🙋🏻‍♀️ *Top 10 Takeaways from the Must-Read Book:*

"𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐒𝐘𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐘 𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐘"
𝐁𝐲 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐧 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐥

𝟏𝟎 𝐊𝐄𝐘 𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒:

1️⃣ 0𝟏. 𝐖𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐭𝐡 𝐈𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐚 𝐍𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 - 𝐈𝐭'𝐬 𝐚 𝐅𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐟 𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐨𝐦 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐥!

𝐄𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: Wealth isn’t just about the numbers; it's about freedom, peace of mind 🧘🏻‍♀️, and the ability to control your time . True wealth is often invisible - it’s the income not spent, the luxury not flaunted 💃🏻.

𝐄𝐱𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞: A middle-class individual 🧔🏻‍♂ who saves consistently and avoids lifestyle inflation can enjoy more flexibility than a high-earning executive living paycheck-to-paycheck .

2️⃣ 0𝟐. 𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐈𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐏𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐜𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞!

𝐄𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: Compounding 😵‍💫 works best over decades. Financial success requires patience and consistency, not just high returns.

𝐄𝐱𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞: Warren Buffett started investing at 10 and kept at it for over 80 years - this time horizon made him one of the richest people in the world .

3️⃣ 0𝟑. 𝐑𝐢𝐬𝐤 🧗🏻‍♀️ 𝐈𝐬 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 - 𝐔𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐑𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐈𝐭!

𝐄𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: Every financial decision involves risk . What matters is managing that risk thoughtfully , not avoiding it entirely. Emotions like fear can cloud judgment.

𝐄𝐱𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞: A cautious business that preserved cash during COVID was more likely to survive than one that over-leveraged expecting constant growth .

4️⃣ 0𝟒. 𝐆𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐅𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐀𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐓𝐰𝐢𝐧 𝐕𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐖𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐭𝐡!

𝐄𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: Greed makes us chase returns without understanding consequences; fear keeps us from taking reasonable risks. Balancing the two is crucial for long-term wealth.

𝐄𝐱𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞: Many investors bought overvalued stocks out of greed and panic-sold during downturns out of fear - both extremes cost them wealth.

5️⃣ 0𝟓. 𝐇𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐈𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐬 𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐒𝐮𝐜𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬!

𝐄𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: Money can make life easier, but it doesn’t make it fulfilling. Relationships , autonomy, and purpose are stronger predictors of happiness.

𝐄𝐱𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞: Studies show people are happiest when they have meaningful relationships - not necessarily when they reach income milestones.

6️⃣ 0𝟔. 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐅𝐮𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐒𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐈𝐬 𝐚 𝐒𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 - 𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐧 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐅𝐥𝐞𝐱𝐢𝐛𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲!

𝐄𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: What you value today may not be what you value in 10 or 20 years. Plan with room for evolution.

𝐄𝐱𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞: Someone saving aggressively for early retirement might later choose to work longer in a purpose-driven role. Your plan must be adjustable.

7️⃣ 0𝟕. 𝐋𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐑𝐢𝐬𝐤 𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐞 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐎𝐮𝐭𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 - 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐖𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐞!

𝐄𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: Success isn’t always about effort or intelligence . It’s often about timing, environment, or chance encounters. Similarly, failures can result from bad luck despite smart planning .

𝐄𝐱𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞: Bill Gates had early access to a computer at school - an extremely rare opportunity in the 1960s. His peer , equally capable, never got that chance.

8️⃣ 0𝟖. 𝐒𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭, 𝐒𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭’𝐬 𝐋𝐞𝐟𝐭 - 𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐎𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐖𝐚𝐲 𝐀𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝!

𝐄𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: Saving should not be a leftover. It must be a deliberate act that comes before expenses. This builds resilience.

𝐄𝐱𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞: An individual who sets aside savings as an automated deduction builds financial security without relying on willpower each month .

9️⃣ 0𝟗. 𝐋𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐁𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐌𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐬 𝐈𝐬 𝐚 𝐒𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐩𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 💪🏻!

𝐄𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: The discipline 🤹🏻‍♀️ to spend less than you earn unlocks flexibility, reduces stress , and allows wealth to accumulate quietly in the background.

𝐄𝐱𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞: Those with simple lifestyles and strong savings can make life decisions—like career changes—without fear of financial instability.

