Chapter 11:

As I look the small question mark for the end, I freeze.

My hand dey stiff. I no fit move mouse. My mouth dey dry. The room cold, but my back dey sweat.

E mean say wetin just happen na real?

I dey reason—no be dream? No be vision? My body dey shake.

I really go back, enter that café five years ago?

I dey remember the faces, the smell, the noise. E too clear for dream.

But as I no fit change anything, na so the game fail.

I dey cry. I dey knock table. 'Why God?' I dey ask. 'Why e still fail?'

Na why e end like that?

I dey try remember where I miss road. Wetin I for do different?

As I reason am, I look the numbers for screen, hope just dey rise for my body.

Light dey shine small for my mind. I dey thank God say e never finish.

Dem give three chances.

I dey count am for head. Na only one pass. Two remain.

E mean say I still get two chance to change everything.

If I plan well, maybe this time, God go pity me.

I breathe deep, begin plan for my mind how to use the time well.

I dey imagine all the step—who to call, which road to pass, how to run. My mind dey sharp, no fear.

I replay that street for my head again and again.

I dey draw map for mind, dey plot every move. I dey swear for myself, 'No more mistake.'

Half hour pass, I move mouse go back.

Sweat dey my palm, but I no gree fear. Na now I go prove say I be father.

Redemption Game, second round—start.

I click, pray say this time, na miracle go happen.

I rub my hand for chest, whisper, "Ifedike, your papa dey come. This time, na life I go carry come house."