THE BÃNK ALERT FROM MY DĒÃD FIANCÉ
My fiancé d!ed in the fire 0utbreak that c0nsumed his apartment. But two weeks later, I g0t a credīt alert of ₦2 m!llion from his acc0unt, with the message: Don’t cry, I’ll explain later.
That night of the f!re is something I can never forget. I was at my sister’s place in town when my phone started buzzing with calls. “Chioma, come o, something don happen to Kunle’s house!” I thought it was one of those neighbour exaggerations, but by the time I rushed there, the street was filled with sm0ke, people sh0uting, and f!re service men dragging hoses. The smell of būrn!ng wood and plastic was everywhere, and I just stood there like somebody whose spirit had left her body.
I screamed until my throat went dry, but they pūshed me back as they carried out a stretcher. I only saw his wrist—blãckened, l!fēlêss. That was the last time I saw him. My Kunle. My own husband-to-be. The man that had promised me heaven and earth just three months before. The fire swallowed not just his house, but my future.
In the days that followed, I was like a walking shadow. Our wedding asoebi was still hanging in my wardrobe, the invitation cards scattered in my room, and people kept coming to “console” me with pity eyes that only made me feel worse. My mother begged me to eat, my friends tried to distract me, but nothing worked. I would hold his picture on my phone at night and cry until I slept off.
Kunle was not a perfect man, but he was my man. He was thirty-two, working with a construction company, tall and always smelling of that cologne I liked. He had his rough edges, but he cared for me in ways that made me believe love was real. We had argued, planned, laughed, and even fought like children, but death decided to separate us before marriage could join us.
Two weeks later, just when I thought I was finally accepting he was gone, my phone buzzed again. At first, I thought it was one of those pity transfers from friends or relatives. But when I opened it, my hand began to shake.
₦2,OOO,OOO cred!ted. From Kunle’s account.
And the description line under the alert read: “Don’t cry, I’ll explain later.”
I dropped the phone on my bed, staring at it as if it would speak.
Was I going mad, or was Kunle trying to reach me from the grave?
THE BANK AlĒRT FROM THE GRÃVE
Chapter 2
I sat on the bed staring at the phone like somebody that just saw a ghost. I cleaned my eyes, opened the message again, checked the date and time. It was real. The ₦2 m!lli0n was sitting there in my account and the sēnder was clearly written—Kunle’s account. My mind started running round in circles. I read the description again, the words that cut straight into my heart: Don’t cry, I’ll explain later.
For a long time, I didn’t even know what to do. I pressed the phone against my chest, listening to my own heartbeat as if I would hear his voice inside. I thought maybe it was a mistake from the bank, maybe another Kunle somewhere. But how many Kunle’s in this world knew my tears and would write me such words?
That night I didn’t close my eyes. I just lay there, turning from one side to the other, holding the phone like it was the last piece of him I had left. By morning, I tied my scarf and carried myself to the bank. People were already queuing outside the glass doors, some carrying files, some arguing with security men. I didn’t even have the strength for queue that day, I just went straight to customer service, my legs heavy but my head hot with questions.
The young man attending to me wore glasses, his tie looking too tight on his neck. I explained everything—how my fiancé had d!ed, how his account sent me money with a message. He typed on his computer, frowned small, and then called his supervisor. They whispered like people hiding something. The woman finally turned to me and said, “Madam, the transaction is genuine, the m0ney is in your account.”
I asked how possible when Kunle’s account should have been closed. She looked me dead in the eye and said, “According to our record, the account was flagged inactive after his dæth certificate was submitted. There is no way any transfer should come from here.”
I wanted to shout, but the way she looked at me, with that kind of pity that almost felt like fear, kept my voice down. I just gathered my bag and left.
That night, as I sat on my bed replaying everything, another alert came. This time ₦5OO,000. My breath caught in my throat as I read the description: “Nkem.”
That was what Kunle used to call me when nobody was there. My own. It was not just a pet name; it was ours, something private that no other person knew. My hands pressed hard against my mouth, tears pouring freely. My Kunle—dēãd or alive—was speaking to me.
I dialed his old number, but it was switched off, like always. I couldn’t rest, so I went to the cemetery the next morning. The sun was high, the soil still looking fresh around his grave. I stood there, talking like a mad woman. “Kunle, what is this? If you are alive, come out. If you are dēãd, stop tormenting me.” The breeze blew quietly, carrying only the sound of my own voice.
That night, as I tried to calm myself, I started hearing footsteps outside my window. Slow, dragging, like someone pacing back and forth. I held my breath, listening. The compound was quiet, but the sound was too close to ignore.
I forced myself to speak. “Who is there?”
No answer.
I stood up, went near the curtain, peeped, but saw nothing. My heart was banging like drum, and before I could think of what to do, my phone lit up again.
One new message.
“Don’t be afraid. I’m closer than you think.”
Chapter 2
I sat on the bed staring at the phone like somebody that just saw a ghost. I cleaned my eyes, opened the message again, checked the date and time. It was real. The ₦2 m!lli0n was sitting there in my account and the sēnder was clearly written—Kunle’s account. My mind started running round in circles. I read the description again, the words that cut straight into my heart: Don’t cry, I’ll explain later.
For a long time, I didn’t even know what to do. I pressed the phone against my chest, listening to my own heartbeat as if I would hear his voice inside. I thought maybe it was a mistake from the bank, maybe another Kunle somewhere. But how many Kunle’s in this world knew my tears and would write me such words?
That night I didn’t close my eyes. I just lay there, turning from one side to the other, holding the phone like it was the last piece of him I had left. By morning, I tied my scarf and carried myself to the bank. People were already queuing outside the glass doors, some carrying files, some arguing with security men. I didn’t even have the strength for queue that day, I just went straight to customer service, my legs heavy but my head hot with questions.
The young man attending to me wore glasses, his tie looking too tight on his neck. I explained everything—how my fiancé had d!ed, how his account sent me money with a message. He typed on his computer, frowned small, and then called his supervisor. They whispered like people hiding something. The woman finally turned to me and said, “Madam, the transaction is genuine, the m0ney is in your account.”
I asked how possible when Kunle’s account should have been closed. She looked me dead in the eye and said, “According to our record, the account was flagged inactive after his dæth certificate was submitted. There is no way any transfer should come from here.”
I wanted to shout, but the way she looked at me, with that kind of pity that almost felt like fear, kept my voice down. I just gathered my bag and left.
That night, as I sat on my bed replaying everything, another alert came. This time ₦5OO,000. My breath caught in my throat as I read the description: “Nkem.”
That was what Kunle used to call me when nobody was there. My own. It was not just a pet name; it was ours, something private that no other person knew. My hands pressed hard against my mouth, tears pouring freely. My Kunle—dēãd or alive—was speaking to me.
I dialed his old number, but it was switched off, like always. I couldn’t rest, so I went to the cemetery the next morning. The sun was high, the soil still looking fresh around his grave. I stood there, talking like a mad woman. “Kunle, what is this? If you are alive, come out. If you are dēãd, stop tormenting me.” The breeze blew quietly, carrying only the sound of my own voice.
