Episode 9

The car moved steadily through the still-dark streets, headlights cutting through the early morning fog. Inside, Mrs. Ebele Johnson sat stiffly in the back seat, her arms crossed over her chest, her lips pressed into a thin, disapproving line. Beside her, Tari, was half-turned in her seat, clearly trying to reason with her.  

 

Godwin, Timothy’s cousin, sat beside the driver in the front seat, shifting uncomfortably as he listened to the growing argument at the back.  

 

“Even if Timothy told you to leave, why did you listen?!” Mrs. Johnson snapped at the driver, her voice sharp.  

 

The driver gripped the steering wheel, his patience wearing thin. “Ma, he is my boss. I couldn’t disobey him. He told me to leave, so I left.”  

 

“That is not being responsible!” she fired back. “You saw where he was. You knew it was unsafe. Why didn’t you call me immediately?”  

 

“Ma, I honestly thought he would leave there on his own. I never imagined he would spend the night there.”

 

Mrs. Johnson let out a frustrated sigh, shaking her head. “And now, he’s still there—with that girl.”

 

She spat out the words as though they tasted bitter in her mouth.  

 

Tari exhaled, rubbing her temples. “Mummy, please. Let’s calm down.” 

 

Mrs. Johnson turned to her sharply. “Calm down? Tari, do you understand what’s at stake here? Timothy is a music minister! He has a name to protect, a calling on his life. What is he doing spending the night at some girl’s house?”  

 

“Who is this girl, Tari?” she asked suddenly, narrowing her eyes at her daughter. “You brought her to our house in the first place.” 

 

Tari groaned. “No, Mummy. You can’t put this on me. Timothy has always known her. Amarachi was his first love from secondary school.” 

 

Mrs. Johnson scoffed. “First love? Secondary school? What kind of nonsense is that?”

 

Tari sighed. “To be honest, it does feel unrealistic. But let’s be real, has Timothy ever dated any other person?”  

 

A sudden thought crossed Mrs. Johnson’s mind, and she turned to Tari, eyes widening.  

 

“Are you sure this girl did not use jazz on my son?”  

 

Tari burst into laughter, shaking her head. “Mummy, seriously? Jazz? On Timothy?”  

 

Even Godwin, who had been silent up till now, stifled a chuckle.  

 

Mrs. Johnson huffed. “I’m just frustrated! How can my son, a whole Man of God, lose himself over a girl?”  

 

Tari rolled her eyes. “Mummy, please. That call you just made to him? It made things bad. And we going there will only make things even worse! Timothy is not going to like this.”  

 

Mrs. Johnson waved a hand dismissively. “I don’t care if he likes it. I’m his mother.”  

 

Tari groaned, leaning back against the seat. “Mummy, I’m telling you, we’re embarrassing him.”  

 

“I don’t care.” 

 

She turned toward Godwin. “Godwin, do you think we’re overdoing it? Going to this girl’s place to get Timothy?”  

 

Godwin shifted uncomfortably. “Ma, with all due respect, yes. I think we’re overdoing it. We should turn back and respect his decision.”  

 

Mrs. Johnson’s eyes darkened. “Respect what decision? To ruin his name? I don’t think so. The last time he went there, the blogs carried it. If he had even given me a reasonable answer when I called, we could have turned back, but he hung up on me. Can you imagine?”  

 

Her voice softened slightly. “That place is dangerous. Do you even know what kind of neighborhood that is? I had friends who lived there years ago, and it was bad then. It’s probably worse now. I have a bad feeling about this. A very bad feeling.”  

 

The driver hesitated, then muttered under his breath, “Oga Timothy will be very angry with me for bringing you people.”  

 

“Please focus and drive,” Mrs. Johnson shot back. “If he wants to be angry, let him be angry at me. I am his mother. And I feel led to do this. It may not make sense to you, but I feel led.”

 

Tari sighed again, looking out the window as the car moved forward. “This is just so awkward. I don’t know what Timothy is doing there, but I don’t think we should be going either. You people should leave me out of this.”  

 

—————————————————————————————————————————-

 

Timothy’s smile widened into laughter, low at first, then rising in volume. The sound was confident—too confident. Amarachi’s heart pounded as she instinctively linked her hand with his. He squeezed gently, his thumb caressing the back of her hand in reassurance, but she could feel the tension in his grip.  

 

She leaned in, whispering urgently. “Timothy, stop laughing. These guys are not joking.”  

