Meet Dr. Chinnelo, a beacon of hope in a small Nigerian village. From humble beginnings, she rises to become a renowned medical doctor, driven by her passion to serve and uplift her community. Dr. Chinnelo's journey is a testament to the power of resilience, determination, and kindness. As she navigates the challenges of limited resources and societal expectations, she inspires others to follow in her footsteps. CHAPTER ONE The Village of Akwata In the small village of Akwata, nestled in the heart of Nigeria, lived a poor widow named Nneoma with her two daughters, Chinnelo and Chiamaka. Despite their struggles, Nneoma instilled in her daughters the value of education. Chinnelo, the eldest, was a diligent and determined student. She spent countless hours studying by the light of a kerosene lamp, as their village didn't have electricity. Her hard work paid off, and she excelled in her studies. As the years passed, Chinnelo's academic prowess earned her a scholarship to a prestigious secondary school. Her mother beamed with pride, and the family made sacrifices to support her education. Chinnelo's dedication and resilience inspired her community. She became a role model, showing that with hard work and determination, one could overcome adversity. After completing secondary school, Chinnelo earned a university scholarship. She studied diligently, determined to uplift her family. Upon graduation, she secured a well-paying job, supporting her mother and sister. Nneoma's sacrifices and guidance had paid off. Chinnelo's success was a testament to the power of education and perseverance. The village celebrated Chinnelo's achievements, and her story inspired others to prioritize education. Chinnelo's journey showed that with faith, hard work, and support, one can overcome even the most daunting challenges. Her success brought hope and pride to her family and community, inspiring future generations. The sun rose over the small village of Akwata, casting a warm glow over the thatched roofs and dusty roads. Nneoma, a widow in her late 40s, stirred the pot of yam porridge simmering on the fire. Her two daughters, Chinnelo and Chiamaka, sat on a mat, their books and notebooks scattered around them. Nneoma's eyes, though weary, sparkled with determination. She had lost her husband a few years ago and was struggling to make ends meet. But she was determined to give her daughters the best possible life. "Chinnelo, have you finished your homework?" Nneoma asked, stirring the porridge. "Yes, Mother," Chinnelo replied, her eyes fixed on her book. "I'm just revising for my exams." Nneoma smiled, her heart swelling with pride. Chinnelo was a diligent student, always eager to learn. She had a spark in her eyes that Nneoma knew would take her far. As the morning progressed, the aroma of porridge filled the air, and the girls' stomachs growled in anticipation. Nneoma served them a simple but nourishing breakfast, and they ate quickly, their minds focused on the day ahead. After breakfast, Chinnelo packed her bag, preparing for another day at school. Nneoma handed her a small packet of food and a few coins. "Be careful on your way, and don't forget to come straight home after school," Nneoma said, her voice filled with concern. Chinnelo nodded, smiling reassuringly. "I will, Mother." As Chinnelo walked out the door, Nneoma watched her go, a mix of emotions swirling in her heart. She was proud of her daughter's determination and eagerness to learn, but she couldn't shake off the worry about their future. Little did she know, Chinnelo's academic journey was about to take her on a path that would change their lives forever. CHAPTER TWO The Gift of Education Chinnelo walked to school, her feet moving in rhythm with her thoughts. She loved learning and was determined to make the most of the opportunity. As she walked, she thought about her mother’s sacrifices. Nneoma worked tirelessly, selling goods at the market, to pay her school fees. When Chinnelo arrived at school, she greeted her friends and hurried to her classroom. Her teacher, Mrs. Okoro, was already there, writing notes on the blackboard. "Good morning, class," Mrs. Okoro said, smiling. "Today, we'll be discussing the importance of education." Chinnelo listened intently, her mind absorbing every word. She knew education was her ticket to a better life. After class, Chinnelo approached Mrs. Okoro. "Ma'am, I want to ask you something," she said. "Yes, Chinnelo?" Mrs. Okoro replied. "I want to know how I can get a scholarship. My mother can't afford to pay my fees for secondary school." Mrs. Okoro's expression softened. "Chinnelo, you're one of our brightest students. I'll talk to the school administration about possible scholarships. Chinnelo's heart skipped a beat. Could this be her chance to fulfill her dreams? She hurried home, her feet barely touching the ground. When she arrived home, Nneoma was preparing dinner. mother, said by Chinnelo mama well done I'm here how can assit