That night, as I tried to calm myself, I started hearing footsteps outside my window. Slow, dragging, like someone pacing back and forth. I held my breath, listening. The compound was quiet, but the sound was too close to ignore.
I forced myself to speak. “Who is there?”
No answer.
I stood up, went near the curtain, peeped, but saw nothing. My heart was banging like drum, and before I could think of what to do, my phone lit up again.
One new message.
“Don’t be afraid. I’m closer than you think.”
THE BANK AlĒRT FROM THE GRÃVE
CHAPTER 3
The message shone on my screen like fire. I didn’t even breathe for some seconds, my hand gripping the phone so tight as if it would fall from me. My eyes moved again to the words, slowly, line by line, and my body turned cold. Don’t be afraid. I’m closer than you think.
I looked around my room, the curtain still shaking small from the breeze. My window was half open, the bulb outside throwing one kind of dim shadow that made everything inside look strange. I couldn’t tell if it was my mind playing games with me or if somebody was really outside.
I tried to steady myself but the more I thought, the more my stomach tightened. Who could be sending these things? How would anybody know the exact words Kunle used to comfort me? Nobody was in that room with us when he used to call me those names. Nobody knew those soft details of our love. My hands started sweating, and I placed the phone on my lap like maybe if I didn’t look at it again, the words would disappear.
But they didn’t. They sat there, waiting for me to either break or believe.
I gathered small strength, stood up, and touched the curtain again, pulling it a little to the side. The compound was silent, the kind of silence that makes you hear your own heart too loud. The gate stood where it always stood, locked. The neighbour’s car was parked where it always was. Nothing looked strange, yet the footsteps I heard earlier refused to leave my head.
I forced myself back to the bed, sat with my wrapper tied tight across my chest, and pressed the phone against my thigh like it would protect me. I didn’t want to reply. I didn’t even know if I could. My fear was stronger than any question I had.
But then another thought entered my mind. What if Kunle was not really gone? What if the body I cried over was not him? Could it be that he staged everything? Could it be that this was his way of reaching me quietly? The idea was mad, but the kind of madness that you want to believe because it will give you small comfort.
The next morning I could not concentrate on anything. I didn’t even sweep the house or cook. My mind was too heavy. I kept checking my phone like somebody expecting a call from heaven. My neighbour, Mama Esther, knocked later to ask if I was fine because she hadn’t seen me come out. I only forced a smile and said I was not feeling strong. I couldn’t open my mouth to tell anybody the truth. Who would believe me?
By evening, when the sun had gone down and the street was quieting, I went outside to throw dirt in the bin. That was when I noticed a car parked across the road, one small Toyota, dark glass, the kind you cannot easily see inside. I looked at it twice because I didn’t remember seeing it in the morning. Nobody came down, nobody moved, it just sat there. The backlight reflected small against the electric pole, and I felt my skin rise.
I went back inside quickly, locked the door, and pressed my back against it. My heart refused to calm down. Could it be ordinary? Or could somebody be watching me?
That night, the money entered again. Not much this time, just ₦200,000. But it was the words that broke me: “I still keep the way you laugh in my heart.”
I covered my face with my two hands. Nobody else knew that line. It was something he once whispered in my ear when I was shy about laughing too loud. He had teased me until I laughed, then hugged me and said those exact words. And now here they were, typed to me from nowhere.
I couldn’t keep it in anymore. I called Amara, my closest friend, and told her everything, from the first alert to the message that just came. She shouted on the phone, “My sister, stop this thing. Stop before you run mad. Dead people don’t send money. Somebody is playing with your mind!”
But even with her shouting, my own heart didn’t accept it. Because this wasn’t just ordinary play. Whoever it was knew too much, things too deep.
The night stretched long, and as I finally tried to doze off, I heard it—the sound at my door. Not a knock. Not scratching. Just one shadow, tall and clear, standing behind the curtain of glass. I jumped up immediately, switched on my lamp, and my body turned stiff. The shadow was shaped like a man, broad shoulders, familiar height.
Before I could rush to open the door, it was gone. Only the quiet night remained.
Then my phone vibrated again.
“Tomorrow, I’ll show you the truth.”
CHAPTER 3
The message shone on my screen like fire. I didn’t even breathe for some seconds, my hand gripping the phone so tight as if it would fall from me. My eyes moved again to the words, slowly, line by line, and my body turned cold. Don’t be afraid. I’m closer than you think.
I looked around my room, the curtain still shaking small from the breeze. My window was half open, the bulb outside throwing one kind of dim shadow that made everything inside look strange. I couldn’t tell if it was my mind playing games with me or if somebody was really outside.
I tried to steady myself but the more I thought, the more my stomach tightened. Who could be sending these things? How would anybody know the exact words Kunle used to comfort me? Nobody was in that room with us when he used to call me those names. Nobody knew those soft details of our love. My hands started sweating, and I placed the phone on my lap like maybe if I didn’t look at it again, the words would disappear.
But they didn’t. They sat there, waiting for me to either break or believe.
I gathered small strength, stood up, and touched the curtain again, pulling it a little to the side. The compound was silent, the kind of silence that makes you hear your own heart too loud. The gate stood where it always stood, locked. The neighbour’s car was parked where it always was. Nothing looked strange, yet the footsteps I heard earlier refused to leave my head.
I forced myself back to the bed, sat with my wrapper tied tight across my chest, and pressed the phone against my thigh like it would protect me. I didn’t want to reply. I didn’t even know if I could. My fear was stronger than any question I had.
But then another thought entered my mind. What if Kunle was not really gone? What if the body I cried over was not him? Could it be that he staged everything? Could it be that this was his way of reaching me quietly? The idea was mad, but the kind of madness that you want to believe because it will give you small comfort.
The next morning I could not concentrate on anything. I didn’t even sweep the house or cook. My mind was too heavy. I kept checking my phone like somebody expecting a call from heaven. My neighbour, Mama Esther, knocked later to ask if I was fine because she hadn’t seen me come out. I only forced a smile and said I was not feeling strong. I couldn’t open my mouth to tell anybody the truth. Who would believe me?
By evening, when the sun had gone down and the street was quieting, I went outside to throw dirt in the bin. That was when I noticed a car parked across the road, one small Toyota, dark glass, the kind you cannot easily see inside. I looked at it twice because I didn’t remember seeing it in the morning. Nobody came down, nobody moved, it just sat there. The backlight reflected small against the electric pole, and I felt my skin rise.
I went back inside quickly, locked the door, and pressed my back against it. My heart refused to calm down. Could it be ordinary? Or could somebody be watching me?
That night, the money entered again. Not much this time, just ₦200,000. But it was the words that broke me: “I still keep the way you laugh in my heart.”
I covered my face with my two hands. Nobody else knew that line. It was something he once whispered in my ear when I was shy about laughing too loud. He had teased me until I laughed, then hugged me and said those exact words. And now here they were, typed to me from nowhere.