𝟏𝟎. 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐲 𝐂𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 - 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐈𝐧𝐯𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐀𝐫𝐞 𝐋𝐢𝐟𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐋𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐬!

𝐄𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: The financial world is constantly changing. Staying curious, reading broadly, and avoiding overconfidence are key to staying relevant and successful.

𝐄𝐱𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞: Investors who adapted to digital trends or environmental shifts in the market had a major advantage over those who clung to outdated strategies.

𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐏𝐓𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐅𝐑𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊𝐒 𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐃:

0𝟏. 𝐄𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡:

Understanding what “enough” means is essential to avoid overreaching and risking what you already have for what you don’t need. Housel borrows from philosophy and Stoicism to introduce the idea that happiness and security come from knowing when to stop chasing more.

*“Enough is not too little. Enough is realizing that the opposite - an insatiable appetite for more - will push you to the point of regret.”*

0𝟐. 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠:

Compounding isn't intuitive for most people, which is why they underestimate its power 💪🏻. The real magic of wealth happens over time, not overnight.

Warren Buffett's net worth was ~$81 billion when he was 65 - having started at 10. That’s the compounding curve in action.

0𝟑. 𝐒𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐏𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐭, 𝐈𝐧𝐯𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚𝐧 𝐎𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐭:

Save defensively for unexpected setbacks, but invest believing in long-term progress .

Build a margin of safety but also trust that innovation, growth , and recovery are part of the human story.

0𝟒. 𝐓𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐬 𝐃𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠:

Extreme events (positive or negative) have disproportionate impact. In investing, a handful of good decisions or lucky breaks can define a lifetime outcome.

Bezos built Amazon, but it’s AWS and Prime that became the ‘tail events’ driving its true growth.

0𝟓. 𝐌𝐚𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐚𝐫 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐱:

Wealth flaunted rarely wins respect. *People admire the car, not the driver.* Real status comes from humility and freedom, not luxury branding.

0𝟔. 𝐘𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐀𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐞:

Everyone has different goals , timelines, and risk tolerance. What works for others might not work for you 🫵🏻. Avoid copying strategies blindly.

0𝟕. 𝐑𝐨𝐨𝐦 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐄𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫:

A little 🤏🏻 margin of safety in decisions—be it financial, emotional, or career-related - can make the difference between survival and collapse.

"𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑷𝒔𝒚𝒄𝒉𝒐𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝑴𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒚 𝒊𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒂 𝒃𝒐𝒐𝒌 𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒎𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒚 - 𝒊𝒕’𝒔 𝒂 𝒎𝒊𝒓𝒓𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒘𝒔 𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒃𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒆𝒇𝒔, 𝒉𝒂𝒃𝒊𝒕𝒔, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒊𝒏𝒔𝒆𝒄𝒖𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝒔𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒘𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒕𝒉 𝒇𝒂𝒓 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒏 𝒏𝒖𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅.”

Thank 🙏🏻 for reading so far, please share with your loved ones!

💁🏻‍♀️ *For more such content, follow us on:*

https://whatsapp.com/channel/0029Va4cUYi7tkjAQFo0RW00

Zenith Bank's CEO, Adaora Umeoji, spent about N3.3 billion to purchase 68.8 million units of Zenith Bank, according to the bank's disclosure today on the floor of the Nigerian Stock Exchange.

Before her recent investment, she owned about 90.2 million shares of Zenith Bank, with an additional 1.7 million indirect units, all worth N4.32 billion.

For Adaora, this move is more than an investment; it is a vote in the future of the bank that she leads as the CEO, a bank that she joined as a corper in 1998.

She was the highest-paid employee in the Nigerian banking industry for the year 2024.

She earned N874 million in 2024. So, she makes money from both ways in Zenith Bank, her income from the salary the bank pays her and her dividend earnings from her investment and the shares she has in the bank.

A reminder that you can be a billionaire and your life can change buying gada shares

THE STRUGGLE OF A SINGLE MOTHER

As she poured her morning coffee, Sarah gazed out the window, watching her kids get ready for school. Being a single mom wasn't easy. Juggling work, bills, and parenting solo weighed heavily on her.

Despite the struggles, Sarah's kids, Emma and Jack, were her world. She worked hard to provide for them, often sacrificing sleep and personal time.

One particularly tough day, Emma fell ill, and Sarah had to miss work. Exhausted, she rocked Emma to sleep, feeling overwhelmed. But as she looked at her daughter's peaceful face, Sarah's determination renewed. She'd keep pushing, for her kids, for herself.

