CHAPTER ONE......... THE I wasn’t expecting anyone. The knock came again — soft but deliberate. Something told me not to open

CHAPTER ONE......... THE I wasn’t expecting anyone. The knock came again — soft but deliberate. Something told me not to open it. My stomach tightened with old fear. I pulled the curtain and peeped. The breath I held escaped with a gasp. It was him. Dimeji. Five years, and the man still had the power to unsteady my heartbeat. But he looked…different. Tired. Worn. His clothes were clean, but his skin carried shadows. Not just the ones from the sun — but the kind that haunt from within. I didn’t open the door right away. I needed to breathe. To remember who I was now. I cracked the door. “What do you want?” “Amara,” he said, his voice gravel and shame. “I came to beg.” I stepped out, locking the door behind me. “You’ve got two minutes.” He swallowed. “I’ve been suffering. Everything’s gone — my shop, my savings, my health. I’ve been to hospitals, churches… but nothing is working.” I stared. He licked his lips nervously. “The herbalist — the one who did the covenant — he said if the bond isn’t restored, I will die. He said only you can save me.” I laughed. It sounded ugly, bitter. “You want me back to save your life. Not because you love me.” “I regret everything, Amara. I didn’t know what I had. I was foolish, proud… cruel. I know that now.” “Good,” I said. “But you forgot something: you swore. You forced me to swear. You made me kneel in front of that shrine. You made me bleed to seal a covenant I never wanted.” He fell to his knees. On the dusty, dirty ground. “Please. I don’t want to die. Come back, even if for a short time. Break the curse. We can go back to the shrine — reverse it. I’ll do anything.” I looked at the man who once made me feel worthless. Now, he was the one begging for worth. But was it enough? CHAPTER TWO. THE ECHOES WIN I couldn't sleep that night. I lay on my bed, eyes wide open, listening to the crickets chirping in the darkness, as Dimeji's words repeated in my mind like a scratched record. "I’ll die if you don’t come back." "It’s the covenant." "Only you can save me." Why did I still feel responsible for a man who had broken me? Why did my heart beat faster at the thought of his suffering? I had spent the last five years in therapy, prayer, fasting, and rebuilding. I had grown into a woman with boundaries, into someone who could look at herself in the mirror and say, "I matter." But now, Dimeji’s reappearance had shaken the ground beneath me. I walked to the kitchen and poured water into a cup. My fingers trembled slightly. I remembered how he used to slam doors, how he would call me useless when I made a mistake, how I cried myself to sleep countless nights. But then I also remembered our wedding day… the vows, the dance, the brief spark of hope. The shrill ring of my phone startled me. I checked the screen — it was my friend, Bisola. "Hey, I was just thinking of you," I said, forcing a smile into my voice. "Amara, are you okay?" she asked immediately. "You didn’t sound right earlier." I hesitated. "He came." "Who?" I didn’t need to say more. Her gasp said it all. "Dimeji? Are you kidding me? After all these years?" "He said the covenant is haunting him. That he’s dying." There was silence on the line for a moment. Then, Bisola said, "Let him die. That’s not your burden anymore." I knew she was right. But still… "Amara," she continued gently, "don’t let guilt dress up as love. You saved yourself once. Don’t let him pull you back into that hell." I nodded, even though she couldn’t see me. But the war had already begun inside me. CHAPTER THREE....... THREATS OF THE PAST The next morning, I walked down to Mama Chinyere’s shop to buy vegetables. I hoped some sun and market noise would distract me. It didn’t. Instead, memories floated up like smoke. I remembered the first slap. It was on a Sunday afternoon. He accused me of flirting with a neighbor. I had laughed, thinking he was joking. Then — crack. My cheek caught fire. I didn’t speak to anyone about it. I told myself it was a mistake. The second slap came two weeks later. Then came fists. Then came silence. But the worst was not the physical pain. It was the emotional prison. The fear of saying the wrong thing. The way he isolated me from my family. How he made me believe I was nothing without him. When I reached the shop, Mama Chinyere noticed my distant look. “My daughter, wetin dey worry you?” I sighed. “My past has returned.” “Ahh,” she said knowingly. “Na man wahala, abi?” I nodded. She leaned closer. “If it is a man who once hurt you, don’t let his shadow block your sun again.” I thanked her and left with my vegetables, but my mind was heavy. Later that day, Dimeji sent a message: > “Please, can we talk properly? Not at the gate. Somewhere quiet. I just need a chance.” I stared at the text for minutes. Then I replied: “Tomorrow. 