I couldn’t keep it in anymore. I called Amara, my closest friend, and told her everything, from the first alert to the message that just came. She shouted on the phone, “My sister, stop this thing. Stop before you run mad. Dead people don’t send money. Somebody is playing with your mind!”
But even with her shouting, my own heart didn’t accept it. Because this wasn’t just ordinary play. Whoever it was knew too much, things too deep.
The night stretched long, and as I finally tried to doze off, I heard it—the sound at my door. Not a knock. Not scratching. Just one shadow, tall and clear, standing behind the curtain of glass. I jumped up immediately, switched on my lamp, and my body turned stiff. The shadow was shaped like a man, broad shoulders, familiar height.
Before I could rush to open the door, it was gone. Only the quiet night remained.
Then my phone vibrated again.
“Tomorrow, I’ll show you the truth.”
THE BANK AlĒRT FROM THE GRÃVE
CHAPTER 4
The words on my phone refused to leave my head. Tomorrow, I’ll show you the truth. I hardly slept that night, my body kept turning from one side to another, waiting for what tomorrow would bring. By the time the first cock crowed, my eyes were red, my mouth dry, but my heart was beating like I was marching into battle.
When the sun came up fully, I was sitting on my chair, holding the phone like it was my only lifeline. Then it buzzed. A new message. I swallowed hard before opening it.
It was an address. Nothing more. Just one line with street name and number.
For minutes I stared at it, my hand cold. My mind said, Don’t go. This is madness. But another part of me whispered, What if this is really Kunle? What if he is alive and waiting for you? That small voice was louder than reason.
By afternoon I dressed up, tied my scarf, and boarded a keke that took me to the place. The road was not familiar. It was at the far end of town, a part I had no reason to ever enter. The houses looked tired, paint peeling, gutters smelling of stagnant water. When I came down, I checked the address again. My heart almost failed me when I saw it—an old building with cracked walls, one of those places people hardly notice.
I walked slowly, my slippers brushing sand, my eyes moving left and right. Nobody seemed to pay me attention, yet I felt exposed, like every shadow was watching. I pushed the rusted gate and entered. The compound was quiet, only one dog tied with rope in the corner, its ribs showing, barking weakly.
When I climbed the stairs, my knees shook. The door at the end had the number written in chalk. I touched the handle. It opened. The room inside was almost empty, only a wooden chair and a small table. On the table, there was an envelope. My stomach twisted.
I stretched my hand, picked it, and opened. Papers dropped into my hand—bank documents, foreign accounts, names I had never seen. My eyes raced over numbers I could not even finish reading. Offshore accounts, balances that looked unreal. At the bottom was a folded paper with handwriting I knew too well. Kunle’s.
My legs almost gave way. I sat on the chair, the paper shaking as I read.
“Nkem, if you are reading this, it means they failed to silence everything. I did not die the way they told you. I had enemies, people I owed nothing but they wanted everything. If you love me, do not show this to anyone. Keep it safe. Trust no one.”
The more I read, the more my head scattered. Enemies? Offshore accounts? Hidden money? Who was this man I had agreed to marry? The same man who knelt to propose to me, smiling like he had nothing to hide. Was Kunle living a double life? Was he a criminal?
My breath became heavy. I folded the papers back and returned them into the envelope, my eyes wet with confusion. I stood up, pushed the door, and hurried out. The sun outside hit my face but it didn’t warm me. My whole body felt like I was carrying fire inside.
As I stepped outside the gate, my heart dropped. Across the road, parked just like before, was that same small Toyota with dark glass. The engine wasn’t running, but the car was there, still, silent, as if waiting for me.
I froze on the spot, the envelope tight under my arm. My eyes refused to leave the car. Was somebody following me? Was this part of the same secret? Or was it those enemies he wrote about?
The street was almost empty, only one small boy dragging a tyre and a woman frying akara under a shed. Nobody looked at the car. Nobody looked at me. It was like I was the only one seeing it.
I took one slow step backward, then another. My body was telling me to run but my legs felt weak. And then, as if on cue, my phone started ringing in my bag.
I grabbed it with shaky fingers. The caller ID almost stopped my heart.
It was Kunle’s number.
CHAPTER 4
The words on my phone refused to leave my head. Tomorrow, I’ll show you the truth. I hardly slept that night, my body kept turning from one side to another, waiting for what tomorrow would bring. By the time the first cock crowed, my eyes were red, my mouth dry, but my heart was beating like I was marching into battle.
When the sun came up fully, I was sitting on my chair, holding the phone like it was my only lifeline. Then it buzzed. A new message. I swallowed hard before opening it.
It was an address. Nothing more. Just one line with street name and number.
For minutes I stared at it, my hand cold. My mind said, Don’t go. This is madness. But another part of me whispered, What if this is really Kunle? What if he is alive and waiting for you? That small voice was louder than reason.
By afternoon I dressed up, tied my scarf, and boarded a keke that took me to the place. The road was not familiar. It was at the far end of town, a part I had no reason to ever enter. The houses looked tired, paint peeling, gutters smelling of stagnant water. When I came down, I checked the address again. My heart almost failed me when I saw it—an old building with cracked walls, one of those places people hardly notice.
I walked slowly, my slippers brushing sand, my eyes moving left and right. Nobody seemed to pay me attention, yet I felt exposed, like every shadow was watching. I pushed the rusted gate and entered. The compound was quiet, only one dog tied with rope in the corner, its ribs showing, barking weakly.
When I climbed the stairs, my knees shook. The door at the end had the number written in chalk. I touched the handle. It opened. The room inside was almost empty, only a wooden chair and a small table. On the table, there was an envelope. My stomach twisted.
I stretched my hand, picked it, and opened. Papers dropped into my hand—bank documents, foreign accounts, names I had never seen. My eyes raced over numbers I could not even finish reading. Offshore accounts, balances that looked unreal. At the bottom was a folded paper with handwriting I knew too well. Kunle’s.
My legs almost gave way. I sat on the chair, the paper shaking as I read.
“Nkem, if you are reading this, it means they failed to silence everything. I did not die the way they told you. I had enemies, people I owed nothing but they wanted everything. If you love me, do not show this to anyone. Keep it safe. Trust no one.”
The more I read, the more my head scattered. Enemies? Offshore accounts? Hidden money? Who was this man I had agreed to marry? The same man who knelt to propose to me, smiling like he had nothing to hide. Was Kunle living a double life? Was he a criminal?
My breath became heavy. I folded the papers back and returned them into the envelope, my eyes wet with confusion. I stood up, pushed the door, and hurried out. The sun outside hit my face but it didn’t warm me. My whole body felt like I was carrying fire inside.
As I stepped outside the gate, my heart dropped. Across the road, parked just like before, was that same small Toyota with dark glass. The engine wasn’t running, but the car was there, still, silent, as if waiting for me.
I froze on the spot, the envelope tight under my arm. My eyes refused to leave the car. Was somebody following me? Was this part of the same secret? Or was it those enemies he wrote about?
