Barrister Ada

Chapter 7: Second Envelope*

Chapter 7: Second Envelope

The photo was still under my pillow.

I took it out every night.

Sometimes I stared at it for only a few minutes. Other nights, I could spend almost an hour studying every detail.

My mother's smile.

Baby me in her arms.

The faded background.

The way her fingers were wrapped protectively around my tiny body.

No name.

No words.

Just her eyes.

I kept wondering who had taken the picture.

And more importantly, who had kept it all these years?

Who sent it to me?

I had asked Aunty Ngozi several times whether she knew anyone who could have sent it.

She always gave me the same answer.

"I don't know, Ada."

That answer was beginning to frighten me.

Because if she didn't know, then neither did I.

And whoever had sent it knew where I was.

That was the part I couldn't stop thinking about.

Someone knew my name.

Someone knew where to find me.

But why?

A week passed.

Nothing happened.

No strange phone call.

No visitor.

No second photograph.

Slowly, I began to convince myself that maybe the whole thing was nothing.

Maybe someone had found the photograph and simply wanted to return it.

Maybe it was a relative who didn't know how to approach me.

Maybe the person was genuinely trying to help.

I tried to push the questions out of my mind.

I focused on bead work.

I focused on school.

I focused on the scholarship.

Resumption was getting closer.

Friday.

Four days away.

I had already started thinking about the books I needed to pack.

Then, on Sunday evening, everything changed.

Bead work was over for the day.

Most of the children at the shelter had gone inside, and the women were packing away their materials.

I sat outside with Tolu, sorting the remaining beads by color.

Red.

Blue.

White.

Green.

My fingers moved automatically.

I wasn't really paying attention.

My mind was somewhere else.

School.

The scholarship.

My mother.

The photograph.

Tolu noticed.

"You've been quiet all evening."

"I'm fine."

She gave me a look.

"You and that 'I'm fine.'"

I smiled weakly.

"What?"

"You always say you're fine when you're thinking too much."

I shrugged.

"I was just thinking about resumption."

"You're worried about the test?"

"No."

"The scholarship?"

"A little."

She picked up a blue bead.

"You'll be fine."

I smiled.

"I hope so."

Before she could say anything else, a knock came from Aunty Ngozi's office.

A moment later, the security man appeared at the doorway.

"Ma."

Aunty Ngozi looked up from the money she was counting.

"Yes?"

The man hesitated.

"Another envelope for Adaora Okafor."

My stomach dropped.

Not again.

The bead slipped from my fingers.

Tolu looked at me.

Aunty Ngozi slowly put down the money.

"Another envelope?"

The security man nodded.

"Yes, ma."

"Who brought it?"

"I don't know."

"Did you see the person?"

He shook his head.

"He dropped it at the gate and left."

Aunty Ngozi stood.

"Bring it."

The security man handed her the envelope.

My heart was beating so loudly that I could barely hear anything else.

It was the same brown envelope.

No stamp.

No address.

No name.

Just my name.

Adaora Okafor.

Written on the front.

I stared at it.

The first envelope had contained the photograph.

Now there was another one.

Aunty Ngozi looked at me.

"Come here."

I moved closer.

Tolu followed.

Aunty Ngozi didn't open it immediately.

She examined the envelope carefully.

She turned it over.

Nothing.

She checked the edges.

Still nothing.

"Same type of envelope," she murmured.

My throat felt dry.

"Open it."

She looked at me.

"Are you sure?"

I nodded.

She carefully tore it open.

Tolu moved closer.

Aunty Ngozi reached inside.

She pulled out a small folded piece of paper.

Nothing else.

No photograph.

No money.

No explanation.

Just one piece of paper.

She unfolded it.

Her eyes moved across the page.

Then she stopped.

"What?"

I asked.

She didn't answer immediately.

She handed it to me.

I looked down.

The handwriting was rough.

The letters were written in block capitals.

There were only seven words.

DON'T TRUST EVERYONE AT SCHOOL. - A FRIEND

I read it once.

Then again.

My fingers began to shake.

"Someone knows I'm going back to school," I whispered.

Tolu grabbed my hand.

"What does that mean?"

I couldn't answer.

My mind immediately searched through every face I knew.

Every student.

Every teacher.

Every prefect.

Every person who had ever spoken to me.

Then Chika's face appeared.

Her mocking smile.

Her words.

So you're the new scholarship girl now?

Let's see if your aunty will pay till SS3.

Could she have sent it?

But why would Chika call herself a friend?

Maybe she wasn't the sender.

Maybe someone else at school had seen something.

Something I hadn't noticed.

Someone who knew what was happening.

