Òyì nke e mepụtara

When I was 14, I thought my dad was just going to the store. My parents had just gone through a messy divorce, and both of them were deep into drugs. I wasn’t a little kid anymore—I knew exactly what was happening. And I was angry. Angry at them, at the situation, at how normal all of it had started to feel. That night, I was staying at my dad’s place. It was also my school’s prom night. I was just a freshman, so I wasn’t going, but a lot of my friends were. I remember scrolling through my pho