The traffic under Oshody Bridge was loud that evening. Buses shouting for customers, music from a roadside speaker, boys running between cars with pure water and gala. People were moving fast the way Laros people always move fast like everybody is chasing something. But inside the black Rolls-Royce parked beside the pillar, the world was quiet. Too quiet.

Simon sat in the back seat and did not move. His window was down halfway. The air smelled like diesel, dust, and rainwater that had been sitting too long in the gutter. His eyes were fixed on one spot. At first, when he saw her from the road, he thought it was his mind playing with him. He thought, “No, it cannot be her.

It’s not possible.” But now he was not sure. There, under the bridge, beside a broken block where two boys were gambling and laughing, an old woman was bending beside a big black trash can. Her gown used to be blue. Now it was brown with dirt and torn at the shoulder. Her gray hair was rough and scattered, not tied, not combed. Her hands were shaking. She was not just looking inside the trash can.

She was picking out food and hiding it under her gown so that nobody would see. Simon felt something hot in his chest. “Sir,” his driver said quietly from the front seat. “Are we still going to the island?” Simon didn’t answer. His jaw was tight. His eyes were wet, but he didn’t blink. The gold watch on his wrist caught the evening light. His suit was clean. He looked like money.

He always looked like money, but right now he didn’t feel like a billionaire. Right now, he felt like a scared little boy again because the woman by the trash, she looked like someone he once loved. No, not just loved, owed. He pushed the car door open. Sir,” the driver said again, now worried. “This area is not.

” “Stay here,” Simon said, voice low. “Do not come out.” He stepped into the dirt under the bridge. People turned and stared. Of course, they stared. It was not normal for a man in an expensive navy blue suit, Italian shoes, and a clean haircut to come down here. Not at Ody Bridge. Not at this time. But Simon didn’t care about eyes. He only cared about the woman.

He walked closer. Every step felt strange, like the ground was somewhere else. Like this was not real. And then the woman moved a little and the street light hit her face. Simon stopped. His heart almost jumped out of his body. It was her. It was her. It was really her. He knew those eyes, even if they were tired now. He knew that jawline. He knew that scar near her left eyebrow. He knew her.

His voice came out before he even planned it. Madame Agnes. The woman froze, her back straightened just a little, the way a soldier stands when they hear their name. Slowly, slowly, she turned. Her hands were still holding something close to her body, hiding it like a secret.

For a long moment, she just stared at him. Her eyes shook. Her lips moved, but no sound came out. There were years in that face, years of something he did not yet understand. And then in a thin voice, almost a whisper, she said, “Do I know you?” Simon felt his throat close. She didn’t recognize him. That hurt more than anything. This was the woman who carried him on her back and ran barefoot through flood water.

This was the woman who fought death and won just to save him. And now she was asking if she knew him. He swallowed. His voice was not steady anymore. “It’s me,” he said. “It’s Simon.” “Nothing.” Her face was blank. He took one more step. Madame Agnes, he said softly. It’s me, little Simon from Ajagun. The boy that almost drowned in the canal. The boy you pulled out.

You held me and shouted, “Simon, breathe.” You slapped my back and told me, “Don’t die on me. Oh, your mother will kill me.” Her eyes opened. Her mouth, too. The food in her hand dropped to the ground. For a moment, her knees shook like they would fail her. And then she covered her mouth with both hands.

“Oh,” she said, voice breaking. “Oh my god. Oh my god.” Simon nodded fast, tears standing strong in his eyes now. “Yes,” he said. “It’s me. I found you.” And then right there under Oshodi Bridge, this powerful man. This man people called Odog Wu. This man newspapers called the silent billionaire.

This man who made grown men stand up when he entered a room went down on both knees in front of an old woman wearing a torn dress and shaking beside a trash can. People around stopped walking. Even the gambling boys got quiet. They were all staring now because what kind of rich man kneels on dirty ground for a homeless woman? But Simon did not care. He was crying now.

Not loud, not like a baby, but deep. The kind of cry that comes from a place that never healed. He took her hand. Her hand was cold. Too cold. He held it tight like he was scared she would disappear. I looked for you, he whispered. For years I looked for you. I asked. I paid people. I checked old houses. I checked churches. I checked hospitals.

I thought you were dead. Her chest was rising and falling fast. Her eyes were full now. Her lips were shaking. You. She tried to speak, but her voice broke. She swallowed and tried again. You grew up. Simon laughed a little through his tears. I didn’t have a choice, he said.

Then something happened slowly, like she didn’t trust her own legs, Madame Agnes went down, too. She knelt in front of him, both of them now on the dirty floor under the bridge, facing each other like mother and son. She touched his face with both hands. Her fingers trembled as they pressed against his cheeks like she was checking if he was real.