CHAPTER ONE THE SEED OF DREAM The morning sun broke through the thatched roof of their mud house, casting golden rays on the woven mat where Amaka knelt in prayer. Her voice trembled, not from fear, but from hope."Chukwu, bless my daughter. Let her rise where I fell. Let her see light where I walked in shadows. Let her be more."Chinelo, barely eleven, stood at the doorway watching her mother. Her thin frame leaned against the wooden door, school bag clutched tightly. She had memorized that prayer. Her mother said it every morning — like a ritual, like breath.Amaka rose from her knees, brushing flour from her wrapper. “Nelo baby, come eat. You’ll be late for school.”Chinelo walked in, her eyes shining. “Mama, one day I will become a nurse and buy you a house. A big one. With a white gate.”Amaka smiled, her face softening despite the lines of struggle. “I don’t need a big house. I just need you to become someone. Someone the world will respect.”She watched her daughter eat quickly, her school uniform already patched at the elbows. Still, she looked at Chinelo with pride, as if she wore a queen’s robe.As Chinelo skipped off to school, Amaka sat back and whispered to herself, “My daughter will not end like me. That is my dream.The morning sun broke through the thatched roof of their mud house, casting golden rays on the woven mat where Amaka knelt in prayer. Her voice trembled, not from fear, but from hope."Chukwu, bless my daughter. Let her rise where I fell. Let her see light where I walked in shadows. Let her be more."Chinelo, barely eleven, stood at the doorway watching her mother. Her thin frame leaned against the wooden door, school bag clutched tightly. She had memorized that prayer. Her mother said it every morning — like a ritual, like breath.Amaka rose from her knees, brushing flour from her wrapper. “Nelo baby, come eat. You’ll be late for school.”Chinelo walked in, her eyes shining. “Mama, one day I will become a nurse and buy you a house. A big one. With a white gate.”Amaka smiled, her face softening despite the lines of struggle. “I don’t need a big house. I just need you to become someone. Someone the world will respect.”She watched her daughter eat quickly, her school uniform already patched at the elbows. Still, she looked at Chinelo with pride, as if she wore a queen’s robe.As Chinelo skipped off to school, Amaka sat back and whispered to herself, “My daughter will not end like me. That is my dream. CHAPTER TWO THE SACRIFICE The sun was not yet fully up, but Amaka was already at the village stream, her bare feet firmly planted on the wet, cold earth. A faded basin sat on her head, filled with freshly drawn water. Her eyes were heavy with sleep, but her heart was awake — always awake — burdened with the weight of a dream she carried for her daughter. After fetching water, she returned home, prepared pap with roasted groundnuts, and packed a small lunch of jollof rice into an old plastic bowl for Chinelo. Then she tied her wrapper tightly, grabbed her broom, and left for her first job of the day — sweeping the local primary school compound for a small token the headmaster sometimes offered. Her body ached from yesterday’s washing at Mama Okoye’s compound. They had a newborn, and Amaka had done everything from laundry to scrubbing floors. All for one thousand naira. But she never complained. As she swept leaves into a pile under the mango tree, a group of women passed by, their conversation loud. “Isn’t that Amaka?” one of them said. “Yes, still working like a slave for pennies. All for that daughter of hers,” another added, laughing. Amaka didn’t look up. She had long since trained her ears to hear mockery and ignore it. What they didn’t understand was that her daughter was