THE TASTE OF FREEDOM
1019 Words
Amaka didn’t like how she stays at home alone whenever Victor had to attend lectures,she feels like she had to work earn some money and support Victor,at least he's trying his best....she'll sneak out to look for part time jobs and make sure she returned home before Victor comes back after days of trying she finally found a*****e to work part time,she was so happy but thinking about how Victor will react pissed her off.
Later that day,when Victor came back from school ,she explained everything to him,his looked changed and he kept asking if he make her uncomfortable in any way but her reply was still no, she just wants to find something doing,after series of arguments Victor
agreed since the work is not stressful,it's just for her to look after the store when the store owner is not around...so he agreed and she resumed work the following day
The sun was high when Amaka stepped out of the store, wiping sweat from her brow. Her back ached, her feet throbbed in the cheap sneakers she wore, and her belly—only slightly rounded at three months—was already starting to feel heavier with each passing day. But still, she smiled.
Because she was working.
Because for once, she wasn’t just depending on someone else. She was earning her own way—even if it was just a few naira per hour stacking shelves and managing the small counter at the corner mart.
Victor didn’t like it. Not one bit.
---
“You shouldn’t be working in your condition,” he said the night she told him.
They sat on the small rug in his dorm, a bowl of rice and stew between them. He’d cooked—well, attempted to—and the taste made her smile. Victor wasn’t the best cook, but he tried.
“I’m pregnant, Victor, not paralyzed,” she said with a teasing smile, tapping his shoulder. “I want to help. You’ve done so much already, letting me stay here, buying things for the baby…”
He shook his head. “You don’t owe me anything, Amaka.”
“I know,” she said gently. “But I want to stand on my own two feet. Just a little bit. Let me do this, please.”
His jaw clenched. He wanted to say more. But then he looked into her eyes and saw the fire there—the strength, the pride, the quiet rebellion that had always made her different.
“Fine,” he murmured, sighing. “Just promise me you’ll take care of yourself.”
“I promise,” she said, grinning.
---
The store wasn’t glamorous, but it gave Amaka a new kind of joy. The owner, an older woman named Mama Bisi, took a liking to her quickly.
“You’re a strong girl,” she’d said one day, handing Amaka a sachet of cold pure water. “No husband, no parents around, yet you’re still smiling. God will bless you, my daughter.”
Amaka smiled, her heart swelling with gratitude. She didn’t tell Mama Bisi that she cried herself to sleep some nights, or that she missed her parents—even after everything they’d said. She just kept working, one shift at a time.
But not everything was peaceful.
---
The messages continued.
The anonymous f*******: account kept sending her words like seeds dropped into her heart, slowly growing into curiosity and confusion.
> “I wish I could take care of you the way you deserve.”
> “I made mistakes. But I want to be better—for you.”
The messages were becoming more personal. Too personal.
Amaka tried to ignore them. She never replied, never asked who it was. But she couldn’t help wondering. How did this person know about her condition?How did they know so much?
She started checking her phone more often. Her heart would race when she saw the notification. Part of her was scared. Part of her was intrigued.
But she still didn’t know: it was Kelvin.
One evening…
Amaka came back from her shift to find Victor pacing the room, phone in hand, a troubled look on his face.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, setting down her bag.
He looked up, startled. “Your… your mom called me.”
Amaka’s stomach flipped. “What?”
“She found my number, probably from your old phone. She said she’s been trying to reach you. She sounded… different. Calmer. Said she wanted to talk.”
Amaka’s throat tightened. She hadn’t spoken to her mother since the night everything fell apart. Just hearing about her made the memories rush back—her mother’s hand raised, the sting of rejection, the harsh words.
“What did you tell her?” she asked softly.
“I didn’t say much,” Victor replied. “Just that you were okay. and i'm checking on you regularly, but i didn't tell.her you're staying with me,she asked if you were eating well, if you were… safe.”
Amaka sat down slowly, her hands trembling.
“Do you want to talk to her?”
She shook her head, blinking away tears. “Not yet.”
Later that night…
Amaka lay in Victor’s bed, curled up on her side. He was still studying, eyes glued to his laptop at the small desk. The light from the screen cast a soft glow across his features.
She watched him, warmth blooming in her chest.
He had given her so much—his bed, his space, his heart.
But something inside her felt unsettled.
Her phone buzzed again.
Another message.
> “I miss you, Amaka. Every single day. I know I failed you. But I’m still here. Watching. Waiting.”
She stared at the screen for a long moment, her fingers hovering over the keyboard.
Who are you? she almost typed.
But she didn’t.
Instead, she turned off her phone and rolled onto her side, burying her face in the pillow.
Victor didn’t know about the messages. She hadn’t told him. And somehow, that secret felt heavier than it should.....
- Writer
