Episode 6: Living with the Fear
3 Months Later – Obinna & Nkiru’s New Apartment, Enugu GRA
The neighborhood was quieter. No children shouting in the streets, no loud noises at odd hours, no nosy neighbours. Just silence — the kind Nkiru used to pray for.
But now, the silence scared her more than the noise ever did.
She still locked the doors five times before bed. Still peeked through the curtains when a car parked too close. Still jolted at the ring of her phone.
Ifeanyi never showed up again.
Not a call. Not a message. Not even a whisper.
And somehow… that was worse.
SP Ngozi – CID Office, Enugu
Ngozi stared at the whiteboard in her office. It had “IFEANYI EZE” written in red marker. Under it: WANTED — Kidnapping, Assault, Possession of Firearms.
Nothing else.
The last tip they got was from a keke driver in Nsukka who swore he saw someone matching his description eating isi-ewu at a local joint.
The raid came up empty.
“He’s gone,” her assistant muttered.
“No,” Ngozi said coldly. “He’s watching. Somewhere.”
At Home – Midnight Conversations
Sometimes Nkiru would lie on Obinna’s chest and whisper:
“Do you think he’ll come back?”
He never had an answer. The man who kidnapped her wasn’t just after revenge — he was obsessed. Men like that didn’t disappear. They hid. They waited.
But what terrified Obinna more was the effect on Nkiru — her laugh wasn’t as loud anymore. Her hugs weren’t as warm. She was changing.
One night, she broke down after seeing a black car drive by slowly.
“I don’t want to live like this,” she cried. “Like I’m someone’s unfinished business.”
Obinna held her tight. “Then we finish it ourselves — not with police reports, but by not letting fear write the rest of our lives.”
Ngozi’s Call – Weeks Later
One Thursday morning, Ngozi called with news.
“Interpol says there’s a man in South Africa matching Ifeanyi’s biometric profile.”
“Are you sure?” Nkiru asked, clutching the phone.
“No. And even if it’s him… extradition takes years. He could be long gone before they act.”
Nkiru sat quietly.
Then she said, “I don’t want to wait for justice. I just want peace.”
Ngozi hesitated. “Then you must understand this — sometimes justice doesn’t come. Sometimes survival is the justice.”
Their love survived — but it was no longer the careless, exciting kind. It became slow, conscious, and intentional.
They celebrated anniversaries, not with parties, but with moments of quiet joy.
Epilogue – 1 Year Later
On the anniversary of their almost-wedding, Nkiru received a parcel at the gate.
No name.
Inside was a simple handwritten note:
“I gave you everything.
You took my silence.
But remember… silence is not surrender.”
No signature. No address.
Nkiru didn’t cry.
She tore the note, burned it in the sink, and went back to setting the table for their dinner.
Obinna served the wine.
They clinked glasses and smiled.
But both knew — the past never really leaves.
It just stops knocking… for a while.
THE END
💔 Moral Lessons from “Till Death Do Us Part”
- Be careful how you accept help. Some gifts come wrapped in strings, and some saviors expect to be gods in return.
- Love should never feel like a debt. Anyone who reminds you what they’ve done for you doesn’t truly love you — they’re keeping score.
- Fear never really goes away. But you can choose not to let it win.
- Sometimes justice doesn’t arrive in courtrooms — it arrives in choosing to live well.
- To the ladies: Your independence, your choices, and your body are not to be bought. Say thank you for kindness — but never sell your soul for help.
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