her treasure — her greatest investment. Later that evening, Chinelo returned from school. Her uniform was dusty, and her face tired, but her spirit was lit with something new. “Mama! I got the highest score in class today! Teacher said I can represent our school in the inter-school quiz competition! Amaka dropped the pot she was scrubbing, wiped her wet hands on her wrapper, and pulled her daughter into a tight embrace. “I knew it. I knew you are meant for more.” Chinelo laughed. “But Mama, my sandals are torn. The sole is coming off.” Amaka’s smile faded, replaced by a thoughtful nod. That night, after Chinelo slept, Amaka opened her tiny savings box. Only three crumpled one-thousand-naira notes remained. She stared at them for a long time. The money was meant for garri and vegetables for the week. But in the morning, she would go to the market to buy sandals. She would fast if she had to. Her daughter must walk with pride. The next morning, as Chinelo laced her brand-new brown sandals, her eyes welled up with tears. “Mama… these are beautiful. But how…? Amaka knelt and adjusted the straps herself. “Don’t worry about how. Just walk tall. You’re walking into your future.” Chinelo nodded slowly, unsure why her heart grateful

Day Like No Other: Our Wedding Story"April 27, 2010, dawned like a promise whispered on the wind—soft, warm, and full of hope. The sun rose gently over Port Harcourt, casting golden light over the city, touching rooftops and treetops alike with a sense of sacred calm. It was the day Vivian and Watson would begin their life together—not just as partners, but as husband and wife.From the moment Vivian opened her eyes that morning, she knew something was different. The air felt charged, as if the universe had paused in anticipation. It wasn’t just the excitement of the wedding day—it was something deeper. A peace, wrapped in joy. Somewhere not far from her, Watson was surely preparing too, his mind racing through details, memories, dreams of this very moment.The venue, Chichi in the heart of Port Harcourt, had been dressed with care. The team had worked early to set everything just right—chairs draped in white and gold, floral arrangements blooming in coordinated grace, and soft music humming from the corners like the breath of angels. Rivers State’s usual heat held back just enough, giving way to a cool breeze that floated through the open spaces, blessing everyone it touched.Family and friends began arriving in waves—colorful attires glowing under the sunlight, voices raised in laughter, hugs exchanged with warmth. The energy in the air was undeniable: this was a celebration of love, one that had been nurtured through time, conversation, faith, and a bond that couldn’t be broken.The church service was sacred. With every word of the blessing, with every verse spoken and every prayer uttered, it felt as though heaven itself leaned in to listen. When Vivian and Watson stood together at the altar, there was silence—not from lack of sound, but because every heart was tuned to their vow. A vow not just spoken, but lived with every look, every touch, every tear."I, Watson, take you, Vivian..." he began, his voice strong but full of emotion."I, Vivian, take you, Watson..." she echoed, eyes locked onto his.Their words wove a spiritual contract, one that everyone present bore witness to. And when they were pronounced husband and wife, the cheer that erupted was not just noise—it was the sound of two families, two lives, two souls joining in divine harmony.But the joy didn’t end at the church door. Outside, cars were decorated and honking, friends were singing, and the couple was surrounded on all sides. The transition to the reception was like moving from one joyous realm to another.At the reception, Chichi transformed again—this time into a grand celebration hall. The tables were covered in shimmering linens, the buffet lines promised a feast, and the band was already tuning their instruments. As the couple entered, they were met with ululations, chants, and clapping—an overwhelming celebration of their union.There were speeches that moved hearts, dances that lifted spirits, and moments that felt like something out of a dream. The laughter of children, the scent of jollof rice and fried fish, the rustle of fabrics as aunties danced with abandon—it all created a symphony of celebration.

