Alfred stretched luxuriously, feeling the warmth of the sun seep through his bedroom window. He yawned widely, blinking at the bright morning sky that promised another day of possibility. "Thank you, Lord, for this day," he whispered, a habit that grounded him in gratitude, before swinging his legs over the side of the bed.
"Alfred!" his mother called from downstairs, her voice a melody that floated up to him.
"Mom!" he replied, shaking off the remnants of sleep as he threw back the covers and hopped out of bed.
As he made his way down the staircase, Alfred's mom appeared at the top, humming a cheerful tune. "It's morning, sleepyhead!" she sang, her smile illuminating the space around her.
"I'm awake, Mom!" he chuckled, his voice still thick with sleep.
His mother's face lit up at the sight of him. "My baby! I hope you prayed?"
"Yes, Mom," Alfred replied, heading towards the dining room, where the scent of something savory wafted through the air.
"Great," she replied, a tone of relief smoothing her features as she followed him.
"Did you even ask what we're having for breakfast today?" she teased, her eyes sparkling with mischief.
Alfred inhaled deeply, allowing the familiar aroma to envelop him. "It's obvious," he said, closing his eyes momentarily in delight. "Mmm! Is Dad already off to work?"
"I'm right here, my boy," his father's voice boomed from behind him, startling Alfred.
"Dad, you're dressed for work?" Alfred exclaimed, surprise evident in his tone.
"Correct," his father grinned, his smile wide and infectious.
Alfred sighed, the weight of the day settling on his shoulders. "Good morning, Dad."
"Good morning, son. How was your night?" his father asked, tousling Alfred's hair affectionately.
"It was fine. And yours?" Alfred replied, trying to mask the unease creeping into his heart.
"Cool," his father answered, his focus shifting as he glanced at his wife, who had begun setting the table.
Alfred sensed the subtle change in atmosphere. "Dad barely has time for us anymore," he blurted out, his voice laced with frustration. "He's always working late, and when he's home, he's always on his phone."
"Dad will make it up to you," his mother interjected, her tone soothing.
"Definitely not on Sundays?" Alfred shot back, the disappointment hanging heavy in the air.
"Okay, boy, this coming holiday, I'll take a leave," his father said, a hint of excitement in his voice.
"You will?" Alfred's eyes brightened, a smile breaking through his earlier gloom.
"Isn't that right, honey?" his mother asked, looking at his father with a knowing smile.
"It's fine, darling. For my son, I'll do it," his father nodded, his determination evident.
"Breakfast is ready!" Alfred's mother announced, her voice cheerful as she placed a steaming plate of jollof rice before them.
"Wow, my favorite jollof!" his father exclaimed, mock horror crossing his face. "But this is... much."
"Please don't kill my dad," Alfred teased, his wide eyes sparkling with mischief, though he was clearly joking.
Alfred's mother laughed, the sound light and melodic. "Coming from a glutton!" she remarked, her gaze twinkling with amusement.
His father scoffed, a low rumbling sound escaping him, clearly unamused by the jab.
Unfazed by the subtle tension, Alfred beamed. "This is the best day of my life!" he declared, his excitement palpable.
His mother turned to him, a playful glint in her eye. "You funny boy," she said, affection lacing her words. "What happened today that makes it your best day? Besides, you told me your best day was the day Grandma got you that…"
"Don't bring that up! This holiday, Dad will be staying with me! It'll be so much fun!" Alfred interrupted, his enthusiasm undeterred.
"Troublesome boy," his father chuckled, the warmth of his laughter filling the room.
"Sure, Dad," Alfred replied, a grin spreading across his face, the promise of the holiday igniting his spirit.
"Okay, Alfred, let your dad finish his meal quickly. It's the weekend, and I'm sure it'll be a long day," his mother said softly, her eyes glimmering with love.
Alfred nodded, his heart a mix of excitement and apprehension. "Okay, Mum."
"Which will be smooth," his father added, his voice a low rumble that wrapped around them like a warm blanket.
"Amen!" his mother echoed, her smile a beacon of hope that lit the room.
As Alfred's father scooped another spoonful of rice onto his plate, his mother's gaze drifted to the worried crease in his brow. She reached out, taking his hand in hers, a gesture of silent support. "We will find a way out," she said, her voice both firm and gentle, a lifeline amidst the storm.
Alfred's father shook his head, his expression contemplative. "Let's not talk about this, darling."
"But I can see it's disturbing you," she insisted, her eyes searching his for answers.
"I don't want anything that will affect you," he whispered, the weight of his words hanging heavily between them.
"It won't, darling. I'll always find my way through it," she reassured him, a glimmer of determination in her eyes. "I'll get a new place there."
"This will make it the fourth time," her husband sighed, the weariness in his voice palpable. "And I know how hard you worked to make that place what it is today."
Alfred's mother offered a small, encouraging smile. "This time, I'm making it a branch," she said, her tone brightening. "I already have someone to help me run it."
Alfred's father nodded, a slow smile creeping onto his face. "Okay."
Alfred glanced between his parents, the air thick with unspoken words and hidden worries.
"Finish up, so you don't be late to work," his mother urged, her smile softening the moment.
"Is there something I need to know?" Alfred asked, suspicion creeping into his voice, the innocence of childhood beginning to wane.
His father hesitated, their eyes locking in a moment of silent communication. The air around them thickened with unvoiced concerns, leaving Alfred to wonder what secrets his parents were keeping from him.