My Simon,” she whispered. “Your Simon,” he said. And that was when Madame Agnes finally broke. She cried. Not small tears, not quiet. She cried like a mother cries when a missing child walks back through the door after years. Her body shook, her shoulders jumped. She leaned forward and pressed her forehead to his chest and cried like her heart had been waiting for permission.

“I thought you forgot me,” she said between sobbs. “I can never forget you,” he said. I thought you were gone. I am right here. They told me you traveled. They told me you changed. They told me you a big man now. That you will not know me again. Simon pulled her closer and held her tighter. Look at me, he whispered.

Look at me well. She lifted her face. He wiped her tears with his thumb the way a son wipes his mother’s tears. I am still your boy, he said. Her lips trembled. Something like a small smile tried to come out but turned into another wave of pain. “I am ashamed,” she whispered. Simon shook his head fast.

“No, never say that. Never. I am ashamed that you saw me like this. Stop. I was I was picking food from trash.” Her voice almost disappeared when she said that part, like she wanted to hide inside the ground. Simon swallowed. For a moment, he could not talk. Then very softly he said, “I know what you were doing.” Her eyes filled again.

“I tried to hide it when I saw your car,” she said. “I didn’t want you to see me like this, Simon. Not you.” He closed his eyes, his jaw tightened. Now his tears were angry. Not angry at her. Angry at the world, angry at life, angry at himself. Because how can the woman who saved a billionaire end up hungry under a bridge? How can Laros watch and do nothing? How? He opened his eyes again and looked at her with a kind of deep promise. You are not staying here, he said.

Her body went still. She looked confused. What? You are not sleeping here again. Simon, you are not touching trash again. Simon, listen. You are coming with me. Her eyes widened. She shook her head and pulled her hands back like she was scared to touch him. No, she said fast. No, no, I cannot. People will talk. Your workers will talk. Social media will talk.

Your business partners will say you brought one mad woman into your He cut in voice firm now into my house. She froze. He held her face again, gentle but sure. I am taking you home, he said. My home tonight. The word home hit her like a slap. Her eyes grew wet, then read. Simon,” she whispered. “Nobody has called me home in years.” He swallowed hard.

“Then today is the first day of the rest of your life,” he said. For a long moment, she just stared at him. Her hands were shaking again. Her lips were moving like she was praying without sound. And then slowly she nodded. That was when somebody from the side shouted, “Og Simon Bennett. Nubi this.” Simon turned his head. A small crowd had started forming. Phones were already up. Some people were whispering.

Some were smiling like they were watching a movie. Some looked confused like they couldn’t understand why the owner of Bennett Holdings, the same man that people in magazines called the future of Nigerian tech, was kneeling on the ground under Oshody Bridge, hugging one old homeless woman like she was the most important person in the world.

Simon stood up first. Then he held out his hand. Come, he told her softly. Stand up, mama. Stand up with me, Mama. That name made her cover her face because she could not hold that much emotion at once. He helped her stand. Her legs were weak. She almost fell. He caught her. She felt light, too light, like she had not eaten in days. His jaw tightened again.

“Driver,” he called. The door of the Rolls-Royce opened fast. The driver ran around. “Sir, yes, sir.” Open the back, Simon said. Put one of the clean blankets and get water. Cold water from the small fridge now. Yes, sir. The driver rushed. People were recording now. Simon didn’t care. Let them post it. Let them talk.

Let them say whatever. Let the whole world see. Let every person in Logos watch and learn. The woman you laugh at in the gutter today may be the same woman that carried you when death tried to take you. He helped Madame Agnes toward the car, but as they reached the door, she pulled back a little and touched his wrist.

Her eyes were wet again, but calmer now, softer, almost scared. “Simon,” she said quietly, before I enter this car. “Please tell me something. Tell me the truth.” He turned and faced her fully. “I will tell you anything,” he said. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Your parents,” she said. “Where are they?” The air around them felt heavy all of a sudden. That question hit a place in him that even money could not fix.

Simon’s face changed just a little, enough for her to see. He slowly let out a breath. They’re gone, he said, her eyes slowly filled with horror. Gone? He nodded once. Both of them, he said softly. Car accident, night rain. Trailer did not see them. Her hand flew to her chest. “My God, I was 19,” he said.

“After they died, I tried to find you. I wanted to tell you first. I wanted to tell you with my own mouth because you were there more than anybody. You were the one holding our house together when we had nothing. You were the one who cooked when there was no food. You were the one who washed my school uniform at night and said, “My Simon will be great.