Title: The BetrayerPrologueLove was supposed to be beautiful. At least, that was what every fairy tale, romantic movie, and the lyrics of songs made me believe. As a celebrity, I had fans, fame, and fortune—but all I truly wanted was to be loved deeply, honestly, and purely. Not for my name. Not for my body. Not for what I could offer. But for me.When I met Eze, he was charming, warm, and knew just what to say to disarm me. He was quiet in public but fierce in private. He made me feel like the queen of his world. I gave him my heart, my life—and my secrets. I gave him the sides of me the world didn’t see. The vulnerable side. The silly side. The naked side.And that was where my betrayal began.He didn’t use a knife. He didn’t scream. He didn’t raise his hand. But he sliced through my heart with the coldest weapon of all—my trust.---Chapter One: Red Carpet LiesThe camera flashes nearly blinded me, but I was used to them by now. Red carpet events were part of my life—shiny, loud, demanding. The crowd chanted my name: “Hope! Hope! Look here!” They didn’t know the Hope behind the dazzling smile and glittering gown was slowly bleeding inside.Beside me stood Mr. Eze—my husband, tall, dark-skinned, wearing a tuxedo that hugged his frame with perfection. His hand held mine tightly as if we were lovers lost in paradise. To the world, we were the perfect couple—Nigerian royalty in the entertainment industry. But inside, I felt like a prisoner in my own home.He leaned close and whispered, “Smile like you love me.”I forced a smile. The photographers clicked rapidly, capturing moments that weren’t real.Love? That word had lost its meaning in our home.Chapter Two: Shadows Behind the CurtainThe limousine was quiet as we drove away from the event. My smile had faded the moment we left the camera flashes behind. I turned toward the window, watching Lagos nightlife blur past.“You were cold tonight,” Eze said, scrolling through his phone.I didn’t respond.He looked up, his voice tighter. “You think I don’t notice? The distance. The way you flinch when I touch you.”I turned to face him, tired of the performance. “What do you expect, Eze? I’m supposed to pretend everything is fine while I sleep next to a man I don’t trust?”He laughed dryly. “Trust? You don’t trust me?”My voice trembled. “I saw the files, Eze. The recordings. The pictures. From our bedroom. From the hotel in Abuja. Even in my dressing room. You recorded me without my consent.”He didn’t flinch. “You’re my wife. What we do is private.”“No, Eze,” I said, barely holding in my tears. “It’s not private when you save it to cloud folders labeled Hope_Nude_Collection. Or when you threaten to leak it whenever I stand up for myself.”He leaned back with a smug expression. “You think anyone will care? You’re a celebrity. People want to see you exposed. You’ll be more famous than ever.”My stomach turned. “I gave myself to you, Eze. Not for your games. Not for your blackmail.”He scoffed. “You celebrities love to act pure, but you all have your price.”I stared at him—this man I once adored. I remembered how he held me when my mother died. How he wrote poetry to me before I fell asleep. How he once cried when I told him I loved him.Now I knew. It was all a performance.And I had been the only one acting real.Chapter Three: Beneath the FameI sat alone in the ensuite bathroom that night, the lights dimmed. My reflection stared back at me from the vanity mirror—famous, flawless, fake. I used to love this face. Now, I barely recognized it.I scrolled through the folder I had secretly copied from Eze’s cloud. Videos. Screenshots. Moments I never knew he was watching—when I undressed, when I cried in the shower, when I whispered my fears to him in bed.My phone vibrated. It was my manager, Lola.“Hope, babe. You okay? Something’s off lately.”I wanted to tell her everything, but fear choked me. Eze knew people. He had money. Influence. Leaking the truth would destroy both of us—but especially me.“Just tired,” I whispered. “I’ll be fine.”I ended the call and turned off the phone. I wasn’t ready to speak, but I was no longer willing to stay silent forever.---Chapter Four: His Mask SlipsThe next morning, I made breakfast—eggs, toast, and orange juice. A peace offering. Not because I loved him, but because I needed him calm.Eze walked in shirtless, smirking. “Trying to butter me up now?”I smiled faintly. “Just breakfast.”He sat down, eyeing me. “You’ve changed. Less tears, more quiet. I don’t like it. It means you're planning something.”I kept my tone light. “I’m just tired of fighting.”He leaned in. “Good. Because if you ever think of leaving, I’ll make sure the world sees everything. Every inch of you.”I held his gaze, steady now. “And if you do that, you’ll go down with me. I’m no longer the Hope that cries in corners, Eze. I record too.”For the first time, he blinked.Yes. I had installed hidden .Eze the btrayer

