chapter two

Chapter 2:

Half the Light, All the Pain

The cries of the nurses still rang in her ears.

Xoxo's chest heaved as she clutched her remaining daughter to her chest, trembling so hard it felt like her bones might shatter.

"She was here… They were both here!" she screamed. "WHERE IS MY BABY?"

Doctors gathered around her in panic. Nurses stumbled over excuses. One of them kept whispering, "It's not possible… It's not possible…"

The hospital's security guards sealed the exit, questioned every person on staff, and scanned the security footage. But nothing made sense.

The footage showed her baby in the crib.

Then, just… gone.

No man. No shadow. Just a missing child and a blacked-out second of the video feed. As if reality had blinked.

"I don't understand this," the matron said shakily, wringing her hands. "It's as if the baby… vanished."

Xoxo couldn't breathe. Her world was a blur of blood, screams, and hollow apologies. She clutched the baby in her arms, the one who had not been taken. Her eyes—gold and warm—stared back at her like a mirror of hope… and reminder of loss.

The amulet in her daughter's hand still glowed faintly.

What of the other half?

Where had it gone?

That night, Xoxo sat alone in her hospital bed, the soft hum of machines around her, her baby asleep beside her. She stared at the crib across the room.

Empty.

The silence was suffocating.

Her husband, Uzo, had come and gone without saying much. He stood by the door for a moment, muttered "Sorry," and left.

Cold.

Detached.

Exactly like the first night they'd met in her nightmare.

Chief Ebube had come too—raging at the hospital, threatening lawsuits, firing three nurses on the spot. He placed private security at Xoxo's door, promising, "We'll find her. I swear it."

But Xoxo already knew.

They wouldn't.

Something bigger had taken her child. Something stronger than guards, richer than men, deeper than flesh.

And it had something to do with that amulet.

In the days that followed, the police launched an investigation. The news ran with headlines like:

"Twin Kidnapping Shocks Elite Abuja Hospital"

"Mystery Deepens as Baby Vanishes Without Trace"

Xoxo was discharged with one child, an empty car seat beside her, and a shattered soul.

Weeks passed.

She stopped answering calls.

She stopped speaking unless necessary.

The only thing that kept her sane was her daughter, whom she named Ziora—meaning blessed journey.

But even Ziora couldn't erase the memory of that second twin—the healing baby with the half amulet.

Her name should have been Zikora—blessed strength.

Her strength was gone.

One night, Xoxo stood in her bedroom, staring at the velvet pouch that once held the full amulet. She pulled it open.

Empty.

Tears streamed down her face.

"Grandma… why didn't you tell me what this thing truly was?" she whispered.

She knelt and prayed. For the first time in years.

Not just for justice.

Not just for answers.

But for a chance.

Ziora grew faster than other children. By age two, she could read letters. By four, she could write her own name. Her beauty turned heads wherever she went—skin like burnished gold, eyes like honey laced with light, and a quiet grace that made people pause and notice.

She would often draw her dreams: pictures of a girl who looked exactly like her.

Holding a glowing stone.

In strange places.

"I dream about my sister," she'd say to Xoxo casually, as if it were normal. "She lives far away. But I'll see her one day."

Xoxo would smile weakly, heart breaking all over again.

Every year on their birthday, she lit two candles.

Ziora would ask, "Mommy, what's Zikora doing right now?"

And Xoxo would whisper, "She's waiting. Just like us."

As Ziora turned six, Xoxo began to change.

She began to rise.

The pain that had once paralyzed her now powered her.

She went back to school. Enrolled in business programs. Started a consultancy firm focused on women-led small businesses.

She used the Hassani name like a shield—leveraging its reputation, even if her marriage had turned cold and mechanical.

Uzo barely spoke to her. He slept in a separate room. Still broken. Still cruel.

But he didn't touch her.

And she didn't need him.

Because she was building her own empire now.

And she was doing it for Ziora.

And for Zikora—wherever she was.

Within six years, Xoxo went from housewife to powerhouse.

She became the face of Women Rebirth Foundation, a nationwide initiative for young mothers and abused women.

She gave speeches at conferences.

She was featured in magazines.

People whispered her name with respect—and fear.

The woman who had once been rejected, cast out, forgotten—now sat beside presidents and governors.

But none of it filled the hole in her heart.

Because half of her light was still missing.