Aunty Ngozi read the note again.

Her expression had changed.

The warmth disappeared from her face.

"This is not a joke."

I looked at her.

She folded the paper slowly.

"Someone is watching you, Ada."

The words made my stomach twist.

"Watching me?"

She nodded.

"Someone came here once and left a photograph."

She held up the paper.

"Now someone has come again."

Tolu swallowed.

"Maybe it's someone who wants to help."

Her voice was small.

Aunty Ngozi looked at her.

"Maybe."

She paused.

"Or someone who wants to scare her."

The shelter suddenly felt different.

The same compound.

The same tables.

The same beads.

The same people.

But now I couldn't stop wondering whether someone was standing outside the gate watching us.

I looked toward the entrance.

Nobody was there.

Still, I felt exposed.

Aunty Ngozi turned to me.

"Resumption is Friday."

I nodded.

"But after this..."

She hesitated.

"Ada, maybe you should not go back to the hostel yet."

My chest tightened.

"Not go back?"

She nodded.

"At least until we understand who is sending these things."

"But..."

My mind immediately went to Mrs. Ade.

The scholarship form.

Seventy percent next term.

My future.

Everything I had worked for.

"But, ma... the test."

I swallowed.

"The scholarship."

My voice broke.

"If I don't resume, they can replace me."

Aunty Ngozi sighed.

She sat beside me.

"I'm not saying no."

She placed a hand over mine.

"I'm saying be careful."

I stared at her.

"Someone knows your name."

I said nothing.

"Someone knows your school."

I swallowed.

"They know where you are staying."

My stomach twisted.

"And they have come here twice."

The reality settled over me.

She was right.

This wasn't just a random letter.

Whoever had sent it knew enough about me to find me.

But why?

Aunty Ngozi folded the note and put it carefully inside her drawer.

"We don't know if it's a friend..."

She paused.

"Or your father."

The word father hit me like cold water.

I froze.

My father.

I hadn't heard his name in weeks.

I had tried not to think about him.

I had tried to believe that leaving meant leaving him behind.

But what if he had found me?

What if he knew I was at the shelter?

What if he knew where I went to school?

My hands became cold.

"What if it's him?" I whispered.

Aunty Ngozi didn't answer.

And somehow, her silence frightened me more than anything she could have said.

That night, I couldn't bead.

My fingers shook every time I tried to thread them.

The beads kept slipping from my hands.

One fell onto the floor.

Then another.

I stopped trying.

Tolu stayed back from school to be with me.

She sat on the other side of the room, watching me.

"You're thinking about the envelope."

I nodded.

"Who would warn me like that?"

She was quiet for a moment.

"Someone who sees you."

I looked at her.

"What does that mean?"

"Maybe a teacher."

She counted on her fingers.

"Maybe a girl."

I said nothing.

"Maybe someone who knows your family."

She stopped.

"Or maybe..."

She didn't finish.

"Maybe what?"

Tolu shook her head.

"I don't know."

I looked away.

The room became silent.

I reached under my pillow and pulled out the photograph.

My mother's face stared back at me.

Young.

Smiling.

Holding me.

I wondered whether she had ever imagined that one day her daughter would be sitting in a shelter, afraid of an envelope from a stranger.

Mother was gone.

Father said he was done.

At least, that was what I had believed.

Now a stranger was telling me:

Don't trust everyone.

I held the photograph in one hand and stared at the note in the other.

Two messages.

Two envelopes.

Two mysteries.

And somehow, I felt they were connected.

But I didn't know how.

That night, I opened my notebook.

I stared at the blank page for a long time before writing.

First envelope: My past.

I stopped.

Then I wrote:

Second envelope: A warning.

I looked at the words.

My pen hovered over the page.

Finally, I continued.

I have four days to decide.

Go back to school and risk it.

Or hide at the shelter and lose everything.

I closed my notebook.

For the first time since I ran, school no longer felt like the safest place in my life.

And that frightened me.

Because school was supposed to be my escape.

My future.

The place where I could become someone different.

Someone stronger.

Someone who could one day stand in a courtroom and speak for people who couldn't speak for themselves.

I couldn't let fear take that away.

But I also couldn't ignore the warning.

I lay down and placed the photograph beneath my pillow again.

I closed my eyes.

Sleep didn't come.

Every sound outside made me open my eyes.

Every passing vehicle made me wonder who was inside.

Every footstep made my heart race.

I didn't know who sent the envelopes.

I didn't know whether the sender was trying to protect me or frighten me.

I didn't know whether my father was somewhere out there, looking for me.

But for the first time since I ran, I was afraid to go back.