 

The broad-shouldered man who had just arrived—the one who seemed to be the leader—squinted at Timothy. “Why you dey laugh?”  

 

Timothy let out another chuckle, his eyes steady, unfazed.  

 

One of the men beside the leader bristled. “You dey craze? Wetin dey funny?”  

 

Another jabbed a finger toward Amarachi. “Tell am make e stop, or I go break en head.”  

 

Timothy exhaled slowly, his amusement fading. His voice, when he spoke, was even. “No one’s head is getting broken tonight. Least of all, mine.”  

 

The leader scoffed. “See dis one. You no know where you dey…”  

 

“You’re blocking the road, keeping me from leaving,” Timothy continued, ignoring the taunts. “That needs to change. Now.” 

 

The leader’s grin widened. “Ehn ehn? Na we go decide when you go comot.”  

 

Amarachi took a cautious step forward. “Look, we don’t want any trouble. If you need something, let us know so we can settle it and go.”  

 

The men exchanged looks before bursting into laughter. “Settle?” The leader spat. “You don see us finish, abi? We dey beg for money?”  

 

Timothy tilted his head. “So, you’re saying you don’t need anything from us? That’s good, because you are not getting anything.”  

 

His fingers brushed against his phone screen as he swiftly typed a message to his driver: Where are you?  

 

A sharp-eyed gang member caught the movement. “Wait! He dey type something!”  

 

Before Timothy could react, a hand shot out, snatching the phone from his grasp. The screen flickered for a second before the man swiped up, but Timothy had already locked it.  

 

The leader sneered. “Wetin you dey type?”  

 

Timothy held his gaze, unfazed. “Give me back my phone.”  

 

The man chuckled, then, without warning, flung the phone to the ground..  

 

Amarachi gasped. “Timothy!” 

 

Timothy didn’t flinch. Instead, he turned to her, his voice calm. “Go inside.”  

 

“No!” she said, clutching his arm. “Timothy, I can’t leave you here.”  

 

“Take Ziora and get inside the house,” he repeated. “I’ll handle this.”  

 

One of the men scoffed. “You think say we come here for fight? No be you dey laugh?”

 

Timothy took a step forward. “So my laughter is a threat to you, but blocking an entire compound  with a truck isn’t a threat to me?”  

 

The leader folded his arms. “Pastor, abi? But you no dey fear.”  

 

Timothy smiled again. “You don’t know who I am.” 

 

Silence fell over the group.  

 

Timothy extended a hand. “Pick up my phone.”  

 

The leader frowned. “You dey command me?” 

 

But for some reason, one of the younger gang members hesitated, then obeyed, picking up the device and placing it back in Timothy’s palm.  

 

Timothy turned it over, touching the broken screen with his thumb, thankful that it was still working at least. “I’ll forgive this. But now, move the truck.”  

 

The leader stared at him, jaw tightening. Something in Timothy’s confidence unsettled him. He looked at one of his men and jerked his chin. “Go tell the driver say make e drive en truck comot.”  

 

The younger man hesitated. “Boss…”  

 

“Move the truck, Timothy ordered. 

 

A beat passed. Then, finally, one of the men walked off to find the truck driver.  

 

Amarachi exhaled shakily as she turned to Timothy. “What just happened?”  

 

Timothy looked at her, his voice quiet but steady. “We’re leaving.”  

 

—————————————————————————————————————————-

 

The SUV rolled into the dimly lit filling station, its tires crunching over gravel. The neon lights above the pumps flickered weakly, casting long shadows on the pavement. Mrs. Ebele Johnson leaned forward in her seat, scanning the lot with sharp, searching eyes. 

 

Where is his car?” she demanded, her voice tight with anxiety.

 

The driver hesitated, glancing at the rearview mirror before gesturing toward an empty space.

 

“This was where I left him, ma. Maybe he has gone home.”

 

“Gone home?” Mrs. Johnson repeated, her grip tightening on her handbag. “Did he tell you he was leaving?”

 

“No, ma,” the driver admitted. “But—”

 

“But what?” she cut in sharply.

 

The driver exhaled. “I just assumed, ma. I mean, I didn’t think he would stay here all night.”

 

Mrs. Johnson’s jaw clenched. “You assumed? You left him alone in this area, in the dead of the night, and you assumed?”

