The smell that hit her nose made her retreat and pull out her phone to check the address and description of the house, she confirmed she was at the right place. The old railings looked like it'd crumble if she so much as rested on it and the lawn was overgrown and needed trimming. Was this where her sister lived?

The door swung open after two polite knocks and the stench got worse. A young girl, around her daughter's height, looked at her, from her Gucci slippers to her wig, and then without greeting, shut the door in her face. She flinched and wondered whether to knock again or return the next day.

Then the door opened again and this time, it was Aramide, her sister looking at her through eyes that had been narrowed into slits. Fife didn't know what to do; to hug the smelly woman who opened the door in a cream bra and ripped jeans or to find the nearest taxi and catch the next flight to Florida.

"Fife?" She asked. Even her voice sounded different; toughened, older. She fought back the tears that threatened to flood her eyes and nodded. Then Aramide stepped out of the way and let her in.

It smelt even worse. The stench of weed, some spoilt food and urine was wafting through her nose and she was trying not to pinch her nose. Sitting across from her, Aramide blew her nose into a handkerchief and shoved it right into her pocket. They sat for minutes, not saying anything until the girl brought a tray with cold water and akara that did not look like it was fried that morning.

"Sorry, it's small." Ara said again and it only served to remind Fife that her twin sister had transformed from the loud, carefree, cheerful and happy sixteen year old to someone she did not recognise. Twenty four years ago, they had been the enviable duo in town; she and her twin. Partying, travelling abroad for holidays, using the latest gadgets and still getting good grades; Fifehanmi and Aramide were living the life.

Until Aramide got pregnant and all hell broke loose. Nobody could calm their father down, not even Pastor Timothy. It was either she got an abortion or forgot she ever had a father. Getting pregnant out of wedlock and at 16 was going to rid daddy of his elder position in church and he was not going to let that happen.

She didn't even leave a letter, she just disappeared. The very next day, the headlines were bloodied. A bus had driven right into the river and nobody survived. A few bodies were found but the rest were not recovered. Fife kept telling them Aramide was not on that bus but they said she was in shock, the first stage of grief. Their mother was inconsolable, their father stopped going to church and Fife was sent abroad immediately.

Twenty four years later, someone calls to tell her they saw her in Nigeria. But how? They said they had seen her or someone that looked exactly like her, in a faded shirt and ankara wrapper, selling paraga at a popular junction. Immediately, she confirmed what she had thought all these years, that her Aramide wasn't on that bus.

"He told me we could start all over. That our baby didn't have to die because daddy wanted to remain an elder. We came here together because his mother said she couldn't raise him and raise his child. We met his grandmother here and she used to take care of us. But his mother came and took her to Lagos with her. Then he started doing Okada to keep us alive. I was always hungry. I wanted to come back home but I knew nobody wanted me there."

"I did. We thought you were dead, Ara" Fife croaked, the tears were falling freely now and she didn't bother to wipe it.

"I went into labour on my own, Fife. I pushed my baby out on this floor." She sighed, tapping her foot on the floor for emphasis.

"Where was he? Why..." Why did he uproot a sixteen year old from her from her family only to abandon her. She wanted him to come out from wherever he was hiding and answer her questions. "Where is he?"

"He was rushing home when he ran into another car." Her heart clenched for them, young, hurt by their families, heartbroken, alone. "He didn't make it."

Solomon didn't make it neither did her sister's sanity. Who stood up first didn't matter, what mattered was that the women were in each other's arms, mourning the girl who had disappeared, who had gone through childbirth alone, who had mourned her lover, who had gone through the worst form of post partum depression, who still had not recovered.

They spent the day talking about everything they used to do before she left home. The door slamming girl stepped into the room and knelt by the couch to greet Fife. Her name was Remilekun, wipe my tears. She looked just like Solomon and Fife couldn't stay mad about their first encounter. She knew she couldn't show up and ask them to pack their things and follow her immediately, but she knew for sure her sister was not going to live a month more in the building that was hanging on to God's grace for balance. She didn't ask her why the smell of weed was like a cloud over their heads, instead she texted her own therapist and informed her she'd be bringing someone with her.

She didn't show her pictures of her own children, looking healthy at home in Florida, instead, she whipped out pictures from their childhood and they laughed about the good old days. Pictures don't change. But the people inside of them do. Aramide had changed and Fife could only hope that this was a fresh start; for Aramide and for Remilekun.