The street was almost empty, only one small boy dragging a tyre and a woman frying akara under a shed. Nobody looked at the car. Nobody looked at me. It was like I was the only one seeing it.
I took one slow step backward, then another. My body was telling me to run but my legs felt weak. And then, as if on cue, my phone started ringing in my bag.
I grabbed it with shaky fingers. The caller ID almost stopped my heart.
It was Kunle’s number.
THE BANK ALĒRT FROM THE GRÃVE
Chapter 5
I took one slow step backward, then another. My body was telling me to run but my legs felt weak. And then, as if on cue, my phone started ringing in my bag.
I grabbed it with shaky fingers. The caller ID almost stopped my heart.
It was Kunle’s number.
….
…
A beautiful morning my online fans, wives and family, You have been reading with me since the beginning. Every l!ke, every c0mment, every shãre has kept me going and I don’t want to lose you. That’s why I opened
Chapter 5
I took one slow step backward, then another. My body was telling me to run but my legs felt weak. And then, as if on cue, my phone started ringing in my bag.
I grabbed it with shaky fingers. The caller ID almost stopped my heart.
It was Kunle’s number.
….
…
A beautiful morning my online fans, wives and family, You have been reading with me since the beginning. Every l!ke, every c0mment, every shãre has kept me going and I don’t want to lose you. That’s why I opened
THE BANK AlĒRT FROM THE GRÃVE
CHAPTER 5
The phone screen was still bright in my hand, and that number was there, bold, sharp, familiar(Kunle’s number). My breath caught as I pressed it close to my ear. I wanted to hear his voice, even if it was just once, but the line cut before I could even speak. The sound of the disconnect tone pierced my chest like knife.
My eyes went straight to the dark Toyota. It was still there, the glass rolled up, no movement inside. A cold shiver crawled down my back. I didn’t wait to think again—I rushed to the road, flagged down the first keke that came, and begged the driver to move fast. My hands refused to stay still, they kept twisting the scarf on my neck as the keke bumped along the bad road. I kept looking back. The car was behind us.
“Driver abeg, go faster,” I whispered, my voice breaking. He turned and gave me one strange look but pressed his leg harder on the pedal. My body bounced as the keke jumped potholes, but when I glanced back, the same Toyota was still following calmly like it had nowhere else to be.
By the time I got down near my street, my legs wanted to fail me. I didn’t even bother to collect my balance properly, I just ran. My slippers slapped the ground as I hurried into the compound, slammed my door, and pushed the bolt across. My chest was hot, my ears ringing.
Before I could catch my breath, the phone started ringing again. This time it was not Kunle’s number—it was “Unknown Number.” My hand shook as I lifted it. I pressed it to my ear and waited.
A man’s voice came, low and sharp, like someone biting words as he spoke.
“Stop digging, Nkem. If you don’t, you will join him in the ground.”
The line went dead. I didn’t even know when my hand left the phone and covered my mouth. Tears rushed to my eyes, but no sound came. I just stood in the middle of the room, my whole body weak, my knees knocking together.
I moved to the window and peeped through the curtain. My street looked quiet—children were playing ten-ten by the corner, one woman was spreading clothes on the line, but to me everything looked dangerous. Any of them could be watching me. Anybody could be part of this.
That night I didn’t close my eyes. I sat on the mat, my back against the wall, pressing the envelope to my chest. I prayed small small prayers, begging God to protect me. Every sound outside—the bark of dog, the horn of passing okada—sounded like footsteps coming for me.
Around midnight my phone buzzed again. This time it was not a call. It was another alert. The screen lit up with ₦1,000,000. My mouth opened but no sound came out. One million, just like that. I scrolled down, and my heart almost stopped when I saw the note attached.
Trust no one. I’ll protect you.
I dropped the phone on the mat, staring at the words. Protect me? From who? Was it really Kunle sending this money? Or was it the same people who warned me, trying to confuse me?
Sleep refused to come. I sat there till morning, my mind running round and round. The envelope, the letter, the threats, the alerts—it all pointed to one thing. Kunle’s life was not the life I thought I knew.
By morning, I carried my phone and started writing down all the alert messages I had ever received since the so-called day of his death. I listed the amounts, the times, even the notes attached. I wanted to see if there was any hidden pattern, any clue.
The more I wrote, the more I noticed something strange. Each transfer came on the same day of the week. Each one carried a note that looked like a warning or a direction. I traced the letters with my finger, trying to make sense of it. It felt like a map, but a map leading me into fire.
Yet, something inside me refused to stop. Even though my whole body was telling me to throw away the phone, burn the papers, and run, another part of me wanted to know the truth, no matter what it cost. Was I chasing my fiancé’s ghost, or was I walking into a trap waiting to swallow me?
And just as that thought crossed my mind, the phone vibrated again. Another alert. But this time, there was no money—only a short message attached.
“Look outside your window.”
CHAPTER 5
The phone screen was still bright in my hand, and that number was there, bold, sharp, familiar(Kunle’s number). My breath caught as I pressed it close to my ear. I wanted to hear his voice, even if it was just once, but the line cut before I could even speak. The sound of the disconnect tone pierced my chest like knife.
My eyes went straight to the dark Toyota. It was still there, the glass rolled up, no movement inside. A cold shiver crawled down my back. I didn’t wait to think again—I rushed to the road, flagged down the first keke that came, and begged the driver to move fast. My hands refused to stay still, they kept twisting the scarf on my neck as the keke bumped along the bad road. I kept looking back. The car was behind us.
“Driver abeg, go faster,” I whispered, my voice breaking. He turned and gave me one strange look but pressed his leg harder on the pedal. My body bounced as the keke jumped potholes, but when I glanced back, the same Toyota was still following calmly like it had nowhere else to be.
By the time I got down near my street, my legs wanted to fail me. I didn’t even bother to collect my balance properly, I just ran. My slippers slapped the ground as I hurried into the compound, slammed my door, and pushed the bolt across. My chest was hot, my ears ringing.
Before I could catch my breath, the phone started ringing again. This time it was not Kunle’s number—it was “Unknown Number.” My hand shook as I lifted it. I pressed it to my ear and waited.
A man’s voice came, low and sharp, like someone biting words as he spoke.
“Stop digging, Nkem. If you don’t, you will join him in the ground.”
The line went dead. I didn’t even know when my hand left the phone and covered my mouth. Tears rushed to my eyes, but no sound came. I just stood in the middle of the room, my whole body weak, my knees knocking together.
I moved to the window and peeped through the curtain. My street looked quiet—children were playing ten-ten by the corner, one woman was spreading clothes on the line, but to me everything looked dangerous. Any of them could be watching me. Anybody could be part of this.
That night I didn’t close my eyes. I sat on the mat, my back against the wall, pressing the envelope to my chest. I prayed small small prayers, begging God to protect me. Every sound outside—the bark of dog, the horn of passing okada—sounded like footsteps coming for me.