 

The tension in the car thickened. Godwin, who had been mostly silent, cleared his throat from the front passenger seat. “Ma, let’s not panic. Maybe he just moved the car to a safer spot.”

 

Mrs. Johnson shook her head. “Safer spot where? There’s nothing safer than a well lit filling station. That boy—” She let out a long, tired breath, pressing her fingers against her temple. “Tari, call him.”

 

Tari pulled out her phone and scrolled to Timothy’s contact. “You know he won’t pick our call, right?” she murmured before pressing the dial button.

 

The phone rang. Once. Twice. Three times. 

 

No answer.

 

Tari sighed and dropped the phone into her lap. “Shocker.”

 

Mrs. Johnson frowned. “Try again.”

 

“No, Mummy, if he didn’t pick the first time, he’s not going to pick the second,” Tari said, leaning back against the seat in exasperation.

 

Mrs. Johnson inhaled deeply, turning back to the driver. “Do you know the way to the girl’s house?”

 

The driver hesitated. “Uh… yes, ma. I’ve been there before.”

 

“Then take us there.”

 

Tari let out a groan, shaking her head. “Mum, this whole situation is such an infringement.”

 

Mrs. Johnson’s eyes snapped toward her daughter. “Infringement? Tari, my son is missing in the middle of the night. I will infringe on whoever I need to!”

 

Godwin shifted uncomfortably. “Ma, maybe he has truly gone home.”

 

Mrs. Johnson shot him a look. “And if he hasn’t? You want me to sit back and hope? I should just assume, like the driver did?”

 

The driver winced slightly but kept his gaze forward.

 

Godwin sighed. “I understand, ma. But I think if we go there and find out he’s just sitting in her house peacefully, he’s going to be very upset with all of us.”

 

Mrs. Johnson scoffed. “Let him be upset! As long as he is safe. I don’t know about you people, but like I said earlier, I have friends who used to live in this area a few years ago, and I hear it’s still very notorious. A place like that, and he’s just there overnight?” 

 

She shook her head. “I don’t like this at all.”

 

Tari folded her arms. “Even if he’s there, what are you going to do? Drag him out? Timothy is a grown man.”

 

Mrs. Johnson turned away, staring out the window, her lips pressed into a firm line. Then she spoke, her voice lower, more resolute. 

 

“I don’t know what I’m going to do. But I know I can’t sit at home and do nothing.”

 

Silence fell over the car for a moment.

 

Then she exhaled sharply. “Let’s go.”

 

The engine hummed as the car pulled back onto the road, carrying them toward Amarachi’s house.

 

—————————————————————————————————————————-

 

As they cruised into the expressway, Amarachi kept looking over her shoulder, her eyes darting toward the rear windshield. The city was still waking up, but the dim glow of streetlights painted long, eerie shadows along the road.  

 

Timothy noticed her restlessness. “Why do you keep looking back?” he asked, his voice calm.  

 

Amarachi exhaled, facing forward. “Just making sure nobody’s following us.”  

 

Timothy scoffed slightly, adjusting his grip on the wheel. “They dare not. They won’t.”  

 

She turned to him, skeptical. “Why are you so confident? Everything that happened back there could have gone south. I don’t even know how we got out of it unscathed.”  

 

Timothy chuckled softly. “You don’t know?”  

 

She hesitated, frowning. “I mean, yeah, I know it’s God, obviously. But it’s not like we stood there, calling down fire from heaven or something. It just… happened. Too fast.”  

 

Timothy’s voice was steady, almost reverent. “We don’t need to call on fire from heaven in the middle of a crisis, Amarachi. The altars have already been built. The prayers have already gone ahead of us. We don’t wait for trouble before we start talking to God.”  

 

A shiver ran through Amarachi, not from fear, but from his words. “Thank God,” she murmured, gripping her lap. Then, louder, “Thank you, Jesus. Thank you for saving us.”  

 

Timothy glanced at her through the rearview mirror. “Did you doubt that we would leave there unscathed?”  

 

She scoffed. “Ah! More than doubted. Those guys, you don’t understand. If we didn’t leave there with a high billing, we should have at least left with a few bruises. That’s how they are.”  

 

Timothy shook his head. “They’ve never met someone like me before.”  

 

She narrowed her eyes. “Someone like you?”  

 

“We are children of God,” Timothy said simply. “It’s not just a title, it’s a reality. Our mere presence shifts things in the spirit. They sensed it. Even without knowing why, they knew they couldn’t touch us. If they had, it would have been them in trouble—not us.”  