” Her chin was shaking now. Simon, stop. She whispered. You will make me cry again. It’s okay, he said. Cry. Cry today. After today, you will not cry again. But she was already crying. Her tears were slow this time. Quiet, heavy. I am sorry, she whispered. I was not there for you when they died.

Simon shook his head. You were alive, he said. That is enough for me. For a moment, she just looked at him. this tall, strong, successful man in a perfect suit, standing under a dirty bridge like nothing else in the world mattered except her. Then she nodded again, almost like she was giving herself permission. “Okay,” she whispered.

“Okay, my son, take me home, Simon smiled, and for the first time that evening, it was a real smile.” “Good,” he said softly, “because I am not done with you yet.” He opened the car door for her with his own hand. Not the driver, not an assistant, not security. Him. But just as she was about to enter, a harsh voice cut through the air.

A madame Agnes is following you. Ogar better be careful. Oh, that woman is dangerous. That woman is a witch. Ask her what happened to her son. Simon’s head turned slowly. Very slowly. His eyes were cold now. The whole bridge went quiet again. Even the music stopped somewhere. Nobody moved.

The person who shouted, a middle-aged woman with a scarf tied tight on her head and anger in her eyes, took a step back but kept talking. “She killed her only child,” the woman said, pointing at Madame Agnes. “Everybody knows the story.” “Her son was healthy. He came to see her and he dropped dead in the night.

” After that, people chased her from the compound. I was there. I saw it. Simon felt Madame Agnes go stiff beside him. Her breath went fast. Her fingers dug into his sleeve. He turned slowly to look at her face. Her eyes were wide. Her mouth was open. Her whole body was shaking like cold rain was falling on her.

And then in a broken voice that did not sound like her at all, she whispered, “Simon, please don’t leave me.” The word witch echoed under the bridge like a curse that refused to die. People had started whispering again, half curious, half entertained. Some held up their phones, hoping for a fight or a scandal. Laros crowds loved drama, especially when it involved the rich. Simon turned slowly toward the woman who had shouted.

His calmness was frightening. “Say that again,” he said quietly. The woman’s voice trembled now, but pride kept her talking. “Ask her, sir. Ask her what happened to her son, Henry. I was there. He came to visit her one night and by morning he was dead. Nobody saw any sickness. Nobody saw any wound. Just dead.

After that, the people in our compound said she was using him for witchcraft. They chased her out. Madame Agnes covered her face. Her shoulders were shaking. “No,” she whispered. “No, that’s not true.” Simon’s hands clenched. He stepped closer to the woman. “And you? What proof did you have? The woman blinked, surprised by his tone. Everybody knew. Everybody knew what, Simon snapped, his voice suddenly sharp. That her grieving mother cried for her dead child.

That’s what made her a witch. The woman froze. The crowd murmured. Simon’s voice dropped again, cold and steady. Do you know what’s worse than poverty? Ignorance mixed with wickedness. That’s what you people did to her. He turned back to Madame Agnes and gently put his arm around her. “You’re coming home, mama,” he said firmly. “You’re leaving this place now.

” Tears streamed down her face, but she couldn’t speak. She simply nodded. Simon guided her carefully into the backseat of the car. When the door closed, the street fell silent again. The driver started the engine, and the car pulled away slowly from the underbridge, leaving the whispers behind. Inside the Rolls-Royce, the air smelled faintly of leather and lavender.

Madame Agnes sat stiffly, her hands folded in her lap. Her torn gown looked out of place on the clean white seat. She kept looking down, afraid to stain anything. Simon watched her quietly. The same woman who once carried him on her back now looked small and lost beside him. “You don’t have to be scared,” he said softly. “I am not scared,” she whispered. just ashamed.

He smiled sadly. You have nothing to be ashamed of. She looked out the window. The lights of Laros flashed by bright, fast, alive. She blinked slowly. It has been years since I sat inside a car, she said quietly. Sometimes I dream of it. But I never thought. She trailed off. Simon looked at her. You don’t need to dream anymore, Mama. You’re home now.

Her lips trembled. Simon, I didn’t kill Henry. He turned to her immediately. I know. But she shook her head. You don’t understand. They all said I did. I swore to them I didn’t, but no one believed me. Even the pastor said I should confess before thunder strikes me. So I ran. Her voice cracked. He was my only child. Simon’s throat tightened. Tell me what happened.

She wiped her eyes with the edge of her sleeve. He worked at the factory in Age. He was 28. Always smiling. He said he wanted to rent a small place for me away from the compound gossip. That night he came home late. We ate together, just rice and stew. And then he slept on the floor beside me because the rain was too much for him to go back. When I woke up in the morning, she swallowed hard.