In this quiet moment, Sarah realized she wasn't alone. Many single parents faced similar challenges, and she found strength in their shared resilience.

JB WORLD

THE BREASTFEEDING TRUTH THEY WON'T TELL YOU IN THE HOSPITAL:


Low Milk Isn’t destiny.
It’s Fuel Sabotage.

Allow me burn the lies:

You keep asking with crushing fear. Why isn’t enough breast milk coming out?

Understand that this is not your body failing.
It’s just unhealthy food and wrong advice starving your biology.

Here’s the silent milk thief:
You’re told to just keep breastfeeding–
But no one hands you the real template to BUILD BREAST MILK.

Milk isn’t magic.
It’s MOLECULES:
→ Made from fats you eat (avocado, butter, tallow, eggs).
→ Flowing on rivers you drink (water, bone broth).
→ Ignited by nutrients you absorb (not swallow from a pill).

Yet, they tell you to feed on?
—Pap, Soy milk, Processed Milk, packed with sugar and false hope.
—Oatmeal while stressed, chugging sage tea (the drying herb!) what a wrong move.
—Fear of too much egg cholesterol – as your cells starve.
—Wheat & it's derivatives like semo - as this shred your milk making hormones.
—Seed Oil - which paralyzes your cells powerhouse.
—And avoid red meat - forgetting anemia starve breast milk of oxygen.

Listen, You can Stimulate Breast Milk Supply with these:

- CHANGE INTO ORGANIC TOOTHPASTE, NOT TOOTHPASTE WITH TRICLOSAN because it mimics estrogen → hormone chaos → mess up breast milk supply.
- TAKE BONE BROTH = Electrolytes + collagen. Sip it like liquid gold.
- SIP SALTED WATER: Not optional. Your cells are oceans – fill them.
- EAT EGGS + YOLKS: Choline builds milk ducts. Eat 4 or more daily.
- EAT BEEF LIVER: Nature’s multivitamin prepared with onions (liver fuel therapy).
- TAKE AVOCADO/OLIVE OIL: Milk is 50% fat. Drown your salad with it.
- BREASTFEED LIKE A WARRIOR: At least 12+ times per day. Your Baby’s mouth is the pump that programs supply.
- SKIN-TO-SKIN: Chest out, Take guilt off.
- GET RID OF STRESS because stress hormones clogs milk ducts. So, practice BELLY BREATHING: This is not woo-woo. Oxygen flushes milk ducts. (Breathe like a dragon: 4 sec in, 8 sec out.)

I'd leave you with this:
Ditch the EMPTY CARBS (Cereal, bread, biscuits) – They all inflame, so don’t feed on them).

Embrace ANCESTRAL NOURISHMENT.
Not fruit juices from the super market.

Always allow your baby to sûck your breast like your life depends on it.(This is called latching) – because it does.

Your milk is Medicine.
Your milk is Sacred.
But your mouth is the GATEWAY.

This isn’t just advice – it’s armor.


Share this with every mother fighting to reclaim her breast milk.

HOW TO TAKE YOUR SODA DRINKS IN A WAY IT WON'T AFFECT YOU

Do This And Thank Me Later.

WARNING: If you skip any of these steps, you kiss your health goodbye.


Step 1: Buy any of the Soda drinks. Ensure it's chilled.

Step 2: Take it to the kitchen.

Step 3: Grab a glass cup (don't drink directly from the bottle and don't use straw).

Step 4: Pour into the glass cup and allow it to settle for 2 minutes.

Step 5: Ensure there are no fizzy bubbles anymore.

Step 6: Cover it.

Step 7: Carry it to your toilet and pour round the inside of the toilet.

Step 8: Get a toilet brush, add some little soap and scrub the toilet.


Mama Sadé, stop sipping confusion.

You have zobo, fenugreek tea, saffron tea E.t.c.


If this slaps like lime, share this to a friend who still sips liquid regrets to calm herself down.

HOW TO TAKE YOUR SODA DRINKS IN A WAY IT WON'T AFFECT YOU

Do This And Thank Me Later.

WARNING: If you skip any of these steps, you kiss your health goodbye.