 

Amarachi exhaled deeply, rubbing her temples. “You’re making it sound so… supernatural.”  

 

Timothy smiled. “It is supernatural.” He paused, his expression growing more serious. “Even now, I need to pray for them.”  

 

Amarachi turned to him, confused. “Pray for them?”  

 

“Yes,” Timothy said. “Because just the fact that they attempted to harm us has already placed a target on their backs. I must plead with the Holy Spirit to have mercy.”  

 

Amarachi stared at him. “Should I be scared of you? Who are you, a king?”  

 

Timothy’s lips twitched into a smile. “I am a child of God. And the son of a king is a king.”  

 

Amarachi let out a small, incredulous laugh. “You and your deep talk.”  

 

As their laughter filled the car, Amarachi’s phone buzzed. Her stomach clenched as she saw the caller ID— Ada.  

 

She hesitated before answering. “Hello?”  

 

Ada’s exasperated voice shot through the phone. “Amarachi, what is wrong with you? I told you to leave last night!  You insisted on coming this morning. Now we are all at the park, waiting for you!”  

 

“I know, I’m sorry,” Amarachi said quickly, touching the bridge of her nose.  

 

“I already told you—if you delay us again like last year, I won’t take it lightly. Just get here. Fast.”  

 

Before Amarachi could reply, the call ended.  

 

She stared at her phone for a moment before exhaling deeply. Timothy reached over and gave her hand a gentle squeeze. He didn’t say anything, just held her hand in his, his thumb rubbing the back of her palm in comfort.  

 

Then, as if making a silent decision, he raised her hand to his lips and pressed a soft kiss to it.  

 

Amarachi turned to him, startled. The warmth of his lips against her skin sent a wave of something familiar through her. It wasn’t just affection—it was recognition. A memory.  

 

The dream.  

 

The way he had held her in another time, another world. The way he had looked at her, protected her, led her through a reality she was still struggling to process.  

 

Timothy looked at her knowingly, as though he could read her mind. “Tell me the dream.”  

 

She swallowed, Who is this guy again? “You won’t believe it. I don’t even know where to start.”  

 

Timothy chuckled. “I know where to start.” He turned to her with a teasing smile. “Start from the part where I was your husband.”  

 

Amarachi laughed despite herself. “Oh my God, Timothy,” she exclaimed, looking away. Then after a few minutes of silence, she began to share the details of the dream 

 

And as the car sped towards the park, for the first time in a long time, she didn’t feel so alone.  

 

—————————————————————————————————————————-

 

As soon as the vehicle pulled to a stop outside Amarachi’s apartment complex, a group of three men sitting across the street took notice. They stood up, stretching lazily, eyes narrowing at the car. 

 

It wasn’t long before they made their way over.  

 

Mrs. Johnson noticed them immediately. She sat up straighter, her eyes darting between the men as they approached.  

 

The tallest of the three knocked on the driver’s window, his grin lazy but eyes sharp.  

 

“Morning, bros,” he said, peering inside. His gaze flicked to Tari and Mrs. Johnson, then to Godwin in the front seat.  

 

“Morning,” the driver replied, rolling down the window slightly.  

 

The second guy, a shorter man with a scar cutting across his eyebrow, leaned against the hood. “Big car. Fine people. Wetin una dey find for here?”

 

Tari sighed. Of course. She had expected this.  

 

She leaned over slightly. “Good morning,” she said smoothly. “We’re looking for someone. Amarachi. Do you know if she’s home?”  

 

The first guy tilted his head, pretending to think. “Amarachi… Amarachi…” Then he smiled knowingly. “Ah, that makeup artist. Na she you dey find?”  

 

The scarred one grinned. “She don travel.”  

 

Mrs. Johnson immediately jerked forward. “Travelled? To where?”  

 

The tall one spread his hands dramatically. “She pack load. In fact, na one man carry her.”  

 

Silence filled the car for a second.  

 

Then Mrs. Johnson clutched her chest. “I said it! She has eloped!”  

 

Tari groaned loudly. “Oh my God, Mum—no, she has not eloped.”  

 

“She packed luggage,” Mrs. Johnson argued, “and a man, a popular musician no less, carried her away in the night! If that is not eloping, what is it?”  

 

The shorter guy smirked. “Mama, na real wahala you dey talk so. Your pikin follow woman comot for night? E be like say he wan marry am.”  