He was cold, gone. She covered her face again, crying softly. I screamed till people came, but instead of helping, they said I used him for money. They beat me. They burned my things. I ran until I had nothing left. That’s how I ended up here. Simon couldn’t hold his tears anymore.

He reached out and held her hand tightly. “Listen to me,” he said, his voice trembling. “You didn’t kill him. You’ve done nothing but save lives all your life, including mine. You were the only one who believed in me when everyone said I’d never make it. You told me my Simon will be great, and you were right. Her eyes lifted slowly to meet his. I was, she whispered.

He nodded. You were. Her tears fell again, but now there was a small faint smile in between. When they arrived at his mansion in Ecoy, the security guards ran to open the gate. The Rolls-Royce glided in, the tires humming softly on the marble driveway. A long fountain sparkled in front of the house, reflecting the golden lights. Madame Agnes gasped.

Simon, this this is your house. He smiled. Yes, but tonight it’s our house. He stepped out quickly and opened her door himself. The guards watched in confusion as their boss, one of the richest men in Lagos, helped an old woman out of the car like she was royalty. “Good evening, sir,” one guard said hesitantly.

Should we? Simon lifted a hand. No questions. Just bring hot water, clean towels, and food now. They ran off immediately. He led her up the marble steps. Her feet trembled on the polished floor. She kept trying to remove her slippers before stepping in. “Leave them on,” Simon said, smiling. “This is your home, mama. No need to remove anything.

” Inside, the house was quiet. Soft jazz played in the background. A chandelier hung from the ceiling like a thousand tiny sons. Madame Agnes turned slowly, looking at the pictures on the walls. Simon at award ceremonies, shaking hands with governors, posing beside CEOs. Her eyes filled again. You became everything I prayed for, she whispered. He smiled sadly.

I wish you were there to see it happen. I was, she said softly, looking at him. Every night under the bridge, I prayed for you. I used to tell God, “Let my Simon never suffer like me. I didn’t know he would answer this way.” He looked down for a moment, trying to hold his emotions. Then, “It’s my turn to answer your prayers,” he said.

Later that night, after she bathed and changed into a clean wrapper one of the maids brought, she sat in the guest room. The lights were soft. A tray of food sat before her untouched. Simon knocked lightly and came in. “You’re not eating?” She smiled faintly. I wanted to pray first. He nodded and sat beside her. She closed her eyes, held his hand, and began to pray. Her voice was soft but full of strength.

Father, thank you for this miracle, for bringing my son back to me, even when the world called me a witch. Bless him for remembering me, and let every tear I shed on the street become joy in his home.” Simon opened his eyes slowly. His heart was heavy but peaceful.

When she finished, she looked at him and said, “Simon, can I ask you something?” “Anything,” he said. She hesitated, then asked quietly, “Are you married?” Simon smiled. “Not yet. I haven’t found someone who feels right.” Madame Agnes looked thoughtful. “When you do, let her have a heart, not just beauty. Beauty fades, but a good heart never dies. Promise me you’ll marry a woman with a good heart.” He nodded.

I promise. She smiled softly. Good. Then my spirit will rest. Her words made him frown slightly. Don’t say that, mama. You’ll live long. But she just smiled again, eyes distant. Maybe, maybe not. But at least I’ve seen my boy again. Simon didn’t understand why those words made the back of his neck feel cold. He stood up trying to change the subject. Rest now, mama.

Tomorrow we’ll go shopping. I’ll get you new clothes, everything you need. She nodded, her voice faint. Okay, my son. Thank you. He turned off the main light and walked to the door. Just before leaving, he looked back. She was still sitting there, hands folded, eyes closed in prayer again.

Something about the moment felt strange, beautiful, but heavy. He didn’t know why, but deep down, it felt like a beginning, and somehow also an ending. By morning the maids said they heard her singing softly in the night. A hymn Simon hadn’t heard since childhood. When peace like a river attendeth my way, but by dawn the house was too quiet.

When Simon knocked on her door to bring her breakfast, there was no answer. He called again, still nothing. He opened the door slowly, and what he saw made his heart stop. Madame Agnes was sitting in the same spot she prayed the night before. Her hands folded neatly on her lap, her face peaceful, her lips curved into a faint smile. But she wasn’t breathing.

Simon stood there frozen, the tray shaking in his hands. He dropped it. The plate shattered on the floor. “No,” he whispered. “No, no, no, mama.” He ran to her, shook her gently. “Wake up! Please, you can’t. Please don’t do this to me again.” Her body was still. Tears flooded his eyes. And then from the doorway, one of the maids whispered in shock, “Sir, she’s gone.

