_In the city of Abuja, Nigeria_

With a face full of smiles, I adorned my father's face with eye shadow and pink blush on both his cheeks.

"How is it, daughter? Is the makeup complete?" he asked.

Shaking my head quickly, with the voice of a spoiled child, I replied, "Not yet, Daddy. Just the lipstick is left."

He pouted, "Okay then, apply it for me."

I picked up the pink lipstick and applied it to his lips. It looked bright, almost clown-like.

I couldn't help but burst into laughter, grabbing his cheeks and saying, "Oh my God, Daddy, have you seen yourself?"

"What's up, Nafi? Am I more beautiful than you?" he teased.

"No, Daddy. Su'adah is the epitome of beauty. You just look decent because of my flawless makeup skills. Otherwise, you'd look like a hidden knife waiting to strike. But now, you look stunning... Ummuah!" I finished, planting a kiss on his forehead.

He shrugged like a little child, "Uhm, I don’t agree. You want to say your daddy is ugly, right?"

"No, Dad. I just wanted to show you the importance of my makeover skills. When I do someone's makeup, it brings out their true beauty. So, I think you should send me to that makeup school in Germany. Wow, I'll be the star of the nation."

"Daughter, stop exaggerating. You might turn people into monsters."

"Dad, me? Alright then... let's go, I'll show you yourself in the mirror. I know you’ll be surprised."

At that moment, Mom entered, holding a tray with tea and a flask of hot water in the other hand. Without looking at us, she walked to the dining table attached to the luxurious living room. She set everything down before turning around, hands on her hips, standing behind us.

Seeing that we had no intention of acknowledging her and were continuing our silliness, she snapped, "Listen, I don’t want to come back and find you here behaving like this. And besides, who said you could take my makeup? Am I your doll?"

Shaking my head teasingly, I said, "No, Mum," singing the words. Then I took Daddy's hand and said, "Come on, Dad, let's go see."

Suddenly, I felt a sharp slap across my cheek, making me cry out in shock. A single tear rolled down the side of my face where I had been slapped.

This startled Daddy greatly. He stood up, worried, "Honey, are you alright? Have you been drinking? I don't like injustice, okay?"

She steadied herself, narrowing her eyes, "Yusuf."

His heart sank, and he repeated softly, "Yusuf?"

This was the first time she had called him by his name since their marriage.

Her other words echoed in his ears, "Yusuf, it’s time to stop this inappropriate relationship between you and Baby Su'adah. You know she's growing up now; she's eleven years old, and it's no joke."

He looked at her with narrowed eyes, "So what? She's my daughter, so I don't see anything inappropriate about it. Or are you jealous of your own daughter?"

He finished his sentence softly, not wanting us to have a disagreement in front of me.

She remained silent, not responding but still fuming.

Gently, he turned to me, hugged me close, "Sorry, daughter, okay? Your mom is just jealous because she saw how well you did my makeup and how good I look. Let’s go see it in the mirror."

He planted a kiss on my neck before leading me to a beautifully decorated mirror with a spherical shape, fixed in the elegant living room.

As we started walking, I slipped out of his grasp and gave Mom a smile.