Chapter 6: The Final Goodbye

In the story, there was also a fiercely loyal bodyguard by madam’s side—one who would even pluck stars from the sky for her if she asked.

They called him "the lion of the compound," a man who would do anything for madam. Some said he once fought off armed robbers with his bare hands, others claimed he could talk to spirits.

Many people joked that she should just marry her bodyguard too.

The cooks and drivers laughed about it in the evenings, their voices full of mischief. "If madam no get pikin, make she just marry Musa, na im dey do everything for am!"

Before, Musa told me he served oga. I didn’t think much about it—it had nothing to do with me.

I took his words at face value, never questioning his loyalty or his secrets.

Now, it turned out he was that loyal bodyguard. I’d been foolish, never investigating before falling for him.

Regret gnawed at me. I should have asked more questions, should have protected myself.

Thank God I woke up before things went too far.

I whispered a silent prayer, thanking the ancestors for opening my eyes before it was too late.

Musa was willing to disgrace himself, but I wasn’t. Now that oga was on alert, he wouldn’t be fooled again.

I made up my mind—no more lies, no more games. I would take my freedom and leave this cursed house behind.

With my deed of freedom and some money, I could live peacefully for the rest of my life. I was fading from this world, and all I could do was keep my distance.

I dreamed of a small shop by the roadside, selling akara and zobo. A simple life, far from the madness of this compound.

To live well was enough.

I repeated the words like a mantra, hoping they would give me strength.

The next day, I went to find oga to collect my deed of freedom, but ran into Madam Yemisi, whose face was dark with anger.

She stood in the garden, hacking at the hibiscus flowers with a small cutlass. Her eyes were red, her lips pressed into a thin line. I hesitated, unsure whether to approach.

Yesterday, when she tried to go back to Dapo’s side, he shouted at her and sent her away. Now, her eyes were red as she hacked at the hibiscus flowers in front of her, fuming. “If not for him, how I go stoop so low?”

Her voice was bitter, full of self-pity. The other servants kept their distance, afraid to draw her wrath.

“Musa, tell me—was I really wrong?”

She turned to him, her eyes pleading. For a moment, I saw the girl she used to be—young, hopeful, full of dreams.

“You no do wrong.” The man’s voice was low, filled with a love he didn’t dare show, his gaze only a little less intense than when he looked at me.

His words were gentle, but his eyes betrayed his true feelings. I felt a pang of jealousy, quickly smothered by anger.

But that voice wasn’t Dapo’s, yet for three years I’d heard the same voice as oga’s.

The realization made my blood run cold. How many lies had I swallowed in this house?

At this, my blood ran cold, my heart turned to ice. So, everything was planned from the very start.

I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to hold in the pain. I was just a pawn in their game.

I wanted to slip away, but my foot made a sound, drawing their attention.

The dry leaves crackled under my sandals, betraying me. Both of them turned, their eyes narrowing.

Madam Yemisi was already angry, and seeing me only made her more upset, giving her someone to vent on.

Her lips curled into a sneer. "So you dey hide, abi? Come here!"

“A servant dare throw my hairpin inside the stream. If you no go bring am out, I go break your leg!” she snapped, flinging her hairpin into the water.

Her voice was sharp as a whip. The other servants shrank back, afraid to meet her gaze.

Before, when the original owner was by her side, she’d been disliked for being too beautiful.

Beauty was a curse in this house. Madam hated anyone who threatened her place.

Now, I’d ended up in her husband’s bed. How could she not be angry?

Her pride was wounded, her jealousy burning bright.

But she forgot—all this was her own doing.

I wanted to scream the truth, but I bit my tongue. In this house, silence was safer.

Still, she was the madam, and her word was law. After three years in this world, I understood how hard it was.

I bowed my head, accepting her punishment. Resistance would only make things worse.

Yet I couldn’t help but look at Musa, hoping he would help me. He knew I was afraid of water.

My eyes pleaded with him, begging for mercy. But he looked away, his jaw tight, before turning back to madam—showing his inner conflict.

But his eyes stayed glued to Madam Yemisi, not even glancing at me.

