Abby:
Some would say I got myself into that mess—and they wouldn’t be wrong. But here’s the thing about the human mind: when you’re convinced you’re doing the right thing, even the obvious can look like a lie. I was determined to make it on my own. I turned my back on Chief—now revealed as my father—and on the man who raised me. I ignored my mother too, her secrets and her shame. I wanted independence. I wanted to prove I didn’t need them. And, for a brief, foolish moment, I thought Deolu would be my way out.
Looking back, I realise how blind I was. They say common sense isn’t so common—and in my case, it was practically extinct. Even after all he’d done, part of me still felt something for Deolu. That’s what makes manipulation so dangerous. It dresses up as care, spoils you, pampers you—until the moment it controls you.
As I ran from that house, something in me whispered to go back. “Where will you go, Abby? You’ve burnt every bridge.” And just like that, the doubt pulled me around. I stopped running. I convinced myself again—he took you in, didn’t he? Fed you, clothed you. Maybe this was his way of helping. Maybe you misread it.
So I went back. I smoothed my clothes, rehearsed my lines, and walked in. Deolu was furious—his jaw clenched, eyes wild. But I ran into his arms and said, “Baby, I’m sorry. There was a mouse in the bathroom—I panicked and ran out.”
He pulled me close, leaned in, and whispered coldly, “I’ll deal with you later. Now behave.” Then, without another word, he shoved me towards his ‘friend’—who was suddenly all smiles again.
And as that man gripped me by the waist, pretending I was something he owned, I felt it—revulsion. Shame. Disgust. But I said nothing. Because for now, I had nowhere else to go.
…hmmm
Chris:
Sometimes I still wonder how I thought that was my best option—chasing destiny in a leaking dinghy across an indifferent sea. But I did it. Young. Foolish. Vulnerable. And desperate.
The sea had become our only reality—salty, relentless, unending. We’d stopped counting days. There was no time out there, only survival. The storm had passed, but now we sat in silence, the motor long dead, our guides offering nothing but haunted looks.
People withdrew into themselves. Some just stopped responding. A boy no older than fourteen stared blankly ahead, muttering names only he understood. A woman stripped naked and jumped in, swearing she saw land. We never saw her again.
Thomas tried his best to lift spirits. “We’ll make it,” I told him—but even I didn’t believe myself anymore. Still, I had to say it—for him, if not for me.
By the fourth day, the sun was merciless. The last of the water was gone. Some turned to the sea for thirst—poison masked as relief. Others just curled up, waiting for something—rescue, death, maybe even peace.
But then, on the horizon—a shape. Small. Distant. Moving.
I nudged Thomas and pointed. “There,” I whispered.
He opened his eyes, just barely. “A boat?”
I nodded, refusing to look away. I didn’t know what it was yet. But I knew one thing.
We were not done.
…hmmm