Around midnight my phone buzzed again. This time it was not a call. It was another alert. The screen lit up with ₦1,000,000. My mouth opened but no sound came out. One million, just like that. I scrolled down, and my heart almost stopped when I saw the note attached.
Trust no one. I’ll protect you.
I dropped the phone on the mat, staring at the words. Protect me? From who? Was it really Kunle sending this money? Or was it the same people who warned me, trying to confuse me?
Sleep refused to come. I sat there till morning, my mind running round and round. The envelope, the letter, the threats, the alerts—it all pointed to one thing. Kunle’s life was not the life I thought I knew.
By morning, I carried my phone and started writing down all the alert messages I had ever received since the so-called day of his death. I listed the amounts, the times, even the notes attached. I wanted to see if there was any hidden pattern, any clue.
The more I wrote, the more I noticed something strange. Each transfer came on the same day of the week. Each one carried a note that looked like a warning or a direction. I traced the letters with my finger, trying to make sense of it. It felt like a map, but a map leading me into fire.
Yet, something inside me refused to stop. Even though my whole body was telling me to throw away the phone, burn the papers, and run, another part of me wanted to know the truth, no matter what it cost. Was I chasing my fiancé’s ghost, or was I walking into a trap waiting to swallow me?
And just as that thought crossed my mind, the phone vibrated again. Another alert. But this time, there was no money—only a short message attached.
“Look outside your window.”
THE BANK ALĒRT FROM THE GRÃVE
CHAPTER 6
The words on my phone kept ringing inside me—look outside your window. My hand pushed the curtain just small, and my eyes scanned the street. At first nothing looked different, the same children still chasing themselves, the same woman folding wrappers on her line, but then I noticed one man standing by a kiosk. He was not buying anything, not talking to anybody. His eyes were fixed on my window.
I pulled back immediately, my heart knocking against my chest like pestle pounding yam. I stood there, thinking of what to do, till the phone buzzed again. This time it was a message with an address and one line: Tomorrow, 6pm. Come alone.
All through the next day, my body refused to calm down. I carried myself like somebody that was waiting for exam result, not knowing whether to expect joy or disgrace. I even tried to convince myself not to go, but deep inside me something stronger kept pushing—what if it was Kunle, alive? What if all this wahala finally had an answer?
When the time reached, I dressed quietly, tied my scarf well and boarded keke down to the address. It was a small restaurant, the kind people hardly notice, with plastic chairs outside and dim yellow bulbs inside. My legs almost turned back when I entered, but before I could change my mind, my eyes caught him.
There, at one corner table, head bent, body slimmer than before, face lined with scars that were not there the last time I saw him. It was Kunle.
My legs went weak. I stood at the entrance, my mouth dry. He lifted his head slowly, and when our eyes met, it was like time stopped. For a second, joy filled my chest, then immediately anger pushed it aside. Tears rushed to my eyes as I walked closer, my slippers dragging against the floor.
“Nkem…” his voice was low, almost broken.
I didn’t sit. I just stood, staring at him like I was seeing both a ghost and a stranger. “So you’re alive,” I whispered, my voice shaking with anger. “You let me cry like a mad woman. You let me bury empty coffin. You made me look like widow in front of everybody.”
His head dropped. “I did it to protect you.”
“Protect me?” My laugh came out bitter. “From what? From love? From marriage? From my own life?”
..
He stretched his hand across the table but I stepped back. My eyes caught the scars again, and for a moment my anger melted into pity. “I didn’t die in that fire,” he said, voice trembling. “I escaped, but I couldn’t come back. Those people were already looking for me. If they knew you were still with me, they would have used you to get me. That’s why I stayed away. That’s why I had to make it look like I was gone.”
I pressed my palm against my forehead, shaking my head. “Kunle, you should have trusted me. You should have told me something. Do you know how I lived these past weeks? Messages from nowhere, cars following me, strangers calling me with threats. Do you know I thought I was losing my mind?”
His eyes shone with tears. “I sent the money to protect you, to make sure you would never suffer even if anything happened to me. Everything I did was to keep you alive, Nkem.”
For a moment silence hung between us. People inside the restaurant were minding their food, chewing loudly, but to me it was like we were the only two people in the world. My heart was heavy with both relief and anger. Relief that he was alive, anger that he put me through that pain.
Finally I sat, my voice low. “So what happens now? You come back and we pretend nothing happened?”
He leaned closer, his voice urgent. “No. We can’t go back. My enemies already know about you. They’ve been watching. That’s why you’ve been seeing that car, that’s why the calls started. They want to reach me through you. If we stay here, they will catch us both.”
His words settled on me like cold water. The room suddenly felt smaller. I wanted to argue, to say it was all exaggeration, but I remembered the strange man by my street, the Toyota following me, the call that warned me to stop digging.
He placed his hand on mine this time, firm and desperate. “We must run, Nkem. Tonight. Before they strike again.”
My breath caught. Run? Leave everything behind? My eyes searched his, looking for answers, but all I saw was fear hiding inside love.
And before I could even decide what to say, his eyes shifted past me, toward the restaurant door. His face tightened. His grip on my hand became stronger. He whispered quickly, “They’ve found us.”
CHAPTER 6
The words on my phone kept ringing inside me—look outside your window. My hand pushed the curtain just small, and my eyes scanned the street. At first nothing looked different, the same children still chasing themselves, the same woman folding wrappers on her line, but then I noticed one man standing by a kiosk. He was not buying anything, not talking to anybody. His eyes were fixed on my window.
I pulled back immediately, my heart knocking against my chest like pestle pounding yam. I stood there, thinking of what to do, till the phone buzzed again. This time it was a message with an address and one line: Tomorrow, 6pm. Come alone.
All through the next day, my body refused to calm down. I carried myself like somebody that was waiting for exam result, not knowing whether to expect joy or disgrace. I even tried to convince myself not to go, but deep inside me something stronger kept pushing—what if it was Kunle, alive? What if all this wahala finally had an answer?
When the time reached, I dressed quietly, tied my scarf well and boarded keke down to the address. It was a small restaurant, the kind people hardly notice, with plastic chairs outside and dim yellow bulbs inside. My legs almost turned back when I entered, but before I could change my mind, my eyes caught him.
There, at one corner table, head bent, body slimmer than before, face lined with scars that were not there the last time I saw him. It was Kunle.
My legs went weak. I stood at the entrance, my mouth dry. He lifted his head slowly, and when our eyes met, it was like time stopped. For a second, joy filled my chest, then immediately anger pushed it aside. Tears rushed to my eyes as I walked closer, my slippers dragging against the floor.
“Nkem…” his voice was low, almost broken.
I didn’t sit. I just stood, staring at him like I was seeing both a ghost and a stranger. “So you’re alive,” I whispered, my voice shaking with anger. “You let me cry like a mad woman. You let me bury empty coffin. You made me look like widow in front of everybody.”
His head dropped. “I did it to protect you.”
“Protect me?” My laugh came out bitter. “From what? From love? From marriage? From my own life?”
