A little to no end

Chapter five

If there was one thing Derick knew how to do, it was build trust. He understood it like an architect understood foundations—each brick carefully placed, each wall designed to hold. And to everyone who knew him, he seemed like the perfect structure: strong, generous, unshakable.

At the heart of his trust-building was consistency. He never missed a birthday in Sheyla’s family. Every year, without fail, he appeared with carefully chosen gifts—books for her father, jewelry for her mother, and something thoughtful for Sheyla. One year it was a dictionary she ended up using for every essay; another year, a beautiful handbag her classmates admired. He gave just enough to make each person feel seen, never enough to seem boastful.

“Derick is different,” Sheyla’s mother often said. “Most men only think of themselves, but he thinks of others first.”

Her father agreed. “When we were young, people laughed at him because he studied too hard. Now look—his hard work feeds us all.”

Neighbors nodded along. Derick’s reputation extended beyond their home. He paid school fees for two children on the street, helped an old woman repair her leaking roof, and once even covered the hospital bill for a family that barely knew him. These stories spread like wildfire, shaping him into a legend.

“Ah, if every man were like Brother Derick,” people said, “Nigeria would be a different place.”

At Sheyla’s school, teachers adored him too. He often donated books, sometimes showing up with boxes of novels and encyclopedias.

“Young people must read,” he declared. “Knowledge is the key to freedom.”

The principal, Mrs. Lawson, would beam with pride. “Students, clap for Uncle Derick! He is a true son of the community.”

Sheyla would clap too, caught up in the applause, her own voice joining the chorus. In those moments, she forgot the unease. In those moments, she believed she was lucky.

Even Mimi, sharp-tongued and suspicious by nature, softened when she saw the bigger picture.

“Your uncle is a saint,” she admitted one afternoon, watching as Derick donated new computers to the school’s lab. “I still think he’s too generous, but… maybe I misjudged him.”

Sheyla felt relief at the words. Relief, because she wanted it to be true. She wanted her discomfort to be nothing more than her imagination. If everyone else trusted him, maybe she was wrong.

Derick also knew how to win over Sheyla directly, without making her feel pressured. He asked about her dreams, her favorite books, her fears. He listened carefully, never interrupting, always affirming.

When she confessed once that she was afraid of failing her exams, he leaned forward and said, “Sheyla, you are destined for greatness. I will make sure nothing stops you. Do you believe me?”

She had nodded, eyes wide, feeling a warmth spread through her.

He smiled. “Good. Because I don’t make promises I can’t keep.”

Those words stayed with her, echoing louder each time she doubted herself.

At church, the trust deepened. He was active in committees, donated quietly without ever boasting, and offered rides home to families who lived far. The pastor once dedicated a sermon to him, citing his generosity as an example of true Christian brotherhood.

“Brother Derick reminds us that faith without works is dead,” the pastor declared. “May the Lord increase men like him.”

The congregation murmured their agreement.

Sitting between her parents, Sheyla felt a surge of pride. Her parents’ faces glowed with admiration, and even she thought, Maybe this is what goodness really looks like. Maybe my doubts are just childish fears.

It wasn’t only grand gestures that built his reputation. It was the small, everyday acts of care. When Sheyla caught the flu, he sent fresh fruit to the house with a note: Rest well, scholar. The world needs your mind. When her father’s car broke down, Derick quietly paid for the mechanic. When her mother’s birthday came, he arranged a surprise cake delivered to the house.

No one questioned his motives. Why would they? Every action seemed rooted in kindness.

One evening, after he left, Sheyla overheard her mother saying softly to her father, “Sometimes I think he loves Sheyla like his own daughter.”

Her father nodded. “She deserves someone like him guiding her. It’s God’s providence.”

Sheyla’s throat tightened, but she said nothing. She wanted to believe it too.

At school the following week, a small incident cemented his saintly image further. A boy in her class, Daniel, teased her about the silver watch. “Your uncle must be sugar daddy,” he sneered, loud enough for others to hear.

The class erupted in laughter. Sheyla’s face burned.

But later that day, Derick showed up unexpectedly, delivering a speech in assembly about valuing education over material things. He didn’t mention her name, but his words carried weight.

“True worth is not measured by what you wear,” he said, his voice steady. “It is measured by what you carry inside—your discipline, your character, your knowledge.”

Teachers applauded. Students whispered. And just like that, the teasing stopped.

Sheyla realized with a mixture of shame and relief that no one doubted him—not her classmates, not her teachers, not even Mimi anymore. The narrative was fixed: Derick was the man everyone wished they knew.

That evening, as she sat with him in the car on the way home, she finally dared to speak.

“Uncle, why do you do all this? For me, for everyone?”

He smiled, eyes on the road. “Because I can. And because people need to know they are worth the effort.” He glanced at her briefly, then added, “You, especially.”

Her chest tightened. But when he dropped her off and waved at her parents with cheerful ease, she found herself smiling too. For a brief moment, she let herself believe the simple story everyone else did: that he was a blessing, pure and unquestionable.

Though Derick’s reputation in the community glowed like a polished crown, the deeper bond he built with Sheyla was far quieter, more intimate, and more dangerous.

He knew how to speak to her in ways no one else seemed to. Her parents often praised her achievements, but their words carried the weight of expectation. Teachers applauded her brilliance, but they spoke to her as a student, never as a person. Mimi cared deeply, but her affection was wrapped in teasing banter.

Derick was different.

When Sheyla doubted herself, he listened without interruption. He never rushed her or dismissed her worries. Sometimes, when she admitted fears about failing or not being good enough, he would lean forward with calm conviction.

“You don’t see what I see, Sheyla,” he would say softly. “I see someone rare, someone meant to shine brighter than the rest. The world will catch up to you one day. Until then, let me remind you.”

Those words lingered with her. She found herself repeating them in her mind when exams loomed, when classmates whispered jealous comments, when she felt small. It wasn’t just advice—it felt like a lifeline.

Derick also had a way of noticing details others overlooked. If she wore her hair differently, he complimented her effort. If she was unusually quiet, he asked gently, “Long day?” If she answered with only a shrug, he didn’t push—he simply sat in the silence with her, making her feel less alone.

It was these small moments that stitched a fragile thread of trust between them. Sheyla began to think of him as the one person who truly saw her.

Sometimes, when Mimi teased her about always praising “Uncle Derick,” Sheyla would laugh defensively. “You don’t get it. He believes in me. Not just like parents do—but like… he really knows me.”

Mimi would roll her eyes, but Sheyla meant it. She had never said those words aloud to anyone else, but in her heart, she clung to them.

For Derick, these interactions were deliberate. He knew how to craft intimacy without crossing the obvious lines. By framing himself as both mentor and confidant, he created a sanctuary that Sheyla began to rely on. And once trust deepened into reliance, reliance grew into quiet devotion.

To her, Derick became a safe place, an anchor in the chaos of adolescence, someone who was both family and friend. To him, it was a carefully built fortress of influence—one where suspicion could not enter, because the foundation was too solid.

And so, in the privacy of their conversations, in the gentle affirmations and subtle encouragements, the trust between Sheyla and Derick deepened into something unshakable. She did not yet realize it, but every word, every gesture, was another strand in the web that held her fast.