Step 1: Buy any of the Soda drinks. Ensure it's chilled.

Step 2: Take it to the kitchen.

Step 3: Grab a glass cup (don't drink directly from the bottle and don't use straw).

Step 4: Pour into the glass cup and allow it to settle for 2 minutes.

Step 5: Ensure there are no fizzy bubbles anymore.

Step 6: Cover it.

Step 7: Carry it to your toilet and pour round the inside of the toilet.

Step 8: Get a toilet brush, add some little soap and scrub the toilet.


Mama Sadé, stop sipping confusion.

You have zobo, fenugreek tea, saffron tea E.t.c.


If this slaps like lime, share this to a friend who still sips liquid regrets to calm herself down.

THE DEVIL'S MISTRESS
PART 17
The air in Ghost’s apartment still hummed with the fading resonance of celebration, but the joyous chaos had settled into a warm, contented quiet. Paper lanterns cast soft, multicoloured pools of light on the worn floor. The scent of jollof rice and sweet puff-puff mingled with the faint, hopeful fragrance of the lilies. Jessica sat nestled in a worn but comfortable armchair, a hand resting on the magnificent curve of her belly, exhaustion and profound happiness etched on her face. Beside her, perched on the armrest, was Sebastian Scar.
He hadn’t left her side since the moment he’d stepped through the door. One arm was draped protectively around her shoulders, his large hand resting possessively on her bump, feeling the powerful, reassuring kicks of his son. His other hand held hers, his thumb tracing slow circles on her knuckles. The cold, hardened kingpin was gone. In his place was a man visibly awash with wonder, tenderness, and a fierce, almost overwhelming protectiveness. He couldn't hide his excitement. A genuine smile, rare and radiant, softened the harsh lines of his face as he watched Jessica accept a final glass of water from Chioma.
"You need to rest, *omoge*," Chioma fussed gently, using the Yoruba term for 'beautiful child'. "All this excitement isn't good for the little warrior."
Scar nodded immediately, his voice unusually soft. "She's right, my love. You've been through too much today." He leaned down, pressing a lingering kiss to her temple, breathing in her scent – safety, home, *future*. He acted as if she were spun glass, his movements careful, his embrace constant, a physical manifestation of his terror at the thought of her disappearing again. Every time she shifted, his arm tightened infinitesimally; every time she smiled at one of the men, his gaze followed her with possessive adoration. The raw vulnerability he displayed, this public clinging, was as shocking to his men as his earlier rage had been.
As Chioma began gently clearing plates, William stepped forward, clearing his throat. The relaxed atmosphere shifted slightly, a current of solemnity returning. Kola, Musa, Femi, and the others gathered closer, their expressions turning serious, respectful, but also apprehensive.
"Boss," William began, his voice steady but heavy with unspoken weight. "First… on behalf of all of us…" He gestured around the room, encompassing the gathered men. "We owe you and Jessica a profound apology. We hid the truth. We kept Jessica from you. We deceived you." He met Scar’s gaze, which had sharpened but held no immediate anger, only a watchful intensity. "It wasn't disloyalty to you, sir. Never that. It was… it was loyalty to *her*." He nodded towards Jessica. "And to your unborn child. We saw what Amanda was doing. We saw the poison she dripped into everything. We knew she’d kill Jessica if we didn’t act, and likely the baby too. We needed time. Time to gather proof solid enough to shatter her lies and keep Jessica safe while we did it. We chose to protect what we knew mattered most to you, even when you couldn't see it. We beg your understanding… and your forgiveness."
Scar studied William, then slowly scanned the faces of the other men. He saw no defiance, only earnest contrition and the steely resolve that had driven their dangerous gambit. He squeezed Jessica’s hand. "You kept her alive," he stated, his voice low and thick with emotion. "You kept *my son* safe. When I…" He paused, the memory of his own murderous rage towards Jessica a fresh wound. "When I failed to see the truth. That debt outweighs the deception." A collective sigh of relief seemed to ripple through the room. "Now," Scar’s voice hardened, the tender lover replaced by the avenging king. "Tell me everything. Leave nothing out."
William nodded, pulling out a slim tablet. Kola stepped up beside him. What followed was a meticulous, damning reconstruction of Amanda’s treachery.