” Simon fell to his knees beside her, his hand clutching hers. “Mama, please,” he cried. “You can’t leave me again.” But she already had. Her face was calm, her body peaceful, like she had waited all her life just to see him one last time before letting go. Rain fell the day they buried Madame Agnes.

Not heavy rain, soft, slow drops that tapped against the umbrellas and slid down Simon’s black suit. It was the kind of rain LOS called tears from heaven. The graveside was quiet. A few of Simon’s closest staff, his driver, and two pastors stood under the gray sky. The coffin, simple, white, and elegant, rested beside a freshly dug grave surrounded by flowers. Simon stood closest. His face was calm, but his eyes were red. He hadn’t slept for two nights.

He watched as the pastors prayed and the choir sang softly from the corner of the garden. The sound of their hymn carried through the air. When we all get to heaven, what a day of rejoicing that will be. Every word hit his chest like a memory. Every note sounded like her voice. When the time came to lower the coffin, Simon took a deep breath and stepped forward. He threw a single white rose on top. Goodbye, Mama,” he whispered.

“You finally got your piece.” The rain grew heavier. As the coffin disappeared into the ground, something inside Simon cracked open. He knelt, his hand pressed to the wet grass, and for the first time since he was a boy, he cried without holding back.

Later that evening, after everyone had left, Simon sat alone in the mansion’s living room. The lights were dim. A cup of untouched tea sat beside him. He looked at the old photo in his hand, a faded picture from his childhood. In it, Madame Agnes stood beside a small boy with missing front teeth. Him holding his school bag and laughing at the camera. He smiled faintly through his tears.

“I wish you saw how far I came,” he said softly to the photo. “You would have been proud.” Just then, a gentle knock came from the door. It was his personal assistant, Ada, standing carefully at the entrance. Her voice was gentle. “Sir, there’s someone here to see you.” Simon wiped his eyes. “I’m not in the mood for It’s a woman,” Adah said quickly. She said her name is Olivia.

Simon frowned slightly. The name sounded familiar. “Olivia who?” “She didn’t say, “Sir, but she insists she knew Madame Agnes.” Olivia sat quietly in the waiting room when Simon entered. She was in her late 20s, brown-skinned, dressed simply in a navy blue gown with a small pendant hanging from her neck.

Her eyes were red as if she’d been crying. When she saw him, she stood up immediately. “Good evening, sir.” Simon nodded, studying her face. “You said you knew Madame Agnes.” “Yes, sir,” she said, voice trembling. “She was like a mother to me, too.” “He blinked.” “To you?” She nodded, holding back tears. When I was in the orphanage, she volunteered there every Sunday.

She used to tell us stories and bring food from her own kitchen. She gave me my first Bible. I Her voice broke. I didn’t know she died until one of the other women told me today. Simon felt a lump rise in his throat. You knew her from before? Yes, she said. Even after she left the orphanage, she came to see me sometimes.

She said she had a son once, but that he died young. I think it hurt her deeply. Every time she saw me, she would touch my face and say, “If my Henry was alive, he’d be your age.” Simon’s eyes widened slightly. Henry, the same son she had talked about the night before she died. He sat down slowly, his heart tightening. “You really knew her.” Olivia nodded.

“I did, and I heard what you did for her. Taking her in, giving her a home. Thank you for that, sir. She talked about you. She said you were her miracle child. Simon couldn’t stop the tears this time. She was mine, too. They talked for almost an hour. Olivia told him stories of Madame Agnes singing to the orphans, praying for strangers, and giving away food even when she had little.

Simon listened quietly, each story adding another layer to the woman he thought he already knew. Before she left, Olivia stood and said softly, “Sir, I know you’re still grieving, but Madame Agnes made me promise something.” Simon looked up. “What promise?” Olivia hesitated, clutching the pendant on her neck. She said, “If anything happens to me, find Simon.

Tell him not to close his heart again. Tell him to love without fear.” Simon froze. He didn’t understand how she could have known to say that or why, but those words felt like they came directly from her spirit. Olivia smiled faintly through her tears. She believed you would meet someone special, sir.

She said she had seen your future in a dream. Simon frowned slightly. A dream? Yes. She said she saw a woman standing beside you at your wedding and she was wearing blue. That night, Simon couldn’t sleep. He kept replaying everything in his mind. The trash under Oshoi Bridge, her trembling hands, her smile in the mansion, and the way she had called him, “My son one last time.

” He walked to the balcony and stared into the quiet night sky. The moonlight spilled over the garden where her grave was now covered with liies. His voice was barely a whisper. “You found peace, Mama. But now I’m the one lost.” He stood there for a long time until the night breeze carried a faint sound like someone humming.