4pm. Oke Woods Park.” If this was going to end, I needed closure. Not fear. Not guilt CHAPTER FOUR.......... THE MEETING The sky was cloudy as I walked into Oke Woods Park. The trees whispered in the wind like spirits listening to a conversation only I could hear. I wore a simple dress and carried no makeup, no jewelry — nothing to impress or mislead. This wasn’t a date. It was a reckoning. Dimeji was already there, sitting on a bench, looking smaller than I remembered. His eyes lit up when he saw me, but I didn’t return the smile. “I didn’t think you’d come,” he said. “I didn’t come for you,” I replied. “I came for closure.” He nodded slowly. “Fair.” We sat in silence for a while, watching a couple play with their child in the distance. It was the kind of scene I used to dream about. One I never had. “I was angry… insecure… and broken,” he began. “But instead of healing, I poured my damage into you. I know I don’t deserve forgiveness, but I beg you to listen.” I turned to him. “You think this is about forgiveness? I forgave you a long time ago — not for you, but for me. I let it go so I could breathe again.” He looked down. “Then what do I do? The herbalist said my blood pressure, the hallucinations, the nightmares… they’re all signs of spiritual judgment. If you don’t return to me, it will only get worse.” I scoffed. “Do you know how manipulative that sounds?” His lips trembled. “Maybe. But I’m desperate. I’ve gone to pastors, prophets… they all say the same thing. ‘Find her. Reconcile. Or face the consequences.’” I stood up. “Then face them.” He reached for my hand, but I stepped back. “No. Don’t touch me. You had a chance to love me. You used it to destroy me.” I left him there, trembling and alone. CHAPTER FIVE ......... SPIRITUAL. CHAINS That night, the nightmares returned — only this time, they weren’t mine. It was Dimeji who called, screaming on the phone, “Amara! They’re choking me! I saw the shrine! The spirits were dragging me!” I hung up. I didn’t sleep. Instead, I lit a candle and knelt on my living room floor, praying. My voice cracked as I begged God to untie me from any bond that wasn’t divine. I wept until sunrise. Later that week, I went to see Pastor Tobi, my spiritual mentor. “I need answers,” I told him. “Am I still bound to this man? Can a covenant forced through fear hold my life hostage?” He placed a hand on my head. “God’s grace breaks every yoke. But you must denounce it — with your mouth, with your spirit, with your heart. Not out of fear, but out of authority.” He led me in a prayer of release — deep, violent, liberating. As I left the church, I felt lighter. Freer. Then my phone buzzed again. > “I’m at the hospital. They say I may not make it. Please… Amara… come.” I stared at the screen for a long time, then turned it off. CHAPTER SIX:......... THE HOSPITAL VISIT I told myself I wouldn’t go. I told myself I owed him nothing. But guilt, that old thief, slipped into my chest again — not for love, not for the past, but for humanity. I didn’t want Dimeji to die thinking I was cruel. So I went. The hospital was dim, the scent of antiseptic thick in the air. I found his ward easily; he had texted the number three times. He was lying on a thin mattress, an IV in his arm, his skin pale and sunken. When he saw me, his lips moved weakly. “You came…” I said nothing. “You see?” he murmured. “They said you’d come. They said if I could look into your eyes and say I’m sorry — truly sorry — the curse might break.” I folded my arms. “Dimeji, stop hiding behind that covenant. You didn’t fall sick because of me. You’re sick because of your choices — physical, spiritual, emotional.” His eyes welled. “But it’s all tied together. I didn’t just hurt you. I offended