Set me free

Mother's cry

The sun had barely risen above the trees, casting a pale orange glow over the edge of Odu River. The air was thick with tension, and the murmuring crowd kept a respectful distance as the police sealed off the scene.

Detective Ifeanyi stepped out of his vehicle, the weight in his chest growing heavier with each step toward the riverbank. He had seen bodies before, too many, but something in his gut twisted this time.

When the white sheet was lifted, the breath fled his lungs.

It was Zainab.

Her face—stiff, swollen, lips pale, neck red and bruised. Her tongue protruded slightly, eyes frozen in fear. The once-vibrant girl who had spoken with fire and suspicion, now still, broken.

“No... No, no, no,” Ifeanyi muttered, backing away as if denial could undo the truth. “God, no.”

A scream pierced the air.

Zainab's mother stumbled into the scene, pushing past a constable and collapsing near the sheet.

“Zainab!! Zainab!! No, it can’t be you!”

The detective rushed to her, kneeling beside the sobbing woman. He held her shoulders, but her grief was uncontainable.

“It can't be my daughter,” she cried, grabbing at the sheet as though hoping the body would vanish. “She just went out! She told me she was meeting someone. She said she was helping—she was helping find Amara!”

Detective Ifeanyi swallowed hard, struggling to steady his voice. “We’ll find who did this. I promise you, ma. We will.”

But even as he spoke, guilt clawed at him.

He had missed her calls. He had waited too long.

Now another girl was gone. And this time… it was someone who had been close.

Zainab had known something.

And someone had made sure she never spoke again.

---

The fluorescent light in the police station buzzed faintly, casting a pale yellow hue over the walls. Zainab’s mother sat in the reception area, barely able to hold herself together. Her wrapper was loosely tied, her headscarf hanging unevenly. Beside her sat Kamsi, her eyes red from crying, lips pressed together to hold back another wave of tears.

Detective Ifeanyi approached slowly, gently guiding them toward his office. The moment the door closed, Zainab’s mother let out a soft, broken cry.

“She told me she was going out,” she began, wiping her face with the edge of her wrapper. “She said she was going out with that boy—Damilare. I didn’t ask too many questions. I trusted her judgment. She said it wasn’t far.”

Detective Ifeanyi nodded slowly, pulling out his notepad.

“What time was this?”

“In the afternoon. Around four or so. But when it got dark and she didn’t come back, I started to worry. I called and called—she didn’t answer.”

Kamsi’s voice cracked as she spoke up. “I… I talked to her earlier that day. She said she was going to check something with Damilare. I told her to be careful.”

Detective Ifeanyi looked between the two of them. “Did either of you speak to her after she left?”

“I called,” Zainab’s mother said quickly. “And then, later, I got a text message from her phone… it didn’t sound like her at all.” She dug into her bag with trembling hands and pulled out the phone, offering it to the detective.

He read the message aloud:

“Mummy I’m fine. Don’t wait for me. I’ll be home tomorrow.”

“That’s not how she talks,” the woman said, shaking her head. “It was cold. My Zainab never texted like that. I knew something was wrong.”

Kamsi broke down again, holding her head in her hands.

“I should’ve insisted on going with her. I should’ve—”

“No,” Zainab’s mother interrupted gently, placing a hand on her shoulder. “You didn’t know this would happen.”

Detective Ifeanyi’s face grew darker. “That boy… Damilare. He’s been circling all of you, hasn’t he? Visiting. Acting concerned.”

They nodded silently.

“I need everything you remember about him. Any detail, no matter how small. Right now, all fingers point to him.”

The room fell silent.

Kamsi lifted her head, voice low. “Do you think he also has Amara?”

The detective looked her in the eyes, firm and steady.

“I think we’re finally peeling back the mask. And I promise—this time, he won’t get far.”

---

Ada Nwokedi was arranging a stack of Ankara materials on the counter when Ujunwa, her longtime friend and neighbor, burst into the shop, face pale and lips trembling.

“Ada… Ada!” she gasped, grabbing her arm. “It’s Zainab. She’s—she’s gone.”

Ada blinked at her, confused. “Gone where?”

Ujunwa’s voice cracked. “Dead. They found her body this morning. The police… it’s everywhere already.”

Ada’s hands fell to her side. For a moment, she stood completely still, as if her body was no longer her own. Then the materials scattered to the floor as her knees buckled slightly.

“No,” she whispered. “Zainab? No, it can’t be.”

Her voice rose into a cry as her heart clenched with both fear and grief. Zainab—her daughter’s friend, her own daughter’s heartbeat.

Without saying another word, Ada locked the shop in a hurry, her hands shaking. Her eyes were already wet as she flagged down a passing keke and told the driver to take her straight to Zainab’s house. But when she arrived, another neighbor told her Zainab’s mother had gone to the station.

She got back into the keke without hesitation.

By the time she reached the police station, her chest felt like it would burst from dread.

Inside, she saw the two of them—Detective Ifeanyi standing stiffly beside Zainab’s mother, who was now slumped on the bench, her face buried in her palms.

Ada ran to her and embraced her, both women collapsing into each other’s arms, wailing like drums had cracked open their chests. Grief was no longer private—it was a scream that echoed in the corridors.

“My daughter… my Zainab!” the woman wept.

“And my Amara… my baby girl…” Ada sobbed.

They wept together until their cries softened to trembling breaths. Ada pulled back and wiped her tears, her face drained of color, but her voice still fierce with a mother’s fire.

She turned to the detective, her eyes searching his.

“Detective Ifeanyi…” her voice broke. “My daughter. Amara. Are we… are we looking for her body now? Is she gone too? Just tell me. Please.”

The room was silent.

Detective Ifeanyi’s jaw tightened. He stepped closer.

“No, Mrs. Nwokedi. We haven’t found a body. That means there’s still a chance. And I swear to you… I will find her. Dead or alive—I will bring her home.”

Ada’s lips quivered. She nodded slowly, but her tears kept falling. Deep down, she couldn’t tell what was worse—knowing Zainab’s fate, or not knowing Amara’s at all.