It was soft, gentle, and familiar. He froze. It was her hymn again. When peace like a river attendeth my way, he looked around, his heart racing. The house was silent. The staff were asleep, but the humming grew a little clearer, like a memory coming alive. He closed his eyes. The music faded slowly, leaving only the night. And then a strange calmness filled him.

Maybe she was telling him something, that she was still with him, that she hadn’t really left. He took a deep breath. I’ll do what you asked, mama. I’ll live. I’ll love. I promise. 3 days later, Simon attended a charity event organized for children. It was Madame Agnes’ old orphanage, the one Olivia mentioned.

He decided to fund the entire project in her memory, setting up a scholarship in her name, the Agnes Foundation for Forgotten Children. As he walked through the hall, people clapped and took pictures. He gave a short speech about kindness, second chances, and love. But as he was leaving the stage, something, or rather someone, caught his attention. Across the room near the entrance stood Olivia again.

She wore a long flowing blue gown, the same color from Madame Agnes’s dream. Their eyes met across the crowd. Simon froze. The noise around him faded. For a moment, it felt like time stopped. Like Madame Agnes herself had whispered, “Look, that’s her.” Olivia smiled gently, her eyes glistening, and Simon smiled back.

That evening, as the sun set behind the orphanage building, Simon stood by the garden and whispered toward the sky, “Thank you, mama. I understand now.” A small wind brushed his cheek, soft and warm, as if the universe itself answered. But what Simon didn’t know yet was that Olivia’s arrival wasn’t just fate. It was the beginning of a new secret. A secret that would soon test everything he thought he knew about love, loyalty, and destiny.

The evening breeze at the orphanage carried a strange mix of laughter and nostalgia. Children ran across the courtyard, their giggles echoing through the painted walls. Simon stood by the fountain, watching them play, his heart lighter than it had been in years. But when his eyes found Olivia again, the woman in the blue gown, something shifted inside him. It wasn’t just admiration.

It was recognition, a sense that her face, her voice, even her manner of speaking felt oddly familiar. He didn’t know why, but every time she smiled, he saw a shadow of Madame Agnes in her eyes. Later that night, Simon invited Olivia to dinner at his mansion. She arrived quietly, dressed in a simple cream blouse and skirt, looking both graceful and shy.

The housemaids greeted her with warm smiles. They had all heard about the woman who helped comfort their boss after Madame Agnes’s death. They dined on the terrace overlooking the moonlit garden where Madame Agnes was buried. A candle flickered between them and for the first time in months. Simon laughed genuinely.

You remind me of her, he said after a while. The way you speak, the way you care about people. It’s like she’s still here. Olivia smiled softly. She taught me everything. She used to say, “Kindness is not weakness. It’s the seed that grows into miracles.” Simon nodded slowly. “That sounds like her.

” Then he added almost to himself. “She said she had a dream, that I would meet someone in blue.” Olivia looked up, her fork frozen midair. “She told you that?” “Yes,” Simon said. She mentioned it once before she passed, “And the day I saw you, you were wearing blue.” Her eyes softened. Maybe that wasn’t an accident.

For a long moment, silence stretched between them. Gentle but deep. Then Olivia broke it. Simon, can I tell you something? Something about Madame Agnes that she never told anyone. Simon leaned forward. Go on. Olivia took a deep breath. Before she died, she came to see me at the orphanage. She was sick, but she smiled the whole time.

She gave me this necklace. She held up the small gold pendant around her neck. Simon noticed that it looked familiar, a small heart with the letters HA engraved on it. She said it belonged to her son, Olivia continued. Henry Agnes. Simon’s eyes widened. That’s her son’s name. Yes, but she said something else that day. Olivia whispered, voice trembling. She said, “If you ever meet Simon, tell him my son’s story isn’t finished.

Tell him the truth will find him.” Simon frowned. The truth? Olivia nodded. I didn’t understand then, but yesterday after I visited her grave, I met someone at the old compound. An old man who remembered Madame Agnes and Henry. He said Henry didn’t die naturally. Simon froze. What do you mean? The candle light flickered across Olivia’s face.

The man said Henry was coming home that night because someone told him Madame Agnes was in danger. There was a fight outside. A thief broke into her compound. Henry tried to protect her and he was stabbed. Simon’s hands went cold. My god. She fainted, Olivia said quietly. When she woke up, Henry was gone.

But before anyone could help her, neighbors saw blood, saw her crying, and accused her of witchcraft. The real killer escaped. Simon’s heart pounded. So she was innocent all along. Olivia nodded, tears in her eyes. Yes, she carried that pain for years. She told me she forgave them, but it still haunted her. She never stopped blaming herself for not protecting him. Simon leaned back, his face pale. I can’t believe it.