..
He stretched his hand across the table but I stepped back. My eyes caught the scars again, and for a moment my anger melted into pity. “I didn’t die in that fire,” he said, voice trembling. “I escaped, but I couldn’t come back. Those people were already looking for me. If they knew you were still with me, they would have used you to get me. That’s why I stayed away. That’s why I had to make it look like I was gone.”
I pressed my palm against my forehead, shaking my head. “Kunle, you should have trusted me. You should have told me something. Do you know how I lived these past weeks? Messages from nowhere, cars following me, strangers calling me with threats. Do you know I thought I was losing my mind?”
His eyes shone with tears. “I sent the money to protect you, to make sure you would never suffer even if anything happened to me. Everything I did was to keep you alive, Nkem.”
For a moment silence hung between us. People inside the restaurant were minding their food, chewing loudly, but to me it was like we were the only two people in the world. My heart was heavy with both relief and anger. Relief that he was alive, anger that he put me through that pain.
Finally I sat, my voice low. “So what happens now? You come back and we pretend nothing happened?”
He leaned closer, his voice urgent. “No. We can’t go back. My enemies already know about you. They’ve been watching. That’s why you’ve been seeing that car, that’s why the calls started. They want to reach me through you. If we stay here, they will catch us both.”
His words settled on me like cold water. The room suddenly felt smaller. I wanted to argue, to say it was all exaggeration, but I remembered the strange man by my street, the Toyota following me, the call that warned me to stop digging.
He placed his hand on mine this time, firm and desperate. “We must run, Nkem. Tonight. Before they strike again.”
My breath caught. Run? Leave everything behind? My eyes searched his, looking for answers, but all I saw was fear hiding inside love.
And before I could even decide what to say, his eyes shifted past me, toward the restaurant door. His face tightened. His grip on my hand became stronger. He whispered quickly, “They’ve found us.”
THE BANK ALĒRT FROM THE GRÃVE
CHAPTER 7
His whisper was sharp in my ear, “They’ve found us.”
Before I could even turn my head, Kunle stood up, his chair scraping the floor. He held my wrist tight and pulled me toward the back door of the restaurant. My legs were heavy but fear pushed me along. I didn’t even look back because I knew if I saw whoever he was talking about, I would freeze right there.
We burst out into the back alley. The air was damp, smelling of stale beer and smoke from suya stands outside. Kunle kept moving fast, dragging me until we came out by the roadside. My eyes kept darting, expecting to see somebody jump out at us. We entered one keke that was just loading, and Kunle told the man, “Move fast, abeg.” His voice shook but his face was hard.
Inside the keke, my body trembled like somebody with fever. I wanted to ask questions but my throat was dry. Kunle just kept looking behind, his eyes restless. After some minutes, he finally breathed out. “They followed me here, Nkem. I saw the same face from that night. The people that wanted me dead.”
I stared at him, trying to process his words. “Kunle, which kind of life is this? Who are these people? Why are they after you?”
He rubbed his scarred face, his voice low. “It started with money. Dirty money. I worked with some businessmen, people that control things in this city. At first, it was small deals, nothing serious, then it grew into big contracts. I thought I could pull out when I saw the danger, but they don’t let people go just like that. They planned to end me with that fire. I escaped, but since then, I’ve been hiding like rat.”
The keke bumped over potholes, and each sound made me jump. My head felt like it was swelling. “So all this while, you were alive but running, while I was mourning like a widow. Kunle, do you know what you put me through?” My eyes burned with tears. “Do you know how I cried every night? Do you know how my people looked at me with pity, like I was cursed?”
He reached for my hand. “I didn’t want this for you. I thought if you believed I was dead, they would leave you alone. But they still found you, because of me. That’s why we can’t stay here anymore.”
The keke stopped near a quiet street. He paid quickly and pulled me down. We entered a small lodge, the kind where nobody asks too many questions. The room was hot, with old curtains and one ceiling fan that made more noise than breeze. I sat on the edge of the bed, finally letting my tears fall.
Kunle sat close, his voice breaking. “I know I betrayed your trust, Nkem. I know I hurt you. But everything I did was to keep you alive. If I had stayed, they would have finished me, and maybe you too. That money I sent—it was the only way I could show I still cared.”
I wanted to shout, to insult him, to say love is not about hiding and running. But when I looked at him properly, the scars, the thin body, the fear hiding behind his eyes, I felt my anger fight with pity. This was the man I loved, but he was no longer the same man I knew.
As the night grew deeper, my phone started buzzing again. First, it was one text: We see you. Then another: No hiding place. My heart almost stopped. I showed Kunle, and he clenched his jaw. “They are playing with our minds. But they won’t stop until they get what they want.”
I asked quietly, “And what do they want?”
His voice was cold. “They want me dead. And now, they want to use you to get to me.”
I covered my mouth, my body weak. “So what do we do now?”
Kunle looked straight into my eyes, his face serious, no trace of smile. “We run, Nkem. We run tonight. We don’t tell anybody, not even your family. If we delay, they will reach us first.”
My chest tightened as I thought of my mother, my siblings, my whole life I was about to abandon. Everything inside me wanted to refuse, but fear was louder than my thoughts. The buzzing of my phone continued—message after message, each one more threatening than the last.
Kunle stood, his voice firm. “Pack your things. We leave before morning.”
And just as he said that, a loud knock landed on the lodge door.
CHAPTER 7
His whisper was sharp in my ear, “They’ve found us.”
Before I could even turn my head, Kunle stood up, his chair scraping the floor. He held my wrist tight and pulled me toward the back door of the restaurant. My legs were heavy but fear pushed me along. I didn’t even look back because I knew if I saw whoever he was talking about, I would freeze right there.
We burst out into the back alley. The air was damp, smelling of stale beer and smoke from suya stands outside. Kunle kept moving fast, dragging me until we came out by the roadside. My eyes kept darting, expecting to see somebody jump out at us. We entered one keke that was just loading, and Kunle told the man, “Move fast, abeg.” His voice shook but his face was hard.
Inside the keke, my body trembled like somebody with fever. I wanted to ask questions but my throat was dry. Kunle just kept looking behind, his eyes restless. After some minutes, he finally breathed out. “They followed me here, Nkem. I saw the same face from that night. The people that wanted me dead.”
I stared at him, trying to process his words. “Kunle, which kind of life is this? Who are these people? Why are they after you?”
He rubbed his scarred face, his voice low. “It started with money. Dirty money. I worked with some businessmen, people that control things in this city. At first, it was small deals, nothing serious, then it grew into big contracts. I thought I could pull out when I saw the danger, but they don’t let people go just like that. They planned to end me with that fire. I escaped, but since then, I’ve been hiding like rat.”
The keke bumped over potholes, and each sound made me jump. My head felt like it was swelling. “So all this while, you were alive but running, while I was mourning like a widow. Kunle, do you know what you put me through?” My eyes burned with tears. “Do you know how I cried every night? Do you know how my people looked at me with pity, like I was cursed?”