Kola detailed the digital forensics: "The CCTV deletion wasn't just timed during the chaos, Boss. It was executed using *your* encrypted master credentials, accessed from Amanda’s personal tablet within the penthouse. We recovered the login timestamp and device ID. She had a keylogger planted months ago, likely when she 'accidentally' spilled wine on your old tablet and insisted on getting it 'cleaned'."
Musa spoke next, his voice rough: "The poison, Boss. Aconite. Rare. Traced to a disgraced chemist operating a back-alley lab in Badagry. Amanda visited him twice under a false name in the weeks before… *it* happened. Paid in untraceable crypto. Femi and I tracked him down. He confirmed it was her, described her perfectly, even remembered the red diamond serpent ring she wore. He was… persuaded… to give a recorded testimony." The implication of that 'persuasion' was clear.
Femi added, "The cook, Mama Nkechi. Amanda got to her. Threatened her grandson who was in trouble with some local thugs. Promised to make the trouble disappear if Mama Nkechi wiped *only Jessica’s* favourite coffee cup with a cloth Amanda provided *after* Jessica made the coffee but *before* she handed it to you. Mama Nkechi thought it was just Amanda being spiteful, trying to make Jessica look careless. She had no idea about the poison. She’s terrified, Boss, but she confessed everything when we showed her the threat to her grandson was orchestrated by one of Amanda’s paid street enforcers."
William displayed the evidence on the tablet: the digital logs pinpointing Amanda’s device, the chemist’s shaky video testimony, transcripts of Mama Nkechi’s tearful confession, financial trails leading back to Amanda’s shadow accounts. "She framed Jessica perfectly, sir," William concluded, his voice tight with anger. "Used your trust, your systems, and innocent people as tools. She poisoned you to eliminate Jessica and reclaim her place. She nearly killed you to get what she wanted."
As each piece of evidence slammed home, Scar’s body grew rigid beside Jessica. The tender hand on her belly became a claw, trembling with suppressed fury. The warmth in his eyes vanished, replaced by a glacial, terrifying darkness. The image of himself choking, the white foam, the agony – not caused by some faceless enemy, but by the woman he’d once been bound to, the woman who’d shared his childhood, all to destroy the woman he loved and the child she carried. The betrayal was absolute, monstrous.
When William finished, the silence was volcanic. Scar slowly rose to his feet. The gentle protector was gone. The Lion of Lagos, wounded and enraged beyond measure, stood in his place. He didn’t speak. He didn’t look at Jessica, though his hand briefly squeezed hers in a silent promise. He turned, his movements lethally precise, and walked towards the apartment door. He paused only to pick up the heavy black pistol Ghost silently handed him, checking the chamber with a cold, mechanical click that echoed in the stillness.
"Stay with her," Scar commanded Ghost, his voice a low growl that vibrated with pure menace. "Guard them with your life." Then he was gone, striding into the hallway, William, Kola, Musa, and Femi falling into step behind him like shadows of death.
***
The drive back to the villa was a blur of speed and suffocating silence. Scar sat in the back of the armored SUV, staring straight ahead, his jaw clenched so tight a muscle pulsed in his cheek. The evidence replayed in his mind – Amanda’s manipulations, the cook’s fear, the chemist’s greed, the deliberate, calculated attempt to murder him and frame Jessica, to destroy his future. Rage, cold and absolute, consumed him.
They stormed into the penthouse. Amanda was lounging on the cream sofa, sipping champagne, dressed in a silk negligee as if expecting a different kind of visitor. The sight of Scar, flanked by his grim-faced lieutenants, his expression murderous, made her freeze mid-sip. A flicker of fear crossed her face, quickly masked by defiant arrogance.
"Sebastian! Darling, what's—" she began, attempting her usual purr.
"Silence." Scar’s voice cracked like a whip. He stopped a few feet away, the pistol held loosely but pointedly at his side. "You poisoned me." It wasn't a question.
Amanda’s eyes widened with theatrical innocence. "Poisoned? Sebastian, have you lost your—"
"Spare me the act," he snarled, taking a step closer. "The chemist in Badagry. Mama Nkechi. The keylogger. The CCTV deletion. Your tablet." He listed the evidence like a death sentence. "You tried to kill me. You framed Jessica. You threatened an old woman’s grandson." His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. "For *what*? A throne you were never fit to sit on?"
