“What responsibility?”
Adawale took a deep breath.
“My sister—Ada—you were part of her life.”
Mama Efuna nodded slowly.
“Yes. She saved me once.”
“And now,” Adawale said quietly, “you are the only living person who knows the truth about her last days.”
Mama Efuna’s legs weakened. He guided her into a chair.
“You do not have to speak now,” he said. “Rest. Heal. When you are ready, we will talk.”
That night, Mama Efuna slept on a soft bed for the first time in years.
And for the first time since Chinedu kicked her into the street, she slept without crying.
Across the city, Chinedu’s life was already beginning to crack.
The staff meeting at work was short and cold.
“Due to financial restructuring,” the manager said, “we are letting some staff go.”
Chinedu felt sweat gather at the back of his neck.
When his name was called, his heart dropped.
“You are lucky,” the manager added. “You are not laid off yet, but your position is under review.”
Vanessa waited for him outside.
“Well?” she asked sharply.
“They didn’t sack me,” Chinedu replied.
“Yet,” Vanessa said. “So what is the plan?”
Chinedu looked exhausted.
“We need to reduce expenses. Things are not stable.”
Vanessa’s eyes hardened.
“Reduce expenses? So you want me to start suffering because your job is shaking?”
Chinedu said nothing.
That night, bills covered the table—rent, electricity, a loan Vanessa had taken without telling him.
She blamed him for everything.
“If you had listened to me,” she snapped, “we would have been fine.”
Chinedu thought of his mother.
Then he forced the thought away.
“She brought this on herself,” he muttered.
But deep inside, fear was growing.
One afternoon, Adawale invited Mama Efuna into his study. Old files were spread across the table.
“Mama,” he said softly, “tell me everything from the beginning.”
She took a deep breath and spoke of the years when she was a young house help. She spoke of Ada’s kindness. She spoke of the night Ada disappeared after discovering dark secrets about her family’s business partners.
“She told me she was afraid,” Mama Efuna said. “She said powerful people were angry.”
Adawale’s jaw tightened.
“She trusted you.”
“Yes,” Mama nodded. “She said if anything happened to her, I should live well. That one day justice would come.”
Silence filled the room.
For years, Adawale had searched. But the truth had been buried.
He walked to the window, then turned back.
“Your presence is reopening everything.”
Mama Efuna shook her head.
“I am just a poor woman.”
Adawale smiled sadly.
“No. You are a witness.”
In the days that followed, Mama Efuna began to change—not in pride, but in strength.
She attended meetings, not as a beggar, but as a listener. Lawyers spoke to her gently. Business people nodded respectfully when Adawale introduced her.
“This is Mama Efuna,” he would say. “A woman of honor.”
She did not understand everything, but she listened.
One evening, Adawale placed a document before her.
“This is an inheritance trust,” he said. “Ada listed you as a beneficiary.”
Mama Efuna stared at the paper.
“Inheritance?”
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