ONCE UPON A DADDY’S GIRL
Episode 10: A Room of Her Own
Welcome to Once Upon A Daddy's Girl —a decade-long conversation between a Nigerian daughter and the father who raised, praised, and sometimes failed her.
Each episode is told once a year, through the lens of her age, as she grows from 14 to 23.
Tamar’s hands trembled as she turned the key. The door creaked open into an empty space, her space.
Finally.
Her apartment smelled of wet paint and industrial gum..
She removes the overpriced brown Crocs she had grumbly bought online because they were so aesthetically pleasing to look at, steps in, barefoot and a smile grows on her face. The echo of her steps made her smile.
A week ago, she’d paid the rent with her money. Years of being bullied by PiggyVest to save instead of splurge. Invest, instead of going for that solo trip, She had finally been able to make her first big girl purchase and Chief Daddy was furious.
“You think adulthood is about running away?” he’d snapped on the phone. “You think you’re too big for my house now?”
But that wasn’t enough to stop her.
He hadn’t come to see the place. Not yet anyways, she hadn’t even invited him. Not because she was angry, but because… she wasn’t sure she was ready.
The couch arrived the next day. Then the bookshelves. Then a bed stand… in the months to come, the apartment became more homely and more… her own. A little uneven, a little imperfect, a little crooked in the spaces between places, but real.
By the end of the week, Chief Daddy called again.
“Still alive?” he asked.
“Still alive.” or “Checking to see if your assassins finished their work?”
“You have water and light?”
“Most of the time.”
He exhaled. “I’m coming tomorrow.”
He showed up wearing one of his old papa caps, a newspaper tucked under his arm. She hesitated for half a second, then opened the door and stepped aside. He scanned the room like a police detective investigating a crime scene, Noticed every detail, half-burnt candle. The pile of unwashed dishes in the sink.
“You decorated all of this yourself?”
She nodded.
“Hmm.”
He walked to the window and stood there for a while, staring at the street below. Then he sat, awkwardly, like the chair might reject him.
“You think moving out makes you grown?” he asked finally.
“No. I think it makes me honest. About what I need.”
“I gave you everything. A roof. Protection. Structure.”
“You also gave me expectations I could never meet. Rules I never agreed to. Silence where I needed softness.”
He sighed. “You know how this society is. A young woman on her own... people will talk.”
“Then let them. I’m tired of living for what might say.”
“Tamar, you are my daughter. You bear my name. You can’t just...”
“Daddy. I’m not abandoning you. I’m just choosing myself.”
Silence hung, thick and uncertain.
Then he asked, “Do you have rice?”
She laughed. “I can boil some.”
“Please do. I’m hungry.”
She moved to the kitchen. He followed, leaned on the doorway.
“I never lived alone until I married your mother,” he said. “Went from my father’s house to NYSC camp to marriage. I never had a room that was just mine.”
She turned to him, surprised. “Really?”
He nodded. “Maybe that’s why I don’t understand you sometimes. When you kept pulling away, I thought you were being ungrateful. Difficult. I didn’t realise you were simply... trying to breathe.”
She stirred the pot slowly. He walked in, opened the cupboard.
“You need more seasoning.”
“Noted.”
They ate on the couch, plates balanced on their laps. The fan squeaked slightly overhead. Her feet curled beneath her. His toes tapped to a rhythm only he could hear.
“Tam-Tam,” he said.
“Hmm?”
“I’m still not convinced this was necessary. But… I suppose some lessons must be lived.”
She blinked. “That’s as close to a blessing as I’ll get, right?”
He grinned faintly.
She leaned her head on his shoulder. “Thanks for not dragging me back.”
“I wanted to,” he said quietly. “But something told me if I forced you home, I’d lose you.”
She closed her eyes. “Thank you for letting me stay lost a little. I think I’m starting to find myself.”
They sat in the silence. No weight. No war. Just presence.
January 15
I thought independence would feel like fireworks. Loud. Triumphant. Instagram-worthy. But it’s quieter than I imagined.
It’s the soft click of a lock behind me. The hiss of a kettle. The comfort of silence that belongs only to me.Some days, I still question everything. Still ache. Still wonder if I made the right choice. But then I remember: this is mine. This life, this room, this becoming, all mine.
Daddy came today. He didn’t approve. Not fully. But he came. And that means something.
We’re still learning. Unlearning. Becoming.
This may be the end of this story, but it’s the beginning of mine.
Once Upon A Daddy’s Girl may be ending here, but Tamar’s becoming continues, in small choices, soft resistance, and the quiet courage to claim space in a world that often tells women to shrink.
Thank you for growing with her.