THE ROAD TO ME

Chapter 9

The next morning, as I stood by the door, ready to leave for the shoot, I found my father in the sitting room, his stern gaze locked on me.

“Happy, where are you going now?” he asked, his voice low, yet carrying an unmistakable tone of suspicion.

I stood frozen, the weight of the moment heavy on my chest. My heart raced, but I forced myself to speak.

“I have to go for a film shoot. It’s a job, Dad. I’ve been selected for a role, and I can’t turn it down.”

His eyes narrowed, and his jaw clenched. “A role? In what? You think you can just abandon your responsibilities for this... this nonsense? I told you this would never happen. You will not go anywhere.”

My chest tightened as his words hit me like a slap. But I refused to back down. The life I wanted was not one I could live in secret anymore.

“I understand you don’t approve,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “But this is my dream. This is my career. I can’t let fear control my future.”

He stood up abruptly, his face red with anger. “Fear? You think I’m afraid? I’ve worked hard to raise you, and this is how you repay me? You want to disgrace this family for a foolish dream?”

Tears welled up in my eyes, but I held them back, determined to stay strong.

“No, Dad. It’s not foolish. It’s my choice. My life. And I’m asking you to respect that.”

“If you dare leave this house for any nonsense movie stuff, don’t ever return. Because if you come back, I might do something stupid. Something everyone will regret,” he said, storming toward the door and slamming it behind him with a finality that shook me to the core.

I collapsed onto the couch, the weight of his rejection sinking in. But there was also a sense of relief. I had spoken my truth, and I had finally stepped into my own power.

My mum, siblings, and cousin begged me not to go. They suggested I call the movie people and tell them I wasn’t interested, but I couldn’t bring myself to do that. I don’t know what came over me, but I left the house anyway. The film shoot was everything I had hoped for and more.

On set, I felt alive in a way I hadn’t felt in years. The director and crew were kind and supportive, and I poured every ounce of my being into the role. As the days passed, my cousin kept calling me. “Happy, please come back, don’t wait for seven days.” I was so scared that I went to the director and asked if I could leave early. He was shocked.

“Happy, no one leaves after being established in so many scenes. Please, we still have four days left.” I explained to him what I was going through, and he looked at me sympathetically.

“This is normal, Happy,” he said. “The pressure, the rejection, it’s something everyone from a traditional Christian home must face if they choose a career like this. Listen, calm down and finish the job. You’re here already. The least you’ll do is build yourself up, but the truth is, you’ve already achieved something—being here. You’re part of this world now.”

I felt so relieved after his words.

My cousin called again, and I told him I had heard him. I would be back when I was done, and whatever happened would happen. I realized that the fear of my father’s disapproval no longer controlled me. I was becoming the person I had always wanted to be—a woman confident in her choices, her dreams, and her path.

But even as I embraced this new chapter, a part of me wondered what the future would hold with my father. Would he ever come around? Would he ever see me as more than just the daughter he once knew?

Nancy checked in on me every day, her words of encouragement pushing me forward. “You’ve got this, Happy. One step at a time. This is your future, and no one can take it away from you.”

But deep down, I knew the biggest challenge was still ahead. The road to my future was a difficult one, and the hardest part was yet to come.

The final days on set had come and gone—and just like that, it was a wrap. The cameras stopped rolling, the crew clapped, and everyone began to pack up, ready to return to their normal lives.

But I wasn’t ready.

As the excitement of our final scene faded, a cold wave of fear settled over me. Home. I remembered the storm that was surely waiting for me there.

It was Friday, and I needed one more day—just one. So I turned to Nancy and asked, hesitantly, “Can I stay over at your place tonight? I have class at the Creative Media Arts Academy tomorrow morning.”

Without hesitation, she said yes.

That night at her house was a beautiful kind of escape. We laughed, played music, and I shared every detail of my time on set—the scenes I loved, the moments I fumbled, the directors I admired. Nancy listened like a true friend, wide-eyed and excited for me.

Before bed, I finally created a f*******: account for myself. It felt like stepping out of hiding. I uploaded some of the pictures I had taken on set—posing with stars, behind-the-scenes moments, and a few candid smiles that captured everything I was too afraid to say out loud.

That night, under Nancy’s roof, I felt like I was truly becoming the person I dreamed of being.

The next day, during class, my cousin called. “Happy, don’t even dream of coming home again. Your dad promised to end your life if he sees you in his house. He’s so serious. He’d rather end you and end the shame of you being an actor than watch you become a prostitute, all in the name of passion for a nonsense career.” I started crying.

Nancy asked me what happened, and I told her. She was deeply saddened for me. I asked if I could stay with her for a few more days, but she said no; her mother wouldn’t accept that.

At that moment, I realized how misguided my courage and confidence had been.

When we got back to Nancy’s house, her mother was already at the door—waiting, arms folded, with a look that said everything before she even opened her mouth.

“Take your bag and leave,” she said coldly, handing it over without giving me a chance to breathe.

I tried to explain what had happened, told her about the robbery, the plaza, everything. But she didn’t care. She shook her head and said, “It suits you. You brought this upon yourself.”

Her words cut deep, but I said nothing. I simply took my bag and walked out into the street, unsure where my feet were taking me. I just walked.

