THE 24-HOUR SEARCH

THE LAST CALL

Late at night, heavy rain hammered the earth as trees bent against the storm. Inside her dim bedroom, a woman stood silently by the window, wrapped in a duvet and holding a warm cup of coffee. She stared at the rain, lost in her thoughts.

Another woman entered and gently told her that her daughter had woken up and was asking for her. Without speaking, the woman set her cup down, wiped away a tear, and left the room, carrying a quiet sadness that even the storm couldn’t wash away.

The little girl shot up from her bed the moment she saw her mother in the doorway.

“Mummyyy!” she squealed, running into her arms and hugging her so tightly it almost knocked the breath out of her.

The woman knelt and held her close, burying her face in her daughter’s hair.

“Are you crying, mummy?” the child whispered, pulling back just enough to touch her mother’s cheek.

“No, I’m not,” she replied softly, though her voice trembled. She pressed a kiss to her daughter’s cheek, breathing in her warmth as if it could hold her together.

The bedroom door opened again. Her husband stepped in, still in his work clothes, raindrops clinging to his sleeves.

“Daddyyyy!” the little girl shouted, flying into his legs.

“Don’t get too close, I’m wet,” he chuckled, kneeling just enough to give her a quick hug before guiding her gently back to her mother. His eyes lifted, meeting his wife’s. Her attempt at a smile made his own fade—he could see straight through it.

“You should have called me,” she said quietly. “I would have come out with an umbrella and walked you in from the car.”

He leaned in and kissed her gently on the lips, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

“Where is my sister?” he asked.

“I left her in our bedroom,” she replied, her voice thin.

Right on cue, his sister walked in. The two siblings hugged tightly.

“Okay, brother, I’m heading back to my flat,” she said softly. “I was waiting for you to get home. Didn’t want to leave her alone.”

He thanked her, squeezing her hand before she headed out.

Their apartment was one of several in a quiet compound—modern, spacious, built like a cluster of small family homes rather than a single building. Each unit had its own section, its own little balcony, its own front path lined with lights. Warm windows glowed from neighboring apartments, silhouettes of other families moving inside. It felt alive, safe, like a small community tucked away from the world.

In the kitchen, his wife stood to dish his food. The clinking of plates was soft, almost hesitant. He went upstairs to change and freshen up, the sound of running water drifting faintly down the hallway.

When he returned, clean and dry, he saw their daughter on the living room floor playing with her toys—lining them up, humming softly. Behind her, at the dining table, his wife stared at nothing, lost deep in thought, her shoulders slumped.

He approached gently.

“How did it go, honey?” he asked. “Did you find her?”

Silence. Heavy, unmoving.

Her face looked drained—eyes red, lips pressed together as if holding back another collapse. She didn’t look at him. She didn’t blink. It was the face of someone carrying news too heavy for her own body.

He reached for her hand and kissed her temple.

It’s been eight months since you last saw her,” he whispered. “You were so sure today. You said you finally trusted your source. What happened? What… what did the man say about the woman you’ve been trying so hard to find?”

Slowly, painfully, she rose from her chair—her knees weak, her breath shaking. She walked to him until she stood right in front of him, staring at his chest, unable to lift her eyes.

When she spoke, her voice cracked open.

“She died,” she whispered.

“She's gone".

And she was the only one who knew where his grave is.”

Her husband froze. His hand flew to his mouth as the shock hit him like a physical force.

“Oh God… honey… I’m so sorry,” he breathed, reaching for her—pulling her into him with both arms, holding her like he was afraid she would fall apart completely.

She didn’t hug him back. She stood stiff in his arms, unresponsive, as if the grief had turned her into stone. Her eyes stared past his shoulder, unfocused and hollow. Her chest rose and fell in shallow, broken breaths.

The rain outside continued to beat against the windows, but inside, the room felt unnaturally quiet—heavy with the kind of sadness that didn’t need sound to be loud. The kind that crushed slowly, from the inside out..

_____

HER POV

Six years ago, I was a waitress in a small restaurant—one of those places where the smell of fried onions and pepper soup clung to your skin long after your shift ended. I didn’t have a plan for my life back then. I had run away from home, from a future I never wanted, from a cage my family called a marriage. I was just… floating. Lost. Searching for a place where I could breathe without fear.

That was where I met him—my husband. He had walked in for a lunch meeting with his colleagues. The moment I approached their table with a tray of drinks, he looked up… and our eyes locked. And somehow, in that instant, the noise of the restaurant faded. The clattering plates disappeared. It was just him and me. I didn’t know it then, but that look was the beginning of everything that became my life.

