanny.
"Be sure to use the cream twice a day, and switch to cotton diapers till the rashes clear. Marvin's skin is far too sensitive for synthetic ones," she said, brushing a finger along the baby's chubby leg.
Without warning, Mara's voice sliced through the air, cold and sharp.
"What are you now, a doctor or a nurse?"
Ada turned, startled, as Mara swept into the room dressed in a silk robe, her face already made up.
Mara walked over briskly and lifted Marvin from his cot. "I can't remember asking for your help—or your time—in raising my children."
Ada blinked. "What are you saying, Mara? I don't have a right to care for my nephews?"
"You're overdoing it," Mara snapped. "This isn't your home, and this isn't your role. You're practically doing the nanny's job. Don't you have a career anymore? Or is babysitting your new profession? If so, apply properly, at least then you'd be getting paid."
Ada straightened her shoulders, refusing to bite. "My career is intact, thank you. Coming here to love and care for Marvin and Maurice doesn't interfere with that. They are family, and I won't watch them suffer for lack of attention."
"Well, it's interfering with my role as their mother, and I don't like it," Mara said, stepping closer. Her voice was low but laced with poison. "I'm the mother here. The matriarch in this house. These children are my responsibility. You'd do well to remember your place, Ada. Don't overstep."
"Overstep?" Ada repeated slowly, her tone controlled but icy. "Is that really what you think?"
"I think," Mara hissed, "you're a grown woman, Ada. Maybe it's time you started your own family, have your own babies instead of mothering mine. Or are you planning to live under your brother's roof for the rest of your life?"
The insult hit hard. Ada's eyes narrowed, but she held her ground.
"This house is my home, Mara. My father built it, and I have every right to be here. I won't be chased out by your insecurities or your guilt," she said evenly. Then added, voice laced with steel, "And if you care so much about your 'motherly role,' then start showing up for it."
She didn't wait for Mara's response. With a calm grace that only made her exit more cutting, Ada turned and walked out of the nursery, heels clicking softly on the tiled floor.
Mara, flustered and fuming, turned sharply to the nanny.
"And you—what exactly are you doing standing there like a statue? Why does my sister-in-law know more about my children's health than you do? Fix that rash now. And next time, report to me. Not her."
The nanny gave a polite nod and quickly turned her attention to Maurice, careful not to meet Mara's blazing eyes.
Mara exhaled, clutching Marvin tighter. But the baby squirmed restlessly in her arms, clearly preferring the calm, familiar hands of Ada.
And somehow… that stung more than any of Ada's words.
***
For two consecutive days, Mara made a show of taking charge in the nursery. She had breakfast served there, snapped photos of herself feeding the boys, and posted filtered snippets on her Instagram with captions like "Twin mom life - double the love!" Her designer loungewear clashed humorously with the spit-up and baby powder, but she pressed on, determined to prove a point.
Ada, respecting Ken's silent request to step back, stayed away. She hadn't even peeked into the nursery, though her heart ached to. She listened from her room as the twins whimpered longer than usual before being soothed, or not soothed at all. When she passed the corridor, she sometimes caught Marvin's high-pitched cry and Maurice's frustrated gurgles. The nanny looked increasingly helpless, clearly restricted by Mara's overbearing presence.
By the third day, Mara's patience wore thin. She looked exhausted by noon, her eyes shadowed from lack of proper rest, her nerves fraying from the boys' unpredictable cries. The curated photos no longer got as much engagement online, and without Ada's quiet efficiency, the nursery was a mess of cluttered toys and mixed-up feeding schedules.
Then came the call.
Mara stood in the hallway, phone pressed to her ear, her tone shifting from irritation to excitement. "Oh, what? The swearing-in is this week? Oh, darling, I can't possibly miss that! Minister for Women's Affairs, how grand!" She glanced toward the nursery and lowered her voice. "No, no, I'll manage something. I'll be there, I promise. I wouldn't miss it for the world."
That evening, she approached Ken while he reviewed some documents in the study.
"I'll be going to Abuja for three days," she announced breezily, flipping her hair back. "Ngozi's ministerial swearing-in. She's the new Women's Affairs minister, and I have to be there. It's historic, and I've already booked my flight."
Ken barely looked up. "You don't need my approval."
"I wasn't asking for it," Mara replied with a tight smile, masking the tension in her voice. "I just thought you should know."
He simply nodded and returned to his paperwork. No protest. No raised brow. Just silence; his silence, louder than any argument.
The next morning, Mara was gone.
Ada heard the front door shut and the hum of the car driving away. She lingered by her window for a moment, exhaling deeply. Then she walked down the hallway and pushed open the nursery door.
Marvin was fussing in his cot, cheeks damp and arms flailing. Maurice was already awake too, gnawing on the corner of his blanket. The nanny, frazzled, looked up in clear relief.
"Thank God, Miss Ada," she said. "They've been like this all morning. They barely slept."
Ada walked over to Marvin, scooped him into her arms, and cradled him close, murmuring softly.
"I've missed you too, my baby," she whispered, pressing her lips to his forehead.
Maurice reached out his chubby arms next, kicking his tiny legs with delight.
Order slowly returned to the nursery—Ada's quiet, steady order. Diaper changes happened without tears, bottles were given at the right temperature, lullabies hummed in tune. The twins settled into her warmth like they never left it.
And even though Mara would return in a few days with fresh gossip, new photos, and louder claims of motherhood, the house itself had already chosen who truly mothered the boys. So had they.