 

Godwin muttered under his breath, exasperated. “Madam, I think we should leave.”  

 

But Mrs. Johnson wasn’t done. “Do you know where they went?” she demanded.  

 

The tall one clicked his tongue. “We fit know, but…” He rubbed his fingers together, signaling money.  

 

Tari sighed, already reaching for her purse. She knew how this worked.  

 

She pulled out some bills and handed them over.  

 

The tall one took it, but his smirk didn’t fade. 

 

He tilted his head, pretending to weigh the money in his hand. Then he looked at his companions, and they all snickered.  

 

“Madam,” he said, pocketing the cash, “this one no reach.”  

 

Mrs. Johnson’s nostrils flared. “What kind of nonsense is this?”  

 

Tari held up a hand, already expecting this to drag out. “Fine, fine.” She dug into her purse, pulled out more bills, and slapped them into his palm.  

 

The short one whistled, grinning. “You dey try, sis. At least your money dey flow.”  

 

The tall one nodded approvingly. “Okay, okay. See ehn, Amarachi don go, true-true. She comot for here with her luggage early dis morning. Na one fine guy carry am. Fine guy. He be like that musician—wetin be him name again?” He snapped his fingers, pretending to think.  

 

The third guy, who had been silent till now, grinned. “Timothy.”  

 

Mrs. Johnson sucked in a sharp breath.  

 

The tall one snapped his fingers again. “Yes! Na the name be that.”  

 

The SUV fell into stunned silence.  

 

Mrs. Johnson closed her eyes, gripping her purse so tightly her knuckles turned white. “Dear Lord in heaven, my son has disgraced me.”  

 

Tari buried her face in her hands. “Mum, please. Stop being so dramatic.”  

 

“I knew it!” Mrs. Johnson’s voice rose with panic. “He has followed this girl! This is exactly what I was afraid of! What will people say? What will the church say? A music minister, spending the night with a woman and her child?”  

 

Tari rolled her eyes. “Nothing happened! He was just helping her sort something.”  

 

The scarred one snickered. “Na wetin dem dey talk first, before pikin enter belle.”  

 

Mrs. Johnson let out a dramatic gasp, clutching her chest. “Jesus! Tari, do you hear this?!”  

 

Tari glared at the guy. “Please, don’t add to my mother’s stress.”  

 

The tall one grinned, counting the money between his fingers. “See ehn, una don cause enough wahala for today. People don dey look una.” He gestured at the gathering crowd. “If I be una, I go just dey go before gist begin spread.”  

 

Godwin, who had been quiet, finally spoke up. “I agree. Let’s leave.”  

 

Tari turned to the driver. “Start the car.”  

 

Mrs. Johnson shook her head furiously as the SUV pulled away. “You see? You see what my spirit told me? I should have dragged Timothy out of that place myself! Now, look!”  

 

Tari rubbed her temples. “Mum, for the last time, Timothy has not eloped. He is not married. He has not impregnated anyone. He’s just—” she exhaled sharply, “—being Timothy.”  

 

Mrs. Johnson stared out the window, lips pursed.  

 

Then, under her breath, she muttered, “If that girl has jazzed my son, I will break it with fire.”  

 

Tari let out an exasperated groan, while Godwin simply shook his head and looked away.  

 

As they merged back onto the main road, the sky was growing brighter. The sun had begun spilling its golden light over the city.  

 

Mrs. Johnson tightened her grip on her purse, frustrated.

 

—————————————————————————————————————————-

 

The sound of voices, honking from nearby streets, and the occasional laughter of children blended into a familiar Lagos morning symphony.  

 

Timothy pulled the car into a tight parking spot, the tyres crunching against the gravel. Almost as soon as he stepped out, heads started turning. A few people outside, waiting for final boarding, paused mid-conversation, whispering amongst themselves. The last thing Amarachi wanted was attention, but with Timothy here, it was inevitable.  

 

She hurried out of the car, her heart pounding.  

 

As soon as Ada spotted her, she rushed forward, her expression a mix of relief and irritation. “Amarachi! Where have you been? I told you not to—”  

 

Timothy, in the background, was already at the trunk, pulling out her luggage, moving with practised ease. He opened the car to bring out a sleeping Ziora.

 

Ada’s words trailed off as she turned slightly and finally noticed him. Her eyes widened in disbelief.  

