Beep, beep.

The heart monitor beeped periodically, and it increased my anxiety to dangerously higher levels. The persistent sound got on every, single, one of my nerves.

Beep, beep.

I looked around the spacious, luxury, hospital room in Kingston Memorial Hospital, and asked myself why I suddenly felt so claustrophobic. I wondered if I was on the verge of a panic attack, because I could hardly breathe, and I felt as if the walls were caving in on me. The room was silent, with the exception of the heart monitor, that beeped at regular intervals.

He stared at me, for a while, until he suddenly spoke. "Teniola, I love you so much, and I have always believed in you. I-"

I scoffed. "Was that before or after you abandoned us in New York?"

"Teniola, I did all I could to stop that from happening," he replied quietly.

I was not having any of that. "No, you did not. You did not do enough. Mum was traumatized and I was a mess. You left a vacuum in our lives and our hearts. Nobody filled the empty spaces."

He sighed. His eyes drooped and there was what appeared to be a genuine look of anguish and regret on his face but at that moment, it was too late to apologize.

I started pacing, walking from one end of the room to the other. The room was mildly cosy with central heating, but the weather was cold outside, and torrential rain battered the window. It was tastefully furnished, with a twenty inch flat screen television, a walk in closet, and delicate lace curtains, all in shades of purple and gold. Splendor fit for a king.

Mum called me quietly, "Ten-Ten, maybe you should calm down." She often used my childhood nickname to pacify me, so my heart softened slightly, but I was still upset.

"I am calm," I replied.

He sat up slightly, and rested his back against the bedpost. He rubbed a hand over his face, and cleared his throat. His white hair was cut very low, and was a stark contrast to his dark brown, but slightly anaemic skin. Even though he was in bed, his height, square jaw, and muscular frame were prominent. At the age of seventy five, he still had a commanding presence and striking good looks.

Mum walked up to me and squeezed my shoulder. "If you are calm, you should sit down," she said gently.

"Fine!" I grumbled like a toddler, but obliged. Mum gave me a disapproving look, but stroked my hair softly nonetheless. I sat down abruptly in the recliner near the window, and faced him squarely. I rubbed a hand over my face and cleared my throat, before stopping myself sharply. Was I mirroring his actions or did I just resemble him?

My mum went to sit on a stylish, wooden chair by his side. His hand crept closer and closer to hers, until he eventually touched her hand and grasped it. Unsurprisingly, she squeezed it gently and looked at him with red rimmed eyes. Her petite frame looked even smaller, and her Afro hair formed a cute crown around her head. She was wearing a butter yellow kaftan, which complemented her light complexion, and no makeup. She was clearly in a sombre mood, and still very much in love with him.

I was wearing a kaftan too, but mine was pink. My hair was styled in a sleek ponytail, and I had plain black sandals on. Considering that I had his dark complexion, tall, slim stature and had been told on numerous occasions that I was 'a rare beauty' but I was 'too stubborn', I was more like him than I cared to admit.

Mum tapped his hand gently and looked into his eyes. "Oya, Segun, maa soro re lo. Come on Segun, continue talking."

"O se, Yemisi. Thank you, Yemisi." He cleared his throat again, "I won't beat around the bush, I am so sorry for the pain I caused. I left, but I fulfilled my financial obligations, and supported you and your mother to live a comfortable life. I know it's not the same as me being with you, but you were always important to me."

Tears ran down my face as I sobbed uncontrollably, "You are my father, not my financier! Of course it was not the same as you being with us! Do you know what each Father's Day was like, how hard it was? Or what about the narrow minded people who passed judgement on mum, and said she was just another baby mama? You left us to come and 'ascend the throne of your forefathers'. Was it all worth it?"

Mum started shedding tears quietly. "Teniola, when he received the Royal Calling about the Oracle selecting him as the next king, he pleaded with me to accompany him and be his queen, but I refused. I just could not imagine leaving everything I ever knew in the United States, and going to a vil-"

"Obashola is not a village!" he retorted sharply.