After all she suffered, all those lies. He looked toward the garden, his voice breaking. She died thinking the world hated her. Olivia reached out gently, touching his hand. Not everyone. You loved her and she knew it. Simon looked at her. Really looked at her this time.

And you? Why do you care so much? Olivia hesitated, her lips parting slightly as if words were fighting to come out. Because Madame Agnes saved me, too. How she found me when I was abandoned by the roadside as a child. She took me to the orphanage herself. She used to say, “You remind me of my Henry.” the same eyes, the same smile. Her voice trembled.

I was too young to remember much, but she said I was about 2 years old when she found me. Simon blinked. Wait, that was around the same time Henry died. Olivia nodded slowly. I know. That’s why I think maybe there’s more to the story. Maybe Henry didn’t die immediately. Maybe he left something behind. Simon’s eyes widened.

You think you’re I don’t know, she whispered. But she always said I was her miracle after the storm. She never told anyone where she found me, only that I was special to her. Simon felt his breath catch. Olivia, if that’s true. Just then, thunder rumbled in the distance. The wind picked up, making the candles flicker violently.

Olivia stood up, startled, clutching her pendant. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. Simon stood too. No, no, you didn’t. I just This is too much. She gave a weak smile. Maybe it’s fate. Maybe that’s why Madame Agnes brought us together. He nodded, unable to speak. His mind was spinning.

That night, after she left, Simon couldn’t stop thinking. He went to his late parents old study, the room he hadn’t entered in years. He opened the old chest in the corner, the one filled with letters and family papers. Among them, he found a small envelope with Madame Agnes’s handwriting. It was old, but the ink was still clear.

For Simon, if I don’t live to tell him the truth. Simon’s hands shook as he opened it. Inside was a folded letter. My dear Simon, if you are reading this, it means I could not say goodbye. I have lived with a secret for many years, one that broke my heart every day. The night Henry died, I found something in his hand, a bracelet.

It belonged to a woman he loved, a woman who was pregnant. He died protecting both of us. The baby was never found, but I did years later find a child left on the roadside. I called her Olivia. Simon’s breath caught. I don’t know if she was Henry’s child or another lost soul God sent to heal me, but I raised her with the love I could no longer give my son.

If you ever meet her, protect her like your sister. She carries his spirit. I feel it. Simon sank to the floor, shaking. He whispered, “Oh, God. Olivia is Henry’s daughter.” His mind raced. That meant Olivia wasn’t just a kind stranger. She was Madame Agnes’s granddaughter. He closed his eyes. “Mama, even after death, you’re still saving lives.

” The next morning, Simon called Olivia and asked her to meet him at the garden. When she arrived, he was standing beside Madame Agnes’ grave, holding a small box. He turned to her, his eyes soft. I found this last night. It’s a letter from her. Olivia’s eyes filled instantly. A letter? Simon handed it to her gently. It’s yours to read.

She wanted you to know who you are. Olivia’s hands trembled as she unfolded the paper. Her lips quivered as she read, tears falling quietly. When she finished, she looked up at Simon, voice trembling. She knew. She knew all along. Simon nodded. Yes, you are her blood, Olivia. Her Henry’s daughter, her miracle.

Olivia dropped to her knees beside the grave, crying uncontrollably. Grandma, I found you too late. Simon knelt beside her, placing a comforting arm around her shoulder. No, you found her exactly when she wanted you to. They stayed there quietly for a long time, the wind rustling the liies, the morning sun rising over the mansion.

And for the first time since Madame Agnes’s death, Simon felt peace. Because even in her absence, she had left behind something greater than herself. A family reborn from brokenness. But fate wasn’t done with them yet. Because as they stood to leave, a tall man in a gray suit approached the gate, someone neither of them recognized. He held a briefcase, his eyes cold.

“Good morning,” he said politely. “I’m here regarding Madame Agnes’s will.” Simon froze. Her will. The man nodded. Yes, there’s one final document you haven’t seen, and it changes everything. The air in Simon’s living room felt heavier than usual. Outside, the afternoon sun struggled behind thick clouds, casting long shadows on the marble floor.

The man in the gray suit placed a briefcase on the table and looked up calmly. “My name is Barrister Daniel Okaffor,” he said. I was Madame Agnes’s legal representative before her passing. Simon and Olivia sat opposite him, silent, tense, waiting. Simon’s voice finally broke the silence. You said there’s another document. I thought all her belongings were handled already.