 

“Wait… isn’t this… ah—” She covered her mouth in shock. “Minister Timothy?!”  

 

Timothy gave her a polite nod, shifting the weight of Ziora in his arms as he carried her out of the car.  

 

Ada’s moment of starstruck amazement was quickly overtaken by big sister instincts. She took Ziora from Timothy’s arms, still glancing at him like he might disappear into thin air. The greeting that followed was warm, polite, but questioning.  

 

She whispered to Amarachi as they walked toward the house, “You better explain everything later.”  

 

Timothy watched them go, his hands now empty. Amarachi turned back to him, rubbing her hands together nervously.  

 

“Timothy,” she started, stepping closer. “I… I don’t even know how to thank you. You’ve done more than I could have ever asked for.”  

 

Timothy simply smiled, tilting his head. “Don’t thank me yet. The trip hasn’t even started. Let me at least see you off properly.”  

 

Amarachi sighed, shaking her head quickly. “No, no. You’ve been here long enough. I didn’t even think this through properly. People are already noticing… They’ll start assuming things.”  

 

Timothy folded his arms. “Let them assume.”  

 

Amarachi’s eyes widened slightly. “Timothy—”  

 

“I thought we already settled this,” he said, his voice softer but firm. “Didn’t you have that dream? Didn’t it confirm things for you?”  

 

Amarachi opened her mouth, but no words came.  

 

Timothy watched her carefully, then smirked slightly. “Or do you still think dreams are stupid?”  

 

Amarachi let out a nervous laugh, her hands tightening around the strap of her purse. “You know what they say. Dreams aren’t always reliable.”  

 

Timothy stepped closer, lowering his voice. “That dream wasn’t just a dream, Amarachi. You met the Lord. I love that dream, you know.”  

 

She rolled her eyes playfully. “Of course, you do.”  

 

Timothy chuckled. “Maybe someday, we’ll go to Jerusalem together. A proper vacation. What do you think?”  

 

For the first time that morning, Amarachi smiled fully.  

 

“That would be nice,” she admitted.  

 

Timothy nodded. “See? That’s the smile I like. Now, listen. Go on this trip. Enjoy it. Be with your family. But when you’re back—” His expression turned serious, steady. “Me and you, we’re going to have a proper conversation.”  

 

Amarachi exhaled slowly. 

 

“Okay,” she whispered.  

 

But then she looked at the growing crowd near the bus and nudged him slightly. “Now, please go before people start asking me questions.”  

 

Timothy smirked, then shrugged. “Too late for that.”  

 

“Timothy.”  

 

He chuckled, shaking his head as he bent down, picking up her heaviest suitcase. “At least let me put these on the bus first.”  

 

Amarachi sighed, giving up. There was no arguing with him. 

 

“Fine,” she muttered. “Thank you, Timothy.”  

 

“Safe travels, Amarachi.”  

 

—————————————————————————————————————————

 

The living room was thick with tension, the kind that made the air feel heavy. The only sound was the sharp click of Mrs. Bridget Ebele Johnson’s heels as she paced the floor, her arms crossed tightly, her lips pursed.  

 

Tari and Godwin sat stiffly on the couch while Mr. Johnson stood near the dining table, watching his wife with calm but wary eyes.  

 

Tari’s phone vibrated. She checked the message.  

 

“He sent me a text,” she announced. “He says he’s fine. Almost home.”  

 

Mrs. Johnson stopped pacing for half a second. Then, as if the message only added fuel to her frustration, she threw her hands in the air.  

 

“No, no, no! This is nonsense!” she exclaimed. “How does he expect me to just accept that? ‘Almost home’—what does that even mean? Where exactly is he coming from?! Ah, God!”  

 

Mr. Johnson sighed and rubbed his forehead. “Bridget, calm down.”  

 

“No, don’t tell me to calm down,” she snapped.  

 

He turned to Tari, shaking his head. “You should have stopped your mother from going there in the first place.”  

 

Tari scoffed. “Dad, you know there’s no stopping Mum once she makes up her mind. That’s why I even told Godwin to follow us—for extra protection. In case things got out of hand.”  

 

Her father groaned. “So you mean to tell me that you people were interacting with area boys on the road?” He turned to Godwin. “And you? You followed them?”  

 

Godwin shifted awkwardly. “Uncle, I couldn’t have stayed back. At least, I was there to make sure nothing escalated.”  

