Chapter Eighteen

I didn't know what pulled me back home.

Maybe it was the endless nights of hunger, gnawing at my insides like a beast I couldn't outrun. Maybe it was the crushing loneliness, always present, always reminding me that I was no one to anyone. Or maybe, deep down, I still believed that something—someone—would be waiting for me.

The world around me was harsh, and with each step I took, the weight of my decisions pressed harder on my chest. I had run away from the fear of what Iya Abeni would do to me. But now, standing here in the silent darkness of the streets, I wondered if there was any place left to run to.

So I walked.

I walked for days.

Through villages that blurred together like shadows, where no one knew my name. Past forests that whispered memories I wanted to forget. My feet bled from the rough paths, my body ached with every movement, but I kept walking.

There was nothing left for me in the city—no kindness, no hope, only coldness. I had nothing but the memory of a mother I could barely remember, the shadow of a past that seemed to slip further away with each step. Still, I walked. Because, what else was there to do?

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A Graveyard of Memories

And then, one morning, I saw it—the place that had once been my home.

The familiar sight of the village ahead made my heart beat faster. I didn't know why I was heading back—perhaps it was the hope that something had changed, perhaps the sheer exhaustion of my journey made me long for anything familiar. I had never felt so lost in my life.

The village was different now. The war had ended, but the scars still lingered in the cracks of the houses and in the vacant eyes of the people. But life had continued, as it always does. Children ran through the paths, their laughter filling the air like it was the most natural thing in the world. Women carried baskets of food from the market, smiling and chatting as if nothing had ever happened. The houses stood proud, smoke rising from cooking fires, and for a moment, it felt as though the world had moved on, leaving my pain behind.

The people had gone back to their lives, to their routines, their daily struggles that seemed so much simpler than mine.

But when I reached the part of the village where Mama and I had lived, everything inside me froze.

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The Ruins

Our hut was gone.

Not just abandoned. Not just broken. Gone.

The place where I had once felt safe—where Mama and I had struggled to survive together—was reduced to nothing but ruins. The thatched roof, which Mama had patched up so many times, had long since caved in. The mud walls, the ones we had worked together to build, had crumbled to dust. Weeds had overtaken everything. Rats scurried through the wreckage, as if our life had meant nothing, as if it had never been anything more than a forgotten heap of dirt.

I stood there for what felt like an eternity, staring at the wreckage, unable to comprehend the enormity of what I was seeing.

I fell to my knees. My hands dug into the dirt as if I could somehow bring it all back, as if I could rebuild it with my own bare hands. But there was nothing left. No shelter. No warmth. No place to call home.

Tears burned my eyes, and before I could stop them, they spilled down my face, mixing with the dirt on my cheeks. The world around me felt so distant, so unreachable, and in that moment, I realized that I had nothing. Not anymore.

Mama was gone. The hut was gone. My home—my whole life—was nothing but dust and memories.

What was I supposed to do now?

I closed my eyes, pressing my hands against the cold earth, wishing—praying—that the ground could tell me what to do. But the earth offered nothing but silence. There was no answer.

I had no future. No past. Only the crushing weight of now, of the emptiness that threatened to swallow me whole.

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Alone Again

The village had moved on, but I hadn't.

I had lost everything. My home. My family. The life I had once known.

And now, I was alone.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to shout at the sky for being so cruel, for taking everything from me and leaving me here to face the world with nothing. But the words didn't come. The anger didn't come. Only a hollow ache that filled my chest, pressing down on my heart until I could hardly breathe.

I stayed there, kneeling in the dirt, for what felt like hours, unable to move, unable to leave. The village around me continued, as if nothing had changed, but I could feel the weight of my grief pressing in on me. I felt invisible, as if I were a ghost drifting through a world that had forgotten me.

No one came to check on me. No one came to offer help. I was just another lost child, another forgotten soul in a world too busy to care.

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The Decision to Move Forward

But then, as the sun began to set and the first stars appeared in the sky, I stood up, wiping the tears from my face.

I couldn't stay here. I couldn't stay in the ruins of what had been. I had to move forward, even if I didn't know where forward was.

I didn't know where I would go. I didn't know what I would do. But I couldn't keep living in the past, in a place that had nothing for me anymore.

The thought of leaving was terrifying. The thought of walking into the unknown was overwhelming. But the idea of staying here, letting the weight of this place crush me, was even worse.

So, I took a step.

And then another.

The road ahead was dark, but it was the only road I had left.

And with that first step, I felt a flicker of something—a tiny, almost imperceptible spark of hope. Maybe, just maybe, there was still a chance for me. Maybe, even though everything was gone, I could find a way to survive, to live, to rebuild.

I didn't know how long it would take. I didn't know what would happen. But for the first time in what felt like forever, I realized somethin

g important:

I was still here.

I was still breathing.

And that had to count for something.