He reached for my hand. “I didn’t want this for you. I thought if you believed I was dead, they would leave you alone. But they still found you, because of me. That’s why we can’t stay here anymore.”
The keke stopped near a quiet street. He paid quickly and pulled me down. We entered a small lodge, the kind where nobody asks too many questions. The room was hot, with old curtains and one ceiling fan that made more noise than breeze. I sat on the edge of the bed, finally letting my tears fall.
Kunle sat close, his voice breaking. “I know I betrayed your trust, Nkem. I know I hurt you. But everything I did was to keep you alive. If I had stayed, they would have finished me, and maybe you too. That money I sent—it was the only way I could show I still cared.”
I wanted to shout, to insult him, to say love is not about hiding and running. But when I looked at him properly, the scars, the thin body, the fear hiding behind his eyes, I felt my anger fight with pity. This was the man I loved, but he was no longer the same man I knew.
As the night grew deeper, my phone started buzzing again. First, it was one text: We see you. Then another: No hiding place. My heart almost stopped. I showed Kunle, and he clenched his jaw. “They are playing with our minds. But they won’t stop until they get what they want.”
I asked quietly, “And what do they want?”
His voice was cold. “They want me dead. And now, they want to use you to get to me.”
I covered my mouth, my body weak. “So what do we do now?”
Kunle looked straight into my eyes, his face serious, no trace of smile. “We run, Nkem. We run tonight. We don’t tell anybody, not even your family. If we delay, they will reach us first.”
My chest tightened as I thought of my mother, my siblings, my whole life I was about to abandon. Everything inside me wanted to refuse, but fear was louder than my thoughts. The buzzing of my phone continued—message after message, each one more threatening than the last.
Kunle stood, his voice firm. “Pack your things. We leave before morning.”
And just as he said that, a loud knock landed on the lodge door.
THE BANK ALĒRT FROM THE GRÃVE
CHAPTER 8
The knock on the door was so loud it shook the thin wood, like somebody wanted to break it down with fist alone. My eyes went straight to Kunle, his face had already changed, sharp and alert like a soldier. He placed one finger on his lips, warning me not to make a sound, then he moved quietly toward the door. My heart was running faster than my body could carry, I clutched the edge of the bed with both hands, waiting for what would happen next.
Another knock followed, this time with a voice. “Open this door!” The voice was deep, strange, not familiar. I pressed my palms together, whispering a small prayer inside me. Kunle moved back, shaking his head, then whispered quickly, “It’s them. They’ve tracked us here.”
Before I could even reply, his phone buzzed. He checked and showed me the screen—a message had just entered. “You have No hiding Place!* Time is up. My whole body went cold.
We stayed silent until the knocking stopped, then after some minutes the footsteps faded away. The silence was even more worse than the noise because it meant they could still be outside waiting. Kunle shut the small window, then sat close to me. His voice was low but steady. “We can’t keep running like this, Nkem. They will catch us one day. The only way to end this is to turn the hunt against them.”
I looked at him, not understanding. “What do you mean?”
He leaned forward. “We set a trap. Use what they want most to draw them out.”
I frowned. “And what is that?”
“The money. And the documents I still kept—records of all the dirty deals I did with them. That’s what they’ve been trying to erase since the beginning. If they believe I want to exchange those papers for my freedom, they will come out. And this time, the police will be waiting.”
I shook my head immediately. “Kunle, this is dangerous. What if they find out it’s a trap? What if the police fail us?”
He held my shoulders firmly, looking into my eyes like he wanted to push courage inside me. “Nkem, if we don’t try, they will finish both of us. At least this way, we fight back.”
That night stretched like one long road with no end. The ceiling fan kept groaning as if it would fall on us, the air was hot, but fear was hotter. My phone kept buzzing with threats, each message shorter and sharper than the last. We see you. We are close. Ready to bleed. Every time I read them, my stomach turned.
By morning, Kunle had already contacted a police officer he trusted, somebody he claimed once tried to pull him out of the dirty business. The officer listened, then told him to stage the meeting while they arranged men to surround the place quietly. Hearing that plan gave me small hope, but still my chest refused to relax.
Later in the evening, we reached the abandoned warehouse where the meeting would take place. The place looked like somewhere people dumped broken chairs and forgotten goods. Dust covered everything, the air smelled of rusted iron. I stood close to Kunle, holding my scarf tighter around me. He had placed the envelope of documents on the table in the middle of the hall, waiting.
Minutes felt like hours until a black SUV drove in. Three men stepped out, hard faces, no smile, their eyes sharp like blade. One of them, tall and dark with small scar on his chin, walked inside first. “Kunle,” he called, his voice calm but dangerous. “So you finally have sense.”
Kunle did not answer immediately. He just pointed at the envelope. “It’s all here. The money trail, the contracts, everything. Once I’m free, you take it, and we close this chapter.”
The man smiled but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. He signaled the others to search the place. I held my breath, pretending to look down so they wouldn’t see my fear.
Then suddenly, from outside, a whistle pierced the air. In one second, police officers rushed in from every side, guns raised, voices loud. “Don’t move! Hands up!” The three men froze, shock on their faces. One of them tried to run, but two officers tackled him to the ground.
Everything happened fast, shouting, struggling, handcuffs snapping. I stood like statue, watching it unfold. For the first time since this nightmare began, I felt something heavy lift from my chest.
Kunle grabbed my hand gently, whispering, “It’s over, Nkem. We are free.”
But even as he said it, my heart did not rest. I stared at him, the man who let me mourn him, the man who dragged me into this storm, yet still the man my heart refused to stop loving. The questions inside me were plenty—can I forgive him, can I ever trust him again, can we truly have peace?
The police led the men outside, and I thought maybe the story had ended. But just as we were about to leave the warehouse, one officer rushed in, his face tight with worry. He looked straight at Kunle and said, “Sir, there’s a problem. One of them escaped.”
The officer’s words still hung in the air when Kunle’s hand tightened around mine. One of them had escaped. Just like that, the small peace I felt disappeared. We followed the policemen outside and the night breeze hit my face. The compound was busy—sirens flashing, men talking into radios, handcuffed criminals being pushed into vans—but my mind was only on the one who slipped through. If he was free, then danger was not finished.
Kunle stood quietly, watching the officers carry away the others. I could see his jaw moving, the way he pressed his teeth together like he was fighting with his thoughts. After some minutes he turned to me and said softly, “Nkem, I’m done. No more hiding, no more dirty life. This one chance God gave me, I will not waste it.”
I looked at him well. The man that once left me to cry at his grave was now here, talking about change. My chest was heavy with plenty of feelings: pain, anger, love: all mixing together. I wanted to believe him but my mind was not ready to forget so quickly. “Kunle,” I said, “do you know how many nights I begged God to wake me from that dream? Do you know the shame I carried when people pitied me as a widow? And now you want me to just sweep it away?”
