Away from home
1046 Words
It started like any other morning.
Ada Nwokedi returned from the fashion show, suitcase dragging behind her, heels clicking against the tile floor. The house was still. Too still.
“Amara?” she called as she shut the door behind her. “I’m back.”
No response.
She placed her bag down and moved into the kitchen. Everything looked untouched. The dishes were still stacked where she had left them. No sign of dinner cooked. No shoes scattered across the parlor floor. No hum of a phone playing music under a pillow.
She called out again. “Amara!”
Still nothing.
Ada paused, her fingers gripping the edge of the kitchen counter.
She picked up her phone and dialed her daughter’s number. It rang. And rang. And rang. Then went to voicemail.
“Hi, it’s Amara! I can’t pick up now, but—”
She hung up.
Maybe Amara had slept over at Kamsi’s or Zainab’s without saying anything. Maybe her phone was on silent. Maybe—
No.
That wasn’t like Amara.
---
Two hours passed.
She called Zainab. Then Kamsi.
Zainab’s voice was soft and confused. “We didn’t see Amara yesterday, ma. She told you she was coming to see us?”
Ada’s stomach tightened.
“Yes,” she said slowly. “She texted me yesterday evening. Said she’d hang out with you girls. That she’d be back before night.”
“No, ma,” Zainab said again. “We didn’t see her.”
Ada didn’t reply immediately. Her mind was racing.
She called Amara’s number again. This time, it didn’t ring.
Switched off.
---
That evening, Ada Nwokedi stormed into the police station barefoot and wild-eyed. Her wrapper was loosely tied and her voice cracked with desperation.
“My daughter is missing!” she cried. “She didn’t come home! I haven’t seen her since yesterday!”
“Calm down, madam,” the officer behind the desk said with disinterest, as if he'd heard this a hundred times.
“Don’t tell me to calm down! My only child — she said she was going out to see friends. Nobody saw her. Her phone is off. She’s not at school. She’s nowhere!”
“We usually don’t take missing person cases seriously until 48 hours—”
“Forty-eight hours?!” Ada shouted. “She could be dead in 48 hours! Please! Please help me!”
Other officers looked up. A younger female officer slowly rose from her seat.
“Madam, sit. Let me get a pen. We’ll file a report.”
---
Back home, Ada collapsed in the hallway. Her tears soaked the floor tiles.
Zainab and Kamsi arrived minutes later, panic on their faces.
“Maybe she traveled,” Kamsi said. “She could’ve followed someone for an emergency—”
“She would have told me!” Ada snapped. “Amara doesn’t lie to me!”
Zainab said nothing. Her eyes were wet. Her fingers clenched.
“I knew something was off,” she murmured. “She was secretive these past few days. She told you she was seeing us — but didn’t. That means she was with someone else…”
Ada’s breath hitched. “Who?”
Zainab hesitated.
Then, softly, she said:
“Damilare.”
---
Twenty minutes later, the front door creaked open.
Damilare stepped in, his face pale, his hands slightly trembling. His eyes darted across the room until they landed on Ada, who was now seated in the corner, clutching a damp wrapper to her chest.
Zainab turned sharply, her brows rising in suspicion. “What are you doing here?”
Before he could answer, Ada said tiredly, “I texted him… I thought he might know something. I remembered she mentioned his name once or twice.” Her voice was barely a whisper. “I was desperate.”
Damilare nodded, stepping further into the living room. “I rushed down as soon as I saw the message,” he said gently. “Is it true? Amara… she hasn’t come home?”
Zainab folded her arms and watched him.
“Yes,” Ada said, tears pooling again. “Since yesterday.”
Damilare ran his hand over his face. “God… I’ve been trying to reach her since last night. I thought maybe she fell asleep or something. But then the phone went off.”
He sat slowly, trying not to look too shaken — but just enough.
Ada looked up at him, her lips trembling. “Did she tell you where she was going? What she was doing yesterday?”
Damilare sighed, choosing his words with care. “She called me. Earlier in the day. Said she was going to hang out with her friends. I assumed Zainab and Kamsi…”
Zainab’s eyes narrowed.
“But later,” he continued, “she texted me that maybe we could catch up in the evening. She said she wasn’t sure yet, but if she could make it, she would meet up. I waited. She didn’t come. She didn’t call. I figured maybe something came up and she fell asleep.”
He turned to Ada. “That’s why I was already worried. So when I saw your text…”
Ada covered her mouth and started crying again.
“I should have insisted we see. I should have gone to look for her.” His voice cracked just slightly — practiced, perfect.
Zainab stared at him like she was trying to read through his soul.
He didn’t flinch.
“Did she say where you both planned to meet?” Zainab asked slowly.
“No.” Damilare looked at her, steady. “She didn’t give a location. Just said maybe later. Then nothing.”
The room was silent for a beat.
Then Damilare leaned forward, folding his hands. “What were her last words to you?” he asked Ada, his voice soft. “Anything at all? Something she said that seemed… strange?”
Ada sniffled. “She just said she’d go out later to catch up with Zainab and Kamsi. I didn’t suspect anything.”
“She lied to you,” Zainab said gently. “She wasn’t with us.”
Damilare lowered his eyes, shaking his head like someone trying to absorb pain. “I can’t believe this,” he whispered.
- Writer