Eventually, I found myself back at Uyo Plaza in Akwa Ibom State. I sat there, exhausted and hollow, staring at the people passing by. The sky darkened slowly, and sadness settled in my chest like a heavy stone. No home. No money. No plan.

I kept calling my cousin. Each time, he gave the same response, like a broken record:

“Just stay somewhere for now. Once the house is calm, I’ll let you know.”

Stay where?

Where on earth will I stay?

I asked myself that question over and over, but the silence in return was deafening.

I wrapped my arms around myself and stayed in that lonely corner of the world, praying the night wouldn’t swallow me whole.

That night, I had no choice but to share the open plaza with a few homeless people. The concrete was cold and unwelcoming, and the only comfort I had was the bag I used as a pillow—stuffed with nothing but dirty clothes. I tried to sleep with one eye open, clutching the rest of my belongings close. But sleep still came, heavy and restless.

By morning, the sun’s harsh light woke me—and so did the sinking realization that something was wrong.

My phone was gone.

My bags—gone.

Only the one I used as a pillow remained, untouched because it held nothing of value.

I shot up, heart pounding, eyes scanning the plaza. I screamed, ran around in circles, calling out as if the thieves would magically return what they’d taken. But everything was gone.

Everything.

I dropped to the ground, knees hitting the rough pavement, and cried. Not just because of the stolen items—but because of what it all meant. I had no money. No way to call anyone. No clothes except the ones on my back and a bag of laundry that smelled like exhaustion.

It was Sunday morning. The plaza was nearly empty, just silence and shadows.

This is life, Happy, I thought. The real, unforgiving kind.

How do I survive now?

Fortunately, as I sat there, drained and broken, someone recognized me.

“Aren’t you the lady we acted with last week, from the Creative Media Arts Academy?” he asked.

I admitted it was me and shared my story with him.

“Oh my God,” he said. “Your father is heartless. You mean you slept here?”

I nodded.

“Jeez, Happy, I’m so sorry. Come with me.”

He took me to a place I recognized as the hotel we stayed in during the movie shoot. He got me a room, let me freshen up, and brought me something to eat. I stayed in the room, crying, though thankful for the kindness of a stranger.

He left me there and went home, returning soon after.

“I stay in the next compound with my parents and my twin brother,” he said. “I’m so sorry for what you’ve been through. What’s your plan now? Are you going home?”

My cousin had said he would call me when things were calm, but the bad news was, I had lost my phone. We wouldn’t be able to communicate.

“Oh God,” I thought. “What do we do now?” he asked.

I said nothing.

The room felt suffocatingly quiet, my thoughts echoing in the silence. The kindness this stranger had shown me was overwhelming, yet I couldn’t shake the sense of hopelessness creeping in. How had I come to this? The girl who had stepped out with nothing but dreams was now alone, homeless, and cut off from everything she once knew.

He sat beside me, his expression filled with sympathy. “Happy, I can’t imagine what you’re going through. But you can’t go back to that place—your father’s house. What you need now is a fresh start, not just in your career, but in life.”

His words hit me harder than I expected. The reality of what I had left behind—the love, the approval I so desperately sought—suddenly felt so far away. I had sacrificed so much to get here, and now the price was higher than I could have imagined.

“You’re right,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “I can’t go back to that life. But I don’t know what to do next.”

He placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “You don’t have to figure it all out right now. I’ll talk to my twin brother. You can stay with us, but know this: my parents must not know you’re here. They won’t accept you staying if they find out, especially my mum.” He paused, giving me a moment to take it in. “This is how we’ll do it: They go to work at 9 a.m. and return by 7 p.m. Monday to Friday. From 10 a.m. to 5 p.m., you’ll be free in the house, to go anywhere you like. But before they return, you must be home, in the room, and quiet. On Saturdays, you’ll need to stay indoors all day. On Sundays, during church hours—from 8 a.m. to 12 p.m.—you’ll be free to move around. Can you handle that?”

Do I have any option? I’ll do anything as long as I have a place to lay my head. That meant I’d have to cancel my Saturday class. Then I asked, “How about feeding? I don’t even have money on me.”

“Don’t worry,” he reassured me. “Whatever we eat at home, you’ll get. I promise.”

I stayed quietly, taking in what he had said.

“Get some rest and think things through,” he continued. “Let me bring my twin so there can be a formal introduction. But you’ll stay here tonight. Once Mum and Dad are off to work tomorrow, being Monday, you’ll move in. Listen,” he added softly, “do not let fear control you, no matter the circumstances. You’ve come this far, Happy.”

I looked at him, grateful. I wanted to say thank you, but the words stuck in my throat. He had shown me kindness when I felt completely abandoned, and yet, I couldn’t help but feel like I was just delaying the inevitable. My future was still so uncertain.

Later that night, as I lay in the small hotel room, he walked in with his twin brother. “This is Benji,” Benedict introduced. “Benji’s the troublemaker; I’m the nice one.” I forced a smile, trying to make light of the situation, but I still felt uneasy.

After they left, I collapsed onto the bed, unable to sleep. The silence felt suffocating. I couldn’t stop thinking about my father’s harsh words, about everything I had lost. The memories of the love I once had for acting—the passion that had driven me to leave home, to chase a dream against all odds—felt distant, as if they belonged to someone else.

I knew I had made a choice, but at that moment, it didn’t feel like the right one.