Prologue: Loving in AnxietyMarriage is often painted as a glorious union, a perfect harmony of hearts beating in synchrony. But beneath the surface of wedding bells and honeymoon selfies, some unions carry secrets—deep, dangerous secrets. Iris and Alex were no exception.They were a new couple, barely six months into their marital journey. On the outside, they seemed ideal: Iris, a bright-eyed literature teacher with a poetic soul and a laugh that could melt ice; Alex, a reserved software developer whose calm demeanor drew people to him like moths to a flame. But behind their picture-perfect lives, something dark brewed.Alex had a secret.A secret that could shatter everything.Iris had a suspicion.A suspicion that, if proven true, could tear her heart in two.Their love was real. But so was the anxiety that danced silently between their kisses, lingered in their long silences, and screamed in their separate dreams at night.This is their story—a tale of love, laughter, betrayal, forgiveness, and a secret that would test the very foundation of their vows.---Chapter One: The Breakfast BurnIris’s Monday began like most of her mornings did lately—with a fight against the toaster. The tiny, chrome-plated device blinked back at her innocently, as if it hadn’t just produced a charred slice of what was once cinnamon-raisin bread.“Seriously?” Iris frowned, waving away a curl of smoke. She opened the kitchen window and held the offending toast out the frame. A neighbor’s cat blinked up at her from the fence, unimpressed.“Third time this week,” she muttered. “The toaster clearly has a vendetta. Maybe it’s trying to tell me I shouldn’t be a wife who cooks.”Alex strolled in, still half-dressed in his work-from-home uniform—business shirt up top, pajama bottoms down below. He eyed the toast with a smirk.“Is it that time again?” he said, opening the fridge for orange juice. “Do I need to stage an intervention?”“It’s toast,” Iris said dramatically. “How does someone mess up toast?”“You have many talents, love. Toast isn’t one of them.”She gasped and threw a tea towel at him. “That’s betrayal, Alexander.”“I prefer to think of it as a gentle truth.”Their morning banter was the daily glue in their routine. Iris loved these moments—the quiet intimacy of breakfast, the way their conversations meandered from nonsense to philosophy in minutes. But even as she laughed, she noticed something.Alex’s phone buzzed on the counter. He snatched it up quickly before she could even glance at the screen.Iris frowned. “You’ve been doing that a lot lately.”“Doing what?” he asked, pouring himself coffee.“Guarding your phone like it’s a dragon’s egg.”He raised an eyebrow. “It’s work. You know how they are—always panicking over server logs.”“Even on Sunday nights?” she said, crossing her arms. “You were gone for almost an hour. I thought you were just taking out the trash.”Alex paused. His fingers tightened around the coffee mug. “You’re suspicious.”“Should I be?”There was a moment. Just a second. A flicker in his eyes—uncertainty? Fear? She couldn’t tell.Then he smiled, the same calm, disarming smile that had made her fall for him in the first place. “If I were up to anything, would I really be dumb enough to leave a trail of burnt toast behind?”Iris laughed despite herself, but the question hung between them, unanswered.She watched as Alex sat at his desk in the corner of their small apartment, his laptop open, his expression all business. His fingers tapped quickly on the keyboard, his coffee untouched.Iris turned back to the stove, started on a new piece of toast, and tried not to think about the knot forming in her stomach.---Chapter Two: The Suspicion DeepensTuesday felt off.The sun was shining, her students were cooperative, and she even got a free coffee when the barista messed up someone else’s order—but Iris couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn’t right.She walked through the halls of the high school where she taught English literature, distracted. A student asked her a question about Shakespeare, and she gave a response that mixed Hamlet with Macbeth. They laughed. She didn’t.During lunch, she texted Alex:You good?He replied within seconds:Yeah, just slammed with code reviews. Love you.Quick. Too quick.Iris stared at her phone, thumbs hovering above the screen. Finally, she typed:Can we talk tonight? I’ve been feeling... weird.He read it but didn’t respond.Her stomach sank. And so, after school, she drove straight to her best friend’s apartment.Tasha answered the door with a face mask on and a slice of pizza in hand. “You look like you just found out you’re in a reality TV show.”“I might be,” Iris said, brushing past her. “One of those dramatic ones where the sweet guy ends up being a robot or a Russian spy.”Tasha followed her into the living room. “Okay, sit. Spill.”Iris paced. “Alex is hiding something