His eyes grew wet, and he held my hand like somebody holding on to last hope. “I know I hurt you, but if you give me this chance, I will spend the rest of my life making it right.” His voice was not strong anymore, it broke small as he spoke.
That night after everything, the police officer dropped us at a safe place. We sat down, the two of us, talking like people who were tired of war. We spoke from our hearts, no pretence, no lie. I told him the scars he left in me. He told me the demons he fought while he was inside that life. Somewhere in between tears and silence, forgiveness found space. Not because the pain disappeared, but because I realized love is not about perfection, it is about endurance.
Weeks later, true to his word, Kunle cut every tie with the past. The money he once used for evil, he pushed it into something better. He paid school fees for children who had no helper, he invested in farms that gave people work, he supported widows who were struggling. For the first time, I saw him living with peace instead of fear.
And for me, each day I watched him rebuild, a new part of my heart healed. Slowly, the anger gave way. Slowly, trust returned.
Love had carried us through a storm, but truth gave us a new dawn. And that was enough. And so, this is the end of my story.
THE END.
CHAPTER 8
The knock on the door was so loud it shook the thin wood, like somebody wanted to break it down with fist alone. My eyes went straight to Kunle, his face had already changed, sharp and alert like a soldier. He placed one finger on his lips, warning me not to make a sound, then he moved quietly toward the door. My heart was running faster than my body could carry, I clutched the edge of the bed with both hands, waiting for what would happen next.
Another knock followed, this time with a voice. “Open this door!” The voice was deep, strange, not familiar. I pressed my palms together, whispering a small prayer inside me. Kunle moved back, shaking his head, then whispered quickly, “It’s them. They’ve tracked us here.”
Before I could even reply, his phone buzzed. He checked and showed me the screen—a message had just entered. “You have No hiding Place!* Time is up. My whole body went cold.
We stayed silent until the knocking stopped, then after some minutes the footsteps faded away. The silence was even more worse than the noise because it meant they could still be outside waiting. Kunle shut the small window, then sat close to me. His voice was low but steady. “We can’t keep running like this, Nkem. They will catch us one day. The only way to end this is to turn the hunt against them.”
I looked at him, not understanding. “What do you mean?”
He leaned forward. “We set a trap. Use what they want most to draw them out.”
I frowned. “And what is that?”
“The money. And the documents I still kept—records of all the dirty deals I did with them. That’s what they’ve been trying to erase since the beginning. If they believe I want to exchange those papers for my freedom, they will come out. And this time, the police will be waiting.”
I shook my head immediately. “Kunle, this is dangerous. What if they find out it’s a trap? What if the police fail us?”
He held my shoulders firmly, looking into my eyes like he wanted to push courage inside me. “Nkem, if we don’t try, they will finish both of us. At least this way, we fight back.”
That night stretched like one long road with no end. The ceiling fan kept groaning as if it would fall on us, the air was hot, but fear was hotter. My phone kept buzzing with threats, each message shorter and sharper than the last. We see you. We are close. Ready to bleed. Every time I read them, my stomach turned.
By morning, Kunle had already contacted a police officer he trusted, somebody he claimed once tried to pull him out of the dirty business. The officer listened, then told him to stage the meeting while they arranged men to surround the place quietly. Hearing that plan gave me small hope, but still my chest refused to relax.
Later in the evening, we reached the abandoned warehouse where the meeting would take place. The place looked like somewhere people dumped broken chairs and forgotten goods. Dust covered everything, the air smelled of rusted iron. I stood close to Kunle, holding my scarf tighter around me. He had placed the envelope of documents on the table in the middle of the hall, waiting.
Minutes felt like hours until a black SUV drove in. Three men stepped out, hard faces, no smile, their eyes sharp like blade. One of them, tall and dark with small scar on his chin, walked inside first. “Kunle,” he called, his voice calm but dangerous. “So you finally have sense.”
Kunle did not answer immediately. He just pointed at the envelope. “It’s all here. The money trail, the contracts, everything. Once I’m free, you take it, and we close this chapter.”
The man smiled but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. He signaled the others to search the place. I held my breath, pretending to look down so they wouldn’t see my fear.
Then suddenly, from outside, a whistle pierced the air. In one second, police officers rushed in from every side, guns raised, voices loud. “Don’t move! Hands up!” The three men froze, shock on their faces. One of them tried to run, but two officers tackled him to the ground.
Everything happened fast, shouting, struggling, handcuffs snapping. I stood like statue, watching it unfold. For the first time since this nightmare began, I felt something heavy lift from my chest.
Kunle grabbed my hand gently, whispering, “It’s over, Nkem. We are free.”
But even as he said it, my heart did not rest. I stared at him, the man who let me mourn him, the man who dragged me into this storm, yet still the man my heart refused to stop loving. The questions inside me were plenty—can I forgive him, can I ever trust him again, can we truly have peace?
The police led the men outside, and I thought maybe the story had ended. But just as we were about to leave the warehouse, one officer rushed in, his face tight with worry. He looked straight at Kunle and said, “Sir, there’s a problem. One of them escaped.”
The officer’s words still hung in the air when Kunle’s hand tightened around mine. One of them had escaped. Just like that, the small peace I felt disappeared. We followed the policemen outside and the night breeze hit my face. The compound was busy—sirens flashing, men talking into radios, handcuffed criminals being pushed into vans—but my mind was only on the one who slipped through. If he was free, then danger was not finished.
Kunle stood quietly, watching the officers carry away the others. I could see his jaw moving, the way he pressed his teeth together like he was fighting with his thoughts. After some minutes he turned to me and said softly, “Nkem, I’m done. No more hiding, no more dirty life. This one chance God gave me, I will not waste it.”
I looked at him well. The man that once left me to cry at his grave was now here, talking about change. My chest was heavy with plenty of feelings: pain, anger, love: all mixing together. I wanted to believe him but my mind was not ready to forget so quickly. “Kunle,” I said, “do you know how many nights I begged God to wake me from that dream? Do you know the shame I carried when people pitied me as a widow? And now you want me to just sweep it away?”
His eyes grew wet, and he held my hand like somebody holding on to last hope. “I know I hurt you, but if you give me this chance, I will spend the rest of my life making it right.” His voice was not strong anymore, it broke small as he spoke.
That night after everything, the police officer dropped us at a safe place. We sat down, the two of us, talking like people who were tired of war. We spoke from our hearts, no pretence, no lie. I told him the scars he left in me. He told me the demons he fought while he was inside that life. Somewhere in between tears and silence, forgiveness found space. Not because the pain disappeared, but because I realized love is not about perfection, it is about endurance.
Weeks later, true to his word, Kunle cut every tie with the past. The money he once used for evil, he pushed it into something better. He paid school fees for children who had no helper, he invested in farms that gave people work, he supported widows who were struggling. For the first time, I saw him living with peace instead of fear.
And for me, each day I watched him rebuild, a new part of my heart healed. Slowly, the anger gave way. Slowly, trust returned.
Love had carried us through a storm, but truth gave us a new dawn. And that was enough. And so, this is the end of my story.
THE END.