Daniel nodded slightly. Yes, sir, but this one is personal. Madame Agnes gave it to me years ago with strict instructions to deliver it only if she passed away after finding you again. Simon’s brow furrowed. “After finding me?” “Yes, sir.” Daniel opened the case carefully and pulled out a sealed brown envelope. The wax seal was still unbroken.

On it, in trembling handwriting, were the words, “For my son, Simon, and for the child of my child.” Olivia’s breath caught, her fingers tightened around the pendant on her neck. Simon looked at her briefly, then at the lawyer. “Please read it.” Daniel adjusted his glasses and unfolded the document.

The paper was old but perfectly kept as if time itself had respected it. He began to read, “My beloved Simon, if this reaches you, it means God has given me my final gift to see your face again before leaving this world. I have no money to leave behind, no property of my own, but I leave you something greater, truth, forgiveness, and family.

” Simon swallowed hard, his eyes already wet. Years ago, when my son Henry died, I lost myself. But God sent you into my life to remind me that love still existed. When your parents took me in as your nanny, I promised to protect you like my own. And I did. But I failed my real child. Or so I thought. When I found Olivia, I didn’t tell anyone the truth. I was afraid.

Afraid that if the world found out, they’d take her away. Call her cursed like they did me. So, I hid her in love. She was Henry’s blood, my granddaughter. And I raised her the only way I knew how, by giving her the heart I had left.” Olivia began crying quietly, her shoulders trembling.

Daniel continued reading, his own voice softening. “Simon, if you ever meet her, if destiny brings her to you, don’t let her live in the shadows like I did. Give her the life I couldn’t give Henry. and please take care of her not because of pity but because she’s family. Tell her I never stopped loving her father. Finally, to both of you, I leave what’s most precious to me. My home in Ajagunlay.

It may not look like much now, but it’s where love first saved me. Rebuild it together. Let it become a shelter for lost children. Let laughter fill it again. The lawyer stopped reading and looked up. The room was silent except for the quiet ticking of the grandfather clock.

Simon exhaled slowly, his throat tight. She wanted us to rebuild her old house. Daniel nodded. Yes, and she left legal ownership to both of you shared equally. Olivia wiped her tears. She always talked about that place. She said, “If I ever rise again, I’ll turn this pain into a home for others.” Simon stood up, pacing slowly, running a hand through his hair. She planned all this.

Even her death felt like she was preparing something. Olivia stood too. Then let’s do it. Let’s rebuild it. Two weeks later, they drove together to Ajagunlay. The road was bumpy and the air smelled of smoke and salt from the nearby water. Children played barefoot on the street. People called greetings as they passed.

When the car stopped, Simon stepped out first. He looked around. The small compound was overgrown with grass. The house was old, cracked, and forgotten. But when Olivia walked through the broken gate, she stopped and covered her mouth. The sight brought tears to her eyes. The faded wall still had marks.

Henry plus mama scratched in pencil decades ago. This is it, she whispered. Her home. Simon nodded quietly. Then this is where we start again. He turned to the workers he had brought and gave quick instructions. Within minutes, they began clearing the weeds, lifting debris, and sketching out a new design. Olivia watched him, her heart full. You really mean to rebuild it. Simon smiled faintly.

I don’t break promises to family. She smiled back through her tears. You sound like her. Weeks passed. The house transformed slowly from broken bricks to painted walls, from silence to laughter. Simon named it Agnes home of hope. Each morning they welcomed children from the streets, giving them food, books, and a place to sleep.

The same underbridge where Simon once found Madame Agnes was now where their volunteers went weekly to rescue others. Sometimes when the wind blew through the open hall, Olivia swore she heard her grandmother’s laughter echo faintly between the walls. One evening after the grand opening ceremony, Simon stood at the doorway watching the children play.

“Olivia walked beside him, her gown catching the golden sunset.” “She would be proud,” she said softly. “She is proud,” Simon replied. Olivia smiled, her eyes glowing in the fading light. You know, before she died, she told me one more thing. She said, “Love is a circle. It might break, but it always finds its way back home.” Simon looked at her, his voice gentle. Maybe that’s what this is.

Love finding its way home. They both turned to look at the house again. The sound of children laughing filled the compound. The same sound that once echoed through their pain. As the evening deepened, a small gust of wind passed through the garden, brushing the liies on Madame Agnes’s grave beside the new home, and for a brief second, the wind carried a soft, familiar voice, calm, kind, eternal. Thank you, my children. Olivia smiled faintly.

Did you hear that? Simon nodded, his eyes glistening, every word. They stood in silence, watching the stars appear. Two souls bound by a woman’s kindness, carrying forward her legacy of love. And though Madame Agnes was gone, her spirit lived on in the laughter of the children, in the peace of her garden, and in the hearts she mended even after death.