Suddenly all of us fell silent. Rain continued to batter the window, and the dark, cloudy sky was gloomy, just like all of us. The windows rattled vigorously, and the wind howled. I internally reflected upon how delicate life could be, and how situations could change at any moment. Just last month, I graduated from Columbia University with a degree in Political Science and my mum was a social worker at Hope Girl's Institute.

Mum was living a peaceful and quiet life, and I was having fun with friends. We lived in a modest, but lovely four bedroom house in Ridgewood, New York. I would have moved out, but I was worried about mum. She was lonely, and did not truly move on after he left. We received an unexpected call from him, and two New York to Lagos return tickets, last week. According to him, it was a solemn appeal for us to arrive as soon as possible, due to a matter of extreme urgency.

With tears in her eyes, Mum stood up and hugged him. "I forgive you, Segun. I hope you can forgive me too. I should have brought Teniola to visit you, but I was furious when you left."

His face contorted, and I could see a twitch in his jaw. He was clearly emotional, and looked as if he were on the verge of tears, but according to Yoruba tradition, kings do not cry. "Of course I forgive you, Yemisi. You were always my better half, and it was for the best. I would have come, but I thought that it would be worse for all of us. The constant back and forth, probably would have done more harm than good."

My mum gave me a sad look. Her eyes were pleading with me to be as tenderhearted as she was. I was too stunned to respond to the events unfolding right before my eyes. All at once, the pain and burden of pent up anger and frustration seemed unbearable. I was not pleased with him for choosing the throne over us, but I wanted to be free. I spent so long feeling hurt and disappointed, I had forgotten how it felt to be at genuine peace with myself.

'Forgiveness is not an attribute of the weak, it is an attribute of the strong,' I thought.

I got up slowly, and walked towards my mum and dad. I stood on the other side of his bed, and put my hand on his shoulder. "You left when I was eleven and were gone for ten years, I got your birthday presents, but I missed you so much. Chatting once in a while online was not enough. Mum told me you went on an important mission, and I used to sit beside my window, looking down the road, hoping you would come back."

Mum continued sobbing and she dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. "You are doing great, Teniola. Let it all out," she said.

My tears flowed freely, and he patted the hand I rested on his shoulder. "My daughter, words cannot express how sorry I am. I wanted to care for you, but I also wanted to give your mother enough space to move on. I should have handled things differently."

He turned to my mum and smiled, his eyes were still red rimmed. "This is by no means enough of a compensation, but I want to ensure that you and Teniola are well taken care of." He opened his bed side drawer and removed a big, wine coloured envelope. He gave it to mum and took a deep breath. Mum looked a bit reluctant to open it. He chuckled softly. "Relax Yemisi, there is nothing 'magical' inside. Open it."

Mum opened the envelope and her eyes quickly scanned the contents of a document she pulled out of it. After a few minutes, she gasped. "Segun, I can not accept this! I am absolutely alright with our house in Ridgewood. I don't need another one in Kennedy, Illinois."

He smiled, "It is your right, please accept it. You were born and raised there, I know how much you love it. Take out the second document, it is for Teniola."

Mum took out the second document and gave it to me. I took it from her cautiously, and my eyes scanned the contents. The reality of the situation was indeed official. On the front page there was a brief legal summary of the contents of the document, and a list of the properties that my father granted me in his will. A five bedroom duplex in Obashola, and an exclusive two bedroom flat at Ring Road, Ibadan.

"I appreciate it, but these homes are in Nigeria. I don't want to stay here," I said.

He chuckled and leaned back on his bed post. He folded his arms and looked cheerful, for the first time since we arrived. "This is your homeland, will you keep renting different hotels whenever you come to visit?"

I struggled to keep a poker face. I did not want to tell him that I had no plans to visit. I looked up at my mum, and she shrugged gently. She communicated wordlessly with me, with a look into my eyes. Teniola, do not be stupid and lose that opportunity.

"No, I would not want to rent different hotels. Thank you sir," I replied.

There was another question on the tip of my tongue. I did not know how to ask in the presence of my mother. Even though my father was absent from our lives for so many years, he was her husband. She never separated from him legally. I was lost for words when my mother took the bull by the horns.