something sacred. I swore with blood and fire. And now it’s turning against me.” I sat down, but far from his bed. “So what do you want me to do?” “Come with me. Just once. Back to the shrine. Let’s undo it. Please.” I stared at him, my heart a battlefield. Could I walk back into the very hell I ran from? He was coughing hard now. A nurse came in, checked his vitals, and nodded at me with pity. “Just once,” he whispered. “Then you’ll never see me again.” l CHAPTER SEVEN. ........... RETURN TO THE SHRINE I didn’t answer immediately. I gave myself three days to fast, pray, think. I consulted three spiritual leaders. They all said the same thing: > “If the covenant was made in ignorance or under coercion, you have the right to break it. But it must be done completely. In truth. In power.” So, on the fourth morning, I agreed. Not for Dimeji. Not for pity. But for me. I needed to end this story — completely. We traveled to his village together, but we barely spoke. I sat stiffly in the car, eyes out the window, fingers clutching my anointing oil like a sword. The shrine was just as I remembered — red cloth, feathers, cowries, and a statue with eyes that seemed to follow you. The herbalist was older now, but his eyes were still sharp. “You are the woman,” he said. “The one who ran.” “I am,” I said. “And I came to end what should never have started.” He nodded solemnly. “This is good. Truth always returns.” We knelt before the shrine. He chanted, poured libations, burned herbs. Then he looked at me. “You must speak. Renounce the vow. Break the bond.” My voice was clear, firm, shaking only at the end. “I denounce the covenant. I break it in the name of the Living God. I was never yours to bind. I am free.” Thunder cracked outside. Wind blew through the shrine like a rushing storm. The herbalist’s eyes widened. Dimeji groaned and collapsed. But I stood. Unshaken. Free. n CHAPTER EIGHT.......... A MAN UNRAVELING We left the shrine in silence. Dimeji walked beside me, visibly weak, yet somehow lighter — as if some invisible weight had been torn from his shoulders. But I didn't speak. I didn’t want to confuse spiritual release with emotional reconciliation. When we reached the guesthouse, he sat on the edge of the bed, head in hands. “Something’s gone,” he whispered. “I can feel it. The choking… the shadows… they’re gone.” I nodded. “You got what you wanted. Now keep your word.” He looked up. “What if I still want more than that?” I stood. “Don’t. Don’t destroy your second chance by trying to repeat the past. This — whatever just happened — was to break a spiritual curse, not to restore a broken marriage.” His eyes narrowed slightly. “But Amara, we have history.” “And pain,” I added. “Deep pain. That history includes bruises, insults, fear, and betrayal. It’s not love that binds us. It was fear.” He slumped back. “Then what do I do now? “Live better. Learn. And let me go.” I turned and left the room, feeling stronger than I had in years. CHAPTER NINE........ HONECOMING Back in Lagos, the air felt different. Even the noisy honks and crowded streets seemed to welcome me home like an old friend. I breathed deeply as I stepped into my apartment — my sanctuary. I lit a candle, played soft music, and sat quietly with my journal. “Today,” I wrote, “I chose myself. Not because I hate him. Not because I want revenge. But because I know what I’m worth.” Over the next few days, Dimeji didn’t call. And I didn’t expect him to. The finality of that shrine visit had said all that needed to be said. The covenant was broken. The soul tie severed. He had his life to live — without me. A week later, Bisola visited with suya and laughter. “You look lighter,” she said, hugging me. “Did you finally burn his spirit out of your house?” I laughed. “More like walked it out of my soul.” We sat, we talked, we prayed — two women grateful for growth, for healing, for truth. Later that night, alone again, I looked in the mirror and smiled. Not because of a man. Not because of validation. But because I had walked through fire — and I was still standing. CHAPTER TEN :........ THE WHISPER OF PEACE Life moved on. Quietly at first. Then with momentum. Each morning, I woke up with a deeper sense of calm. The kind that doesn’t come from circumstances, but from clarity. I had stood at the crossroads of my past and future — and I had chosen freedom. I went back to my writing projects. My work at the women’s counseling center resumed, and I found myself speaking more confidently to women who were where I had once been — scared, stuck, ashamed. One afternoon, during a group session, a woman named Clara broke down in tears. Her story mirrored mine so closely it made my throat tighten. When she finished speaking, she asked me, “How did you know it was time to leave?” I smiled gently and replied, “The moment I realized I wasn’t alive anymore — just surviving. That’s when I knew I deserved more.” She nodded, crying harder. And for the first time in a long while, I felt like everything I went through wasn’t in vain. CHAPTER ELEVEN,..........THE UNEXPECTED LETTER Two months later, I received a letter. Handwritten. The envelope smelled faintly of cloves — like something ancient and spiritual. It was from Dimeji. > “Amara, I’m writing this not to beg, not to guilt, but to thank you. You saved me. Not just at the shrine, but by refusing to return to me. That boundary you set forced me to face who I had become. I am in therapy now. I joined a recovery group. I may never be whole enough to love someone the right way, but I pray God makes me new. I will never contact you again. You deserve the world. Dimeji.”* I folded the letter and placed it in a drawer. Not because I wanted to keep it. But because it symbolized an end — a final punctuation mark on a story that once consumed me. That night, I slept with my windows open and my heart at peace. No fear. No what-ifs. Just quiet, healing air. CHAPTER TWELVE ........ECHOES OF STRENGTH Weeks turned into months. And each day, I grew into the woman I had longed to be — confident, joyful, unapologetically whole. The scars were still there, but they no longer bled. They had turned into stories of survival. One Saturday afternoon, I was invited to speak at a women's empowerment conference in Surulere. The theme: Breaking Free from Emotional Captivity. I stood before a room of over fifty women, many with tired eyes and aching hearts. I shared my journey — not as a victim, but as a victor. I spoke about the dangers of spiritual manipulation, emotional abuse, and the power of self-love. I told them about the day I broke the covenant. About the freedom that followed. And when I finished, the standing ovation brought tears to my eyes. Not for pride. But for purpose. Afterwards, a young lady approached me. “Thank you,” she whispered. “You just gave me the courage to leave.” At that moment, I knew : this was why l lived through. it CHAPTER THIRTEEN ........A NEW DOOTy One morning, I received an email from a publishing house. They had come across my blog and wanted to discuss turning my journey into a book. A book. My story — the one that nearly destroyed me — now had the power to build others. As I prepared my manuscript, I felt a sense of destiny shaping itself around me. Everything I had endured had brought me here — to healing, to purpose, to peace. And then came something I wasn’t expecting. Love. Not from Dimeji. Not from desperation. But from Tolu — a man I met at the conference. Gentle. Respectful. Patient. He didn’t try to fix me. He simply walked beside me. We talked for hours over coffee, about books, about faith, about life. For the first time, I didn’t feel fear creeping behind affection. I felt calm. “I know you’ve been through a storm,” he said one evening, “but you shine like someone who survived the flood — and found land.” I smiled. Maybe this was a new chapter. Not a return to the past. But a beginning that honored the woman I had become. CHAPTER FOURTEEN .......CONVERSATIONS WITHOUT FEAR Tolu and I didn’t rush things. We took slow walks in the park. Shared meals filled with laughter. Spoke about everything — from heartbreak to healing. And for the first time, I didn’t feel like I needed to shrink myself to keep a man. I could speak, and be heard. Feel, and be respected. He asked about my past once — not with curiosity, but with compassion. I told him the truth. “All of it?” he asked gently. “Yes,” I replied. “I’ve buried the shame. But I carry the lessons. He nodded, eyes kind. “Then it made you even more beautiful.” I blinked. No man had ever called me more because of my pain. He wasn’t trying to save me He was honoring