
She hummed a lullaby I’d taught my own
mother, but it was off-key, off-beat. Something ancient and Doli, the pretty girl with big eyes and slow smiles, carved from
honey and lies. She was meant to be temporary, just a girl from church
looking to earn some change. But she moved like water, and you don’t
notice water soaking into the walls until the floors are slippery and you are
falling.
Fire in my belly, heartbreak in my eyes, I heard myself say the words. "I want a divorce. I don’t want a penny from you, and I’m taking Kemi. We’re done." It felt like the last good thing I had strength for. The echo bounced off the kitchen tiles like a scream trapped in a bottle.
Doli just rolled her eyes—imagine! In my house, holding my child, eyeing me
like I was furniture in her way. The charm she used on Tunji had grown
stronger. And Kemi… my sweet grandbaby, she was shrinking. Not just small—dim. Like something was sucking the colour out of her soul. I should’ve pulled them out then. I should have listened to the warning in my bones.
But I didn't. And that’s when the nightmare truly began.
https://youtu.be/h-1HOEmRExo?si=OZi_wYoNemmc0-A