But before him… before the city… there was the village. And the secret I carried.

I found out I was pregnant at seventeen. I remembered sitting behind my father’s farm, staring at the positive test with my hands shaking so badly that I couldn’t breathe. My family had already promised me to Papa Adu, the richest and most feared man in the village—a man old enough to be my grandfather, with three wives already. Everyone worshipped his money. Everyone feared his anger. Anyone who dared to cross him… suffered for it.

If he ever discovered I was pregnant by another man, he wouldn’t just punish me—he would destroy the man I loved.

No one even suspected I had a boyfriend. We had been together quietly for a year. We met behind farms, beside streams, in corners of the market where shadows hid us. He was gentle, hardworking, and the only person who ever made me feel like my life could be my own.

I remember the night I told him I was pregnant. His eyes widened—not in fear—but in a kind of shocked joy. He held my face with both hands and whispered, “We’ll figure it out. I love you.”

But we couldn’t stay. Not with my family watching me like a hawk. Not with Papa Adu already counting the days until he claimed me like property.

We have to run,” I whispered to him one evening behind his grandmother’s hut. “We need to leave before my mother finds out… before he finds out.”

He looked torn in half. “I want to go with you,” he said, his voice breaking, “God knows I do. But I can’t leave Grandma alone in this condition. She can’t even walk to the door. If I leave now… she will die.”

My heart cracked for him. For us.

He pulled out a small cloth tied tightly at the ends. His savings. Everything he had earned from farming and doing odd jobs.

“Take it,” he said, forcing it into my hands. “Go ahead of me. When Grandma gets better, I’ll come to the city. I’ll find you. I promise.”

Then he kissed me. Long. Soft. Desperate. A kiss that felt like goodbye even though he refused to say the word. We held each other so tightly it hurt. We were two scared children trying to survive a world built against us.

That night, I packed my things secretly. My hands shook as I folded the few dresses I owned. The compound was silent when I stepped outside—until I saw movement. My younger brother stumbled out of the house, rubbing his eyes, going to pee behind the kitchen.

My heart almost burst out of my chest. I froze in the darkness, barely breathing until he went back inside. If he had seen me, everything would have shattered.

I ran to the bus station under the moonlight, clutching my bag to my chest. My legs trembled so badly that I nearly fell twice. When I finally paid for my bus ticket and sat down, I let out a shaky breath.

The bus was full. People murmured quietly, waiting for the driver to begin the long trip to the city.

My phone rang. His name flashed. My heart warmed instantly—I smiled without even thinking.

Babe, I’m in the bus now,” I whispered, trying not to cry. “The driver just turned on the engine. We’re leaving. I can’t wait for you to join me.”

There was a pause.

A long, terrifying pause.

“Hello?” I said, my voice suddenly tight.

“Babe…” he breathed. “Babe, that’s good. Take care of yourself. And my baby.”

His voice cracked.

Fear punched me in the stomach.

“Why do you sound like that? What’s happening?”

I could hear him struggling to breathe.

“I… I’ve been shot.”

My scream tore out of me before I could stop it. Every head in the bus whipped toward me.

“What??! How??! When?!” Tears burst from my eyes like a broken pipe.

“I was attacked by armed robbers,” he whispered. “On my way home to Grandma. I tried to fight back… They shot me twice.”

His breathing became worse.

“I’m losing… I’m losing too much blood. There’s no one here… to help me.”

“No no no no no—babe hold on! HOLD ON!”

I stood up, shaking violently. “Stop the bus! Stop this bus right now!”

The driver shouted over his shoulder, “Madam, I can’t stop o! Unless you want armed robbers to attack us too! There’s no stopping until morning!”

I ignored him. I didn’t care. I screamed into the phone, my whole body trembling.

“Babe, PLEASE don’t leave me. Don’t leave me alone. I need you. I need you—please!”

His voice came faintly.

Broken.

Dying.

“I’m sorry, babe… I love—”

And then…

I heard it.

I heard the sound of him taking his last breath.

The call cut.

My world snapped in half.

“No… no no no NO!” I screamed, collapsing onto the aisle. “Babe! Wake up! WAKE UP! I’m pregnant with your child!! PLEASE WAKE UP!”

Women rushed to hold me.

Some shook their heads sadly.

Some wrapped their arms around me, whispering “sorry… sorry…”

Others tried to keep me from falling onto the floor.

But there was no comforting that kind of pain.

My heart died with him that night.

And nothing—not time, not distance, not the new life I built—ever healed that wound.

Ruth?Honey? My husband calls bringing me back to time.

We need to go to bed now.

I changed my name from Ama to Ruth because I never want my family to see me ever again.