the woman I’d become. CHAPTER FIFTEEN.......LETTER TO MYSELF That night, I opened my journal and began to write letters — not to Dimeji, not to Tolu — but to myself. > Dear Amara, You were never weak for staying. You were brave for finally leaving. You are not broken — just beautifully rebuilt. You are not cursed — you are called. And you, my love, are worthy of peace. Always. I sealed the page with a sigh of contentment. No more chains. No more haunting memories. Just grace — and the steady beat of hope returning. Outside my window, the moon glowed silver and full. Just like me. Full of light. Full of healing. Full of the future. l CHAPTER SIXTEEN: ........ BLOSSOMS IN THE RAIN It rained that morning — soft, cleansing drops that slid down my window like nature’s lullaby. I stood by the glass, watching the clouds weep gently over the world, and I smiled. It reminded me of my own tears, shed in silence, shed in pain… but now understood as healing. Tolu called. “Want to walk in the rain with me?” It was silly. It was beautiful. We strolled through the park, shoes soaked, laughter loud, his fingers gently brushing mine. And in that moment, I knew I was living a second chance. Not the kind that takes you back, but the kind that moves you forward — wiser, stronger, softer. He turned to me, raindrops clinging to his lashes. “You’re becoming.” “Becoming what?” I asked. “Exactly who you were created to be.” CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: ........ THE BOOKS RELEASED Three months later, my book launched. “Breaking Free: The Story of Amara” hit the shelves and digital platforms with surprising momentum. The response was overwhelming — letters from women in Kenya, Ghana, Canada, and Nigeria. Stories of courage, cries of pain, and messages of thanks. At the launch event, I stood before a crowd once again, this time not as a survivor, but as an author. Tolu stood in the front row, pride written across his face. My eyes met his briefly, and then I spoke. “This book is not about a broken marriage. It’s about a restored woman. It’s about the God who finds us in pieces and gives us the grace to rise.” The audience rose in applause. And I stood tall — not as a woman who asked, “Should I go?” but as one who answered, “Yes. And I’m never going back.” CHAPTER EIGHTEEN:......... A VISIT TO THE POST It was a Sunday afternoon when I found myself back in Ibadan. Not by accident — by choice. I had been invited to speak at a church women’s gathering, just a few streets away from the house I once called home with Dimeji. The memories stirred as I passed familiar buildings. I felt a strange mixture of ache and strength. After the event, I stood quietly outside the old compound, not to revisit pain, but to bless the ground I once wept on. I whispered a prayer, not for reconciliation, but for redemption. “For every woman still behind these walls… may freedom find you.” I walked away smiling, not with bitterness, but with closure. CHAPTER. NINETEEN.: ......... THE PROPOSAL Tolu had always been patient. He never pressed, never assumed, never rushed. He allowed me to bloom in my own time. And that evening, on the balcony of his small but warm apartment, he looked at me with tenderness in his eyes. “I don’t want to replace your past,” he said. “I just want to walk with you into the future — if you’ll let me.” I stared at him. Not with fear. But with gratitude. “Tolu,” I said, voice steady, “I’m not broken anymore. And I don’t need saving. But I’d love to walk with you — side by side.” He smiled, then knelt, revealing a simple ring — elegant and pure. “Will you marry me?” I nodded, tears soft on my cheeks. “Yes. This time, I’m saying yes to love, not escape.” And as he slipped the ring on my finger, I felt it — not just hope. But whole CHAPTER TWENTY,: ....A NEW NAME FOR LOVE The wedding was quiet. Not grand, not loud — but deeply meaningful. Close friends, family, and women who had once sat with me in pain came dressed in soft colors of hope. It was more than a ceremony. It was a declaration: I survived. I healed. And I still believe in love. As Tolu and I exchanged vows under the open Lagos sky, I felt nothing but peace. No fear. No doubt. Just the kind of calm that comes when you've wrestled with your past and finally won. After the ceremony, we danced. Not because