My mother's voice was calm, but hard as steel when she addressed him. "Where are your other children? I know that our tradition would not permit you to be without a son."

I cringed. Damn. That was awkward.

He folded his hands in his lap, and answered my mother quietly but firmly. "I have two sons. One of them is seven years old, the other is five years old. I did not want to have another wife but-"

"You had to because of tradition," mum said icily. Her eyes flashed with annoyance as she concluded his statement.

The silence that settled over the room was a tense one. I looked from my mother to my father and rubbed a hand over my face and cleared my throat. Again. I froze at the realisation of what I had just done. I did not realise how frequently I did it before then.

I knew I needed to intervene, so I changed the subject. "Is that the Central Telegraph on your bed side table? I always wanted to be a columnist, but I would not mind working at a television station either."

My father looked at me and nodded slightly, he was pleased with the change of subject. "Yes, it is the Central Telegraph. Call me old fashioned, but I still enjoy reading a newspaper. The CT is good, but the Continental Herald is even better, and they have international branches. You should apply for a job there, just be careful. I heard that they put pressure on their journalists to do questionable things to get a sensational story, in order to keep their jobs."

"Don't worry dad, I wouldn't do something like that."

Mum nodded. When she switched into 'proud mum mode' I was relieved. She went on and on about how I graduated summa cum laude, and was a talented swimmer and diver. We were laughing and he teased me about how I should start training for the next Olympics. For some beautiful moments, lost in time, we forgot about the years we spent apart. We forgot about how we were in the hospital with my sick, elderly father.

Suddenly, the heart monitor started to beep erratically, and he slumped slightly.

"Dad! Dad!" I shouted.

My mum screamed louder, "Segun! Segun!"

My father smiled gently as he looked at me, "Oluwa, Olorun, Olodumare, ogo ni fun oruko re. Lord, God, Almighty, glory be to your name. Please take care of your mother and your younger brothers. Be another mother to them, and not just a sister. They're away at boarding school now."

I panicked, and pressed the alarm button beside his bed. Shortly afterwards, some doctors rushed in and tried to get us to leave. My mum and I wrestled with the paramedic staff that tried to force us to get out.

The medical team worked furiously to revive him, but he started gasping. I was screaming and crying, but my mum was louder. The heart monitor continued to beat erratically. A doctor administered electrical currents to his chest, in order to restore a normal heartbeat.

The weather changed and reflected the turmoil within the room. The torrential rain had gotten heavier, and eventually a full scale thunderstorm started. Each blinding, flash of lightning was followed by loud thunder and the windows rattled violently.

The defibrillator buzzed as they put it on his chest, and his body jerked on each impact. The repeated shouts of "Clear!" on each application, kept us hoping that he would regain consciousness.

Two hospital attendants finally overpowered mum and I, and forced us to go to the corridor. We were physically restrained by some high chiefs of the ruling council of Obashola, to prevent us from going back inside. We did not even know they had arrived, but in hindsight, it was a good thing that they came.

There were several, ear splitting roars of thunder, blindingly, bright flashes of lightning and then there was silence. The high chiefs all removed their caps, and cast their eyes down to the ground. My mother wailed, and shouted his name over and over again. "Segun! Segun! Segun!"

A doctor walked out of my father's room with a sombre look on his face and said, "Kabiyesi ti papoda. His Highness has transitioned."

I ran past the doctor into my father's room, just in time to see them pull a white sheet over his head. I heard screaming, but was not conscious of the fact that the noise was spilling from my lips.

The Iyalode of Obashola, the Women's leader of Obashola, rushed in to restrain me as I clutched to my father's bed. I wanted one more hug. I wanted to hear him say 'I love you', I wanted to tell him that I loved him, one more time.

I fell on my knees and moaned with grief as he was wheeled away. "E ma gbe won lo, ti won ba ji pada nko? Don't take him away, what if he wakes up?" My heart was filled with inexplicable pain. It was so hard to say goodbye, but he was well and truly gone.