Title: The Power Within the SlouchIn the village of Nduria, nestled between the lush hills and the ancient rivers, there lived a boy named Laro. At first glance, Laro seemed like the laziest creature ever born. He never walked upright. His back always curved in a slouch, shoulders drooped like wilting leaves, and his eyes held the permanent glaze of one who was always on the brink of sleep. His arms hung loosely at his sides, and even lifting a finger seemed too much of an effort.Villagers would pass him by and shake their heads. "That boy will never amount to anything," they’d whisper. "Such a waste of body. Look at those broad shoulders and strong limbs. If only he had the fire to match."But no one dared challenge him outright. Because behind that half-asleep face and ever-drooping eyelids was something… unnatural. Power shimmered around him like heat waves on a summer road. Wild dogs wouldn't bark near him. The bravest children never pulled his hair in jest. Birds never dared land on his thatch roof, and even the village's most stubborn goats avoided him.Laro, however, paid no attention to such things. His favorite place was beneath the wide baobab tree near the central market. There he lay every day, sprawled out like a ragdoll, chewing on wild grass and watching the clouds drift. His mother, Mama Nunu, had long given up trying to rouse him. She often stood in her doorway, hands on hips, muttering, "Even the gods must be tired of this one."One day, the peace of Nduria was shattered. A cry echoed from the eastern forest—the voice of a hunter, then another, and another. Soon, people were fleeing the trees. A beast had awoken in the Heartwood, an ancient monster of roots and rage. The villagers gathered, trembling."We must fight!" shouted the chief’s son, Olumo. "We must protect our homes!"But none were brave enough to face the beast. The hunters had tried—and failed. The creature, called Ojukwu the Root Terror, had returned after two centuries of slumber, and it was tearing the forest apart.Mama Nunu stood at her gate, staring down the road. "Perhaps now my son will rise," she whispered, more to the wind than to anyone else.Laro remained beneath the baobab. When the cries reached the market, he yawned. When the ground trembled with the steps of the monster, he scratched his belly.Olumo marched to him, furious. "Laro! You lazy worm! Do you not see what is coming?"Laro blinked, slowly. "I see.""Then get up! Fight with us. You have strength—we all know it.""Too hot," Laro mumbled."Your village will burn!" Olumo barked."Too noisy," Laro groaned.In frustration, Olumo raised his hand to strike Laro, but the moment he did, a gust of force slammed him backward, as if the air itself had taken offense.Laro sighed. "Don’t do that."The villagers gasped. No one had ever seen him react. Ever.The next day, Ojukwu reached the village outskirts. Trees cracked and crumbled under its weight. It was taller than any hut, eyes glowing green like swamp fire, roots writhing like snakes. Panic ensued. Children were carried away, pots abandoned, goats left bleating in the streets.Mama Nunu walked to the baobab. She didn’t beg. She didn’t plead. She only dropped a calabash of water beside her son and said, "If this is to be our end, let it not be with shame."Then she walked away.Laro stared at the calabash. He stared at the clouds. He stared at the shaking ground. He exhaled.Then—he moved.It wasn’t fast. It wasn’t sudden. But it was movement. His body shifted. He pushed himself up, vertebrae clicking like dry twigs. His limbs unfolded. His back straightened.And the earth stilled.From every corner of Nduria, eyes turned. The boy who never rose was standing. He walked—no, strolled—toward the edge of the village, where Ojukwu towered over the last line of huts.The beast roared.Laro yawned.With a flick of his wrist, the sky darkened. Thunder cracked. Not with sound, but with silence—deep, oppressive silence. The trees bent toward him, roots retracting from his path.Ojukwu paused.Laro lifted a single finger.A gust of wind, sharp and precise, cleaved the air. It met the beast’s chest. There was no explosion, no dramatic light. Just a soft sigh.And the monster crumbled.The silence that followed was heavy. Then came a cheer. Then many. The villagers rushed forward, but Laro had already turned. He was walking back.He returned to the baobab. Lay down. Exhaled."That," he muttered, "was exhausting."Mama Nunu smiled.From that day on, no one questioned Laro. No one prodded or pleaded. They brought him food without asking. They cleaned his corner without complaint. Because they knew—The slouching boy was their quiet shield.And though he was too lazy to lift a hand most days, the one time he did… the world listened.Chapter One: The Boy Who Never Sat StraightLaro had a reputation.He was the only boy in the entire village of Udala who could sleep through the midday drum festival. The village's biggest celebration—full of booming drums, high-pitched

