GREEN STATUS

The slap cracked across Elma’s cheek before she could breathe. The sound echoed down the narrow hallway of the two-bedroom flat . It wasn’t loud by the city standards. No car horns, no generator roaring, no preacher shouting through a megaphone at 6 pm. Just the sharp crack of skin on skin, and then silence. “Leave my house!” Aunt Marian’s voice shattered the quiet. Spit hit Elma’s face. Her eyes were red, her jaw clenched tight enough that the veins in her neck stood out. “I don’t want to see your lying face here again!” Elma’s fingers flew to her cheek. The sting was instant, hot, spreading across her jaw. Her mouth opened. Nothing came out. The hallway spun. The peeling paint on the walls, the chipped ceramic tiles, the rusted bucket in the corner—all of it blurred together. “Is it true?” Marian demanded, stepping closer. Her wrapper was crooked, her hair half-undone like she’d woken up and never finished getting ready. “Tell me it’s true, Elma. Look me in the eye and tell me you didn’t try to seduce my husband’s.” From the doorway, Joseph smiled. It didn’t reach his eyes. It never did. His suit was pressed, his tie straight, his shoes polished to a mirror shine. He looked like a man who belonged in the boardroom on the 32nd floor of Hayes Tower, not standing in a leaking hallway smelling of old mop water. “It’s true, Marian,” he said, voice low and smooth. Practiced. “I found her in my room at midnight. In my nightgown. She said she’d do anything to stay in this house.” A lie. A filthy, practiced lie. He’d walked in while she was changing. The door had been locked. Or she thought it was. One second she was pulling her dress over her head, the next his hand was on her wrist, his breath hot against her ear. She’d shoved him off and run, heart hammering, tears of humiliation burning her eyes. But no one cared about that part. Joseph worked for Hayes Corp. He drove a company car. He had a key card to the executive floor. He smiled at the right people at church. Elma owned nothing but two dresses and a name nobody trusted. She was the orphan they’d taken in out of pity after her parents died in the Ikeja explosion eight years ago. Pity had an expiration date. “Get out,” Marian hissed, shoving her toward the door. Her nails dug into Elma’s arm. “Before I call the police. I’ll tell them you tried to rob us. That you threatened my son.” Elma stumbled back. The edge of the door frame caught her shoulder. Pain shot through her, but it was nothing compared to the hollow feeling in her chest. “Please,” she managed. Her voice was hoarse, like she hadn’t used it in days. “Auntie, please. Listen to me. He’s lying.” Marian’s face twisted. “Don’t call me that. You have no auntie anymore.” The door slammed behind her. Elma stood in the hallway with a single bag at her feet. The zipper was broken. Two dresses, folded small. A toothbrush with the bristles worn flat. A plastic comb with three teeth missing. And a photo of her parents, corners worn soft from years of holding. Her father’s arm around her mother’s shoulder. Both of them smiling like they didn’t know what was coming. The flat went quiet again. Inside, she could hear her cousin Tunde’s voice, muffled through the door. “Mama, was that necessary?” “Necessary?” Marian snapped. “She’s a harlot, Tunde. Do you want her in your bed next?” Elma didn’t wait to hear the rest. She picked up the bag. Her hands shook so badly she nearly dropped it. “Make sure no one hires her,” Joseph’s voice dropped, low enough that only she could hear through the door. “I don’t want her anywhere near me again. Call HR at Hayes. Tell them she’s a security risk. Tell them she tried to steal from me.” Blacklisted. The word hit harder than the slap. Without a job, without a reference, she was invisible in the city. A ghost before she was dead. Hayes Corp owned half the industrial district. If they blacklisted you, the banks wouldn’t touch you. The markets wouldn’t hire you. Even the street hawkers would turn you away. The street outside was cold and loud. Okadas roared past. Hawkers shouted. The smell of roasted plantain and diesel hung heavy in the air. No one looked at her. No one stopped. She didn’t know where to go. Her feet carried her without permission, moving on muscle memory from twelve years of running errands for Marian. Left at the junction. Past the blocked drain that always smelled of rot. Under the bridge where boys played cards and smoked things they shouldn’t. She should have gone to the police. She should have screamed. But what would she say? He touched me? He lied? In this city, a man’s word was worth more than a girl’s tears. Especially when the man worked for Hayes Corp. Her bag grew heavier with every step. Not because of the clothes inside. Because of the weight of being unwanted. By 9 PM, her legs burned. Her throat was dry. The riverbank in the industrial district came into view. She’d washed clothes here since she was twelve. The water was dirty, but it was familiar. It didn’t ask questions. There, under the open sky, she collapsed. The concrete was cold through her thin dress. She didn’t care. Tears came fast and silent, shaking her whole body. For her parents. For the life she’d lost tonight. For the life she’d never have. She thought of her mother’s voice. “Be strong, Elma. Stronger than the world.” Her mother had said that the night before the explosion. Elma had been eight. She didn’t understand then. She understood now. When she woke, darkness had swallowed the city. The streetlights were out. NEPA would take power for hours, and no one would explain why. Shadows danced around her. Sounds she couldn’t identify moved in the dark. Fear pushed her to her feet. She ran.