CHAPTER 4_ Truth Has a Price
1014 Words
Zikora did not lose sleep over women.
He lost sleep over uncertainty.
And Chioma was uncertainty.
Three days after making the call, Emeka walked into his office with a slim brown envelope.
“No digital trail,” Emeka said quietly. “Very clean life.”
Zikora leaned back in his chair.
“Start talking.”
Emeka opened the file.
“Chioma Nnamdi. Age thirty. Works as a cleaner for four years. Lives in Surulere. One-bedroom apartment. No criminal record. No history of fraud. No questionable associations.”
Zikora’s jaw tightened slightly.
“And before four years?”
“She worked part-time jobs. Supermarket cashier. Restaurant attendant. Hospital cleaning staff.”
Zikora’s fingers tapped slowly on the desk.
“Any… relationships?”
Emeka shook his head.
“Nothing official. No registered marriage. No cohabitation record. Neighbors describe her as quiet. Keeps to herself.”
“And the child?”
Emeka hesitated.
“Kene Nnamdi. Six years old. Born two weeks after you left Nigeria.”
Silence.
Thick. Heavy.
Zikora did not blink.
“Continue.”
“No father listed on the birth certificate.”
That made his eyes flicker.
“What?”
“No father listed. Only mother’s name.”
Zikora’s heartbeat shifted.
“That’s… unusual.”
“Yes.”
Emeka studied him carefully.
“You want DNA confirmation?”
The question lingered in the air like smoke.
Zikora stood up slowly and walked toward the window.
Six years old.
Born two week after he left.
No father listed.
His mind replayed that night again.
The message.
I know what you did.
Her calls.
Her messages.
Her silence after.
He had never asked.
He had assumed.
“I want complete medical records,” he said finally. “Hospital details. Everything.”
Emeka nodded. “It will take a few days.”
“I don’t care how.”
When the door closed, Zikora exhaled sharply.
This was not coincidence anymore.
This was a possibility.
And possibility was dangerous.
Meanwhile, Chioma was trying to pretend her world was not shifting again.
She felt it.
His eyes.
His questions.
The way he asked about Kene.
She knew that look.
Zikora only asked questions when he was thinking ten steps ahead.
During lunch break, she sat quietly near the staircase again.
But this time, someone followed her.
“Madam Survivor,” Ebele announced dramatically, carrying two sachets of pure water.
Chioma sighed. “Ebele, not today.”
“Not today ke? Na today pass!” Ebele sat beside her. “Your face don change since that fine billionaire start dey waka around like lion.”
Chioma looked away.
“I’m fine.”
Ebele hissed loudly.
“See ehn, no try that ‘I’m fine’ with me. I know you since SS2. When you dey lie, your left eyebrow dey shake small.”
Chioma blinked.
“It does not.”
“It does!” Ebele insisted.
Silence stretched.
Then Ebele’s voice softened slightly.
“He talk to you, abi?”
Chioma nodded.
“Wetin he talk?”
“He asked about my son.”
Ebele froze.
“He what?”
“He asked how old Kene is.”
Ebele stared at her like someone who just connected invisible dots.
“How old Kene be again?”
“Six.”
Ebele slowly turned her head.
“Chioma…”
“Don’t,” Chioma warned quietly.
“No, no. We go talk am today.” Ebele leaned closer. “Six years old. Born after that boy disappear. No father name anywhere. And you think say this matter no go rise?”
Chioma’s chest tightened.
“I didn’t plan for this.”
“You no need plan am! Life plan am for you!” Ebele whispered fiercely. “Does he suspect?”
“I don’t know.”
Ebele leaned back and exhaled.
“Okay. Calm down. Let’s think.”
Chioma closed her eyes briefly.
“I don’t want him near my son.”
Ebele nodded immediately.
“That one sure.”
“I survived alone. I carried pregnancy alone. I gave birth alone. I suffered alone. Now he comes back with suit and accent and money and wants to ask questions?”
Her voice broke slightly.
Ebele’s eyes softened.
“Chioma…”
“I begged him to listen seven years ago. He didn’t. He chose pride. Now he wants clarity?”
Tears gathered in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall.
Ebele grabbed her hand.
“Listen to me. If that boy is Kene’s father…”
Chioma looked away.
“…then truth go show face one day. You can’t hide forever.”
“I’m not hiding.”
“You are.”
Silence.
“You’re protecting,” Ebele corrected softly.
Chioma swallowed.
“Yes.”
Ebele sighed.
“Does he deserve to know?”
That question hung like a blade.
Chioma didn’t answer.
Because she didn’t know.
Back in his office, Zikora opened the hospital record Emeka had just forwarded.
Mother: Chioma Nnamdi
Delivery: Natural
Complications: Stress-induced high blood pressure during labor
Father: Not provided.
He stared at the screen.
Stress-induced.
Seven years ago, she had been calling him nonstop.
Crying.
Begging to explain.
He had blocked her.
His chest tightened in a way he did not appreciate.
Was she pregnant then?
Was she alone?
His fingers clenched.
No.
He refused to let emotion cloud judgment.
If the child was his, he would know.
And if she had lied…
He would destroy every illusion she built.
That evening, Chioma returned home exhausted.
Kene ran to her as usual.
“Mummy!”
She held him tightly — tighter than normal.
Ebele watched from the corner of the room.
And for the first time, even Ebele was not joking.
Chioma kissed her son’s hair.
Whatever storm was coming, she would stand in front of it.
Even if that storm was Zikora Donald.
Across the city, Zikora stared at a printed photograph Emeka had slipped into the file.
It was taken outside Kene’s school.
The boy was laughing.
Bright eyes.
Sharp jawline.
Familiar.
Too familiar.
Zikora’s fingers tightened around the photo.
His heart did something unfamiliar.
- Writer