CHAPTER ONE......... THE I wasn’t expecting anyone. The knock came again — soft but deliberate. Something told me not to open it. My stomach tightened with old fear. I pulled the curtain and peeped. The breath I held escaped with a gasp. It was him. Dimeji. Five years, and the man still had the power to unsteady my heartbeat. But he looked…different. Tired. Worn. His clothes were clean, but his skin carried shadows. Not just the ones from the sun — but the kind that haunt from within. I didn’t open the door right away. I needed to breathe. To remember who I was now. I cracked the door. “What do you want?” “Amara,” he said, his voice gravel and shame. “I came to beg.” I stepped out, locking the door behind me. “You’ve got two minutes.” He swallowed. “I’ve been suffering. Everything’s gone — my shop, my savings, my health. I’ve been to hospitals, churches… but nothing is working.” I stared. He licked his lips nervously. “The herbalist — the one who did the covenant — he said if the bond isn’t restored, I will die. He said only you can save me.” I laughed. It sounded ugly, bitter. “You want me back to save your life. Not because you love me.” “I regret everything, Amara. I didn’t know what I had. I was foolish, proud… cruel. I know that now.” “Good,” I said. “But you forgot something: you swore. You forced me to swear. You made me kneel in front of that shrine. You made me bleed to seal a covenant I never wanted.” He fell to his knees. On the dusty, dirty ground. “Please. I don’t want to die. Come back, even if for a short time. Break the curse. We can go back to the shrine — reverse it. I’ll do anything.” I looked at the man who once made me feel worthless. Now, he was the one begging for worth. But was it enough? CHAPTER TWO. THE ECHOES WIN I couldn't sleep that night. I lay on my bed, eyes wide open, listening to the crickets chirping in the darkness, as Dimeji's words repeated in my mind like a scratched record. "I’ll die if you don’t come back." "It’s the covenant." "Only you can save me." Why did I still feel responsible for a man who had broken me? Why did my heart beat faster at the thought of his suffering? I had spent the last five years in therapy, prayer, fasting, and rebuilding. I had grown into a woman with boundaries, into someone who could look at herself in the mirror and say, "I matter." But now, Dimeji’s reappearance had shaken the ground beneath me. I walked to the kitchen and poured water into a cup. My fingers trembled slightly. I remembered how he used to slam doors, how he would call me useless when I made a mistake, how I cried myself to sleep countless nights. But then I also remembered our wedding day… the vows, the dance, the brief spark of hope. The shrill ring of my phone startled me. I checked the screen — it was my friend, Bisola. "Hey, I was just thinking of you," I said, forcing a smile into my voice. "Amara, are you okay?" she asked immediately. "You didn’t sound right earlier." I hesitated. "He came." "Who?" I didn’t need to say more. Her gasp said it all. "Dimeji? Are you kidding me? After all these years?" "He said the covenant is haunting him. That he’s dying." There was silence on the line for a moment. Then, Bisola said, "Let him die. That’s not your burden anymore." I knew she was right. But still… "Amara," she continued gently, "don’t let guilt dress up as love. You saved yourself once. Don’t let him pull you back into that hell." I nodded, even though she couldn’t see me. But the war had already begun inside me. CHAPTER THREE....... THREATS OF THE PAST The next morning, I walked down to Mama Chinyere’s shop to buy vegetables. I hoped some sun and market noise would distract me. It didn’t. Instead, memories floated up like smoke. I remembered the first slap. It was on a Sunday afternoon. He accused me of flirting with a neighbor. I had laughed, thinking he was joking. Then — crack. My cheek caught fire. I didn’t speak to anyone about it. I told myself it was a mistake. The second slap came two weeks later. Then came fists. Then came silence. But the worst was not the physical pain. It was the emotional prison. The fear of saying the wrong thing. The way he isolated me from my family. How he made me believe I was nothing without him. When I reached the shop, Mama Chinyere noticed my distant look. “My daughter, wetin dey worry you?” I si