life had been perfect, but because joy had finally found its way back to me. Later that evening, while we sat by the ocean, barefoot and quiet, Tolu turned to me. “Do you ever regret it all?” he asked. I thought for a moment. “No,” I whispered. “Because everything led me here.” The waves hummed. The moon watched. And I knew deep within that this — this — was what real love looked like. Not just romance, but partnership. Peace. Respect. Friendship. I had asked once, “Should I go?” And now, as I leaned against the man who cherished my healed heart, I smiled. I went. I lived. I grew. And now, I’m home. Epilogue – I Went. I Lived. I Grew. And Now, I’m Home. I went. Not just physically — not just by packing my things in the quiet hush of early dawn or taking that bold first step out of Dimeji’s house. I went in every way a woman can go. I walked away from fear, from the lies I once believed about myself. I stepped out of the shadows of who I was told I should be. I left the echoes of manipulation, of silenced dreams, and of long nights where my tears had no audience but God. Leaving was not an act of rebellion — it was an act of redemption. I lived. At first, it didn’t feel like living. It felt like surviving. Like learning how to breathe again without permission. Like learning how to laugh without checking the room. Like realizing I had spent so long adapting to pain that comfort felt foreign. But slowly, I began to live. I lived in small things — taking myself out for a quiet lunch, sleeping peacefully without fear of waking up to insults, praying without begging, smiling without guilt. I reconnected with the woman I had buried. I held her in my arms and whispered, “You’re allowed to be happy.” I lived through every lesson — even the hard ones. The nights I doubted my decision. The mornings I woke up missing the familiar routine, even if it had been toxic. The awkward stares from society. The unsolicited advice. The judgment that came from people who never sat with my pain. And yet — I lived. And in living, I healed. I grew. Not like flowers in a garden, gently watered and pampered. No. I grew like weeds between cracked concrete — fierce, wild, untamed. I grew with the strength of roots that refused to die, even after being trampled. My growth didn’t come wrapped in pretty packages. It came in therapy sessions where I sobbed. It came in turning down Dimeji’s apologies — not because I hated him, but because I loved myself more. It came in saying “no” when every part of me had been trained to say “yes.” It came in forgiving, not to excuse, but to release. And yes, it came in love. Real love. Love that saw me, listened to me, waited for me. Tolu. He never tried to fix me. He simply stood beside me as I repaired myself. He reminded me that gentleness is not weakness, that love is not meant to destroy, and that joy isn’t something you must earn through suffering. In his eyes, I found safety. In his voice, I found peace. And now, I’m home. Not because I wear a ring again. Not because life is suddenly without trouble. I’m home because I found myself. Home is not just a house or a place. It’s the quiet inside me when I wake up. It’s the steady beat of a heart that no longer breaks to please others. It’s the mirror that reflects strength, not shame. It’s love that doesn’t demand silence, but invites voice. I am home in the way Tolu listens when I speak — in the laughter that lives again in my belly, in the way I no longer fear nightfall, in the prayers I now say without desperation. Home is when I trust myself. When I know I will never again trade peace for presence. When I know that I’m not defined by the man I married or the man I left. But by the God who held me through it all. I walk in freedom now. I wear dignity like a cloak. And I remember her — the woman who once asked, “Should I go?” She was afraid. She was tired. She was unsure. But she went anyway. And because of her courage, I’m here now — not just living, but thriving. If you’re reading this and you see a version of yourself in that question — “Should I go?” — I won’t answer it for you. But I will say You deserve peace. You deserve love that builds, not bruises. You deserve mornings that don’t begin with anxiety. You deserve nights where you fall asleep knowing you’re safe I went. ...... To be continued