 

Mr. Johnson let out a deep sigh. “What if something bad had happened? Would Timothy be happy? Would he thank you for this?”  

 

Mrs. Johnson huffed, folding her arms. “You trust your son when he’s being sane and rational, not when every sign is there that something is wrong.” She gestured wildly. “How can you not see it? That girl—”  

 

Tari groaned loudly, throwing her head back against the couch. “Mummy, you are overreacting, and I don’t like it one bit.”  

 

Mr. Johnson’s voice remained calm, but firm. “My son knows what he’s doing. If you could just trust him.”  

 

Before his wife could snap back, the front door swung open.  

 

Timothy walked in, his steps steady but his face unreadable.  

 

Mrs. Johnson’s eyes narrowed. “Ah, Timothy, you’ve finally remembered you have a home?”  

 

Timothy stopped mid-step, exhaling sharply.  

 

“Mummy, stop,” he said. Then, a little softer, “Actually, Mummy, stop.”  

 

She scoffed. “What?”  

 

Timothy’s jaw tensed. “Amarachi heard everything you said earlier.” His voice was even, controlled. “The phone was on speaker.”  

 

Mrs. Johnson froze for a second before recovering. “Ah-ah, how would I know the phone was on speaker? Please, let’s not even talk about that.” She waved her hand dismissively.  

 

But Timothy wasn’t letting it slide.  

 

“No, Mummy, let’s talk about it,” he said, stepping closer. “Do you know how embarrassed I felt? How hurt?” His voice tightened. “Have I ever given you a reason to doubt my judgment? Have I ever been reckless?”  

 

Mrs. Johnson’s lips pressed into a thin line, but she said nothing.  

 

Timothy’s voice dropped lower. “So why would you jump into dramatics just because I didn’t come home one night?”  

 

The room was dead silent.  

 

Mr. Johnson sighed. “Timothy, don’t be angry. You know how your mother overreacts.”  

 

Mrs. Johnson’s face hardened. “Oh, so I’m the bad one now?” she snapped. “I put my son’s best interest first, and suddenly, everyone is against me?”  

 

Timothy exhaled heavily, shaking his head.  

 

“Mum,” he said, staring at her, “I am not under a spell.”  

 

Mrs. Johnson’s face twisted in frustration. “Oh, God! What is all this?!”  

 

Just then, Tari’s phone buzzed.  

 

She glanced down, then froze.  

 

Another buzz.  

 

A notification.  

 

A message.  

 

Tari swallowed. “Umm… Oh No!”  

 

Timothy narrowed his eyes. “What happened?”  

 

Tari’s eyes darted to Godwin, then back to her phone. “Maryann just sent me a link. She says… ‘It has happened again.’”  

 

Timothy’s brows furrowed. “What has happened?”  

 

Tari hesitated for a second, then clicked the link.  

 

Immediately, a blog post popped up, complete with pictures.  

 

The headlines screamed at them:  

 

MINISTER TIMOTHY’S FAMILY SPOTTED IN SHADY NEIGHBORHOOD—LOOKING FOR HIM?  

 

Below, a grainy but clear image of an SUV sat outside Amarachi’s compound.  

 

Godwin’s face was partially visible in the passenger’s seat.  

 

Tari’s wasn’t spared either — a side angle caught her in the car, speaking to the area boys.  

 

The caption read:  

 

“Just In: Rumors are flying that Minister Timothy’s family was seen scouting around a certain compound in the early hours of this morning. Sources say they were asking questions about the famous singer, who allegedly left with a woman. Could there be trouble brewing? Was the Minister somewhere he shouldn’t have been? Or were they simply looking for him in a place that raises eyebrows?”  

 

A thick silence fell over the room.  

 

Timothy stared at the phone screen, then slowly dragged his gaze up to his mother.  

 

“You guys… went to Amarachi’s house?”  

 

Mrs. Johnson clasped her hands together, feigning innocence. “Well…”  

 

Timothy closed his eyes briefly, exhaling through his nose. “Oh, no. I can’t do this right now.”  

 

And without another word, he turned on his heel and walked away.

 

——————————————————————————————————————————

 

I am angry with Mrs. Johnson. Period!

Timothy should be careful though. The press can be wicked with their narratives. He should stay hidden from them as much as possible. Let’s just hope no one took a picture of him at the park. By the way, who else is not ready for this story to end? 🥹

• Editor’s Comment