The final blow. I was truly alone.

I didn’t say anything, just stepped into the stream, one foot after the other.

I muttered a quick prayer, tracing my thumb over the small cross Mama gave me. Water no go carry me today.

The water lapped at my ankles, cold and unforgiving. My legs trembled, but I forced myself to keep going.

It was only early harmattan, and the water wasn’t cold, but for someone who had nearly drowned before, it was pure torture.

The memory of water filling my lungs, of strong arms dragging me out, haunted me with every step. My breath came in short, panicked gasps.

The water rose around me, my breathing became rough, and my vision blurred.

I blinked back tears, focusing on the glint of the hairpin in the mud. My fingers shook as I reached for it.

In a daze, I saw Musa rushing towards me—just like half a year ago, when I fell in and he saved me.

For a moment, hope flared in my chest. Maybe he would save me again.

But this time, he just passed me by, reaching out to pick a water lily.

He ignored my struggle, his attention fixed on madam. My heart shattered.

All to please Madam Yemisi.

He handed her the lily with a small bow, his loyalty clear for all to see.

The last bit of hope in my heart disappeared, leaving nothing.

I felt empty, hollowed out by betrayal.

I didn’t know how long I searched, my face pale, but finally I brought the hairpin back to madam.

My hands were numb, my body shaking. I held out the hairpin, my head bowed.

Thinking I might still be useful, she let me go, turning to leave with Musa.

She took the hairpin without a word, dismissing me with a flick of her wrist.

I lay on the ground for a long time. When I could finally move, I went straight to oga to collect my deed of freedom, not even bothering to change out of my wet clothes.

The cold seeped into my bones, but I didn’t care. I just wanted to be free.

Seeing how battered I looked, oga said nothing, but gave me extra naira along with the deed.

His eyes were kind, almost apologetic. He pressed the money into my hand, his silence saying more than words ever could.

Once I got what I needed, I hurried back to the little compound.

My feet carried me on autopilot, my mind numb.

Maybe he was still with Madam Yemisi, because Musa was nowhere to be found.

The compound was quiet, the shadows long. Musa’s things were gone, his presence erased.

Looking at all the little things that belonged to us, I felt nothing—just calmly packed my things.

I moved like a ghost, folding my wrappers, gathering my few belongings. The room felt emptier with each item I packed.

Everything Musa gave me, I left behind, even the safety pendant on my chest.

I unclasped the pendant, holding it in my palm for a moment before setting it on the table. It felt like letting go of a dream.

He’d said, “This na my mama’s heirloom. Wherever e dey, na there my heart dey.”

His words echoed in my mind, bittersweet and hollow.

But just now, madam had one hanging from her neck too.

The realization stung. I was never special—just another pawn in their game.

All his talk of never failing me in life or death was just a joke.

I laughed, a harsh, bitter sound. Love was a lie in this house.

I let go and finished packing.

With each item I left behind, I felt lighter, freer.

But the moment I opened the door, a pitch-black mask appeared in front of me.

My heart stopped. Musa stood there, silent and imposing, his mask gleaming in the dim light.

His scent was always easy to recognize. I knew it was Musa.

Even with the mask, I would know him anywhere. The smell of palm oil, sweat, and something uniquely his.

But I ignored him, stepped aside to leave, only for him to grab my arm.

His grip was desperate, his fingers digging into my skin. I refused to look at him.

“Where you dey go?” He stared at me, his eyes deep and anxious.

His voice trembled, fear and regret mingling in every word. For a moment, I almost softened.

I tried to pull away, not wanting to say anything.

I kept my eyes on the ground, my jaw set. I would not beg, would not cry.

But his grip was too tight; I couldn’t break free.

I struggled, but he held on, his desperation clear.

Remembering that we hadn’t dissolved our marriage yet, I looked him in the eye, all the old warmth gone. “Let’s divorce.”

My voice was cold, final. I was done with lies, done with hope. It was time to set myself free, once and for all.

A silent moment passed. Musa removed his mask and knelt before me, his head bowed low—a sign of surrender and plea only a true Nigerian man would make when everything is at stake.