The mask shattered. Amanda slammed her champagne flute down, shattering it on the glass table. She surged to her feet, her beautiful face contorted with venomous rage. "Fit for? That throne was *mine* by birthright! Our fathers promised it! You were *mine*! Then that gutter rat slithered in with her simpering innocence and stole you! Stole *everything*!" Spittle flew from her lips. "Yes, I poisoned you! I wanted you weak, needing me! I wanted her blamed, destroyed, *gone*! And I would have succeeded if it weren't for these *traitors*!" She spat the word at William and the others.
Her eyes, wild and hate-filled, locked onto Scar’s. "You think she loves you? That whore? She’s using you! Just like her mother used men to climb out of the slums! That baby? It’s probably Ghost’s, or some other street—"
The gunshot was deafening in the opulent room.
Amanda screamed, staggering back, clutching her upper left arm where Scar’s bullet had torn through silk and flesh. Blood bloomed crimson, stark against the pale fabric. She crashed onto the sofa, gasping, her face white with shock and pain, staring at Scar with utter disbelief.
Scar stood frozen for a split second, the gun smoking in his hand. The raw, blinding fury that had propelled the shot warred with cold control. Killing her now, in cold blood, would be too easy. Too merciful.
"Get her out of my sight," Scar commanded, his voice icy, his gaze fixed on Amanda’s writhing form with utter contempt. "Take her to the secure clinic. Patch her up. Then lock her in the basement cells. No visitors. No privileges. She lives to face justice. *My* justice." The promise in his voice was more terrifying than the gunshot.
William and Kola moved swiftly, hauling a shrieking, cursing Amanda to her feet. Musa followed, already speaking into his comms to alert the clinic.
Scar watched them drag her away, the crimson stain spreading on the cream upholstery. The rage still simmered, but a profound exhaustion, and a desperate need, washed over him. He needed Jessica. He needed his son. He needed to make amends.
***
He didn’t return to Ghost’s apartment. He sent for Jessica and Chioma, bringing them back to the villa in a heavily guarded convoy. He went straight to the wing housing Jessica’s family.
Jessica’s parents and younger siblings were gathered in their living room, the atmosphere tense with the distant echoes of the gunshot and the sudden flurry of activity. Fear was etched on their faces. When Scar entered, flanked by Ghost (who had stayed glued to Jessica’s side) and William, they flinched.
Scar stopped in the center of the room. He didn’t sit. He looked at Jessica’s mother, then her father, meeting their fearful gazes directly. He saw the strain of months under house arrest, the worry for Jessica, the humiliation.
Then, to their utter astonishment, Sebastian Scar, the most feared man in Lagos, the man who held their lives in his hands, bowed his head. Not deeply, but significantly. A gesture of profound respect and contrition.
"Mr. and Mrs. Adebayo," he began, his voice rough but sincere, devoid of its usual command. "Jessica." He looked at her, standing protectively near her parents, Chioma beside her. "I owe you the deepest, most sincere apologies. Words cannot express the regret, the shame I carry for the suffering you have endured because of my blindness, my failure, and the evil of another."
He took a breath, the weight of his words heavy in the room. "You were brought here for safety, but it became confinement. You lived under guard, separated from Jessica, fearing for her life, fearing for your own, because I believed a lie. I failed to protect Jessica. I failed to protect *you*. I allowed a viper into our home, and she poisoned everything – my body, my mind, and your peace." He looked directly at Jessica’s parents. "The inconvenience, the fear, the suffering you have had to go through… it is unforgivable. But I beg your understanding, and if possible, in time, your forgiveness."
He straightened. "The woman responsible, Amanda, has been dealt with. She will never harm any of you again. Jessica is innocent. She has always been innocent." His voice softened as he looked at Jessica, his hand instinctively reaching towards her belly before stopping himself. "And she carries my son. Your grandson."
He gestured towards William. "Your house arrest is lifted. Effective immediately. These men are no longer your guards, but your protectors. This wing is yours. Come and go as you please. The city is yours. Anything you need, anything you desire, you have only to ask." He met Jessica’s father’s eyes again. "I know trust must be earned again. I will spend the rest of my life earning yours, and Jessica’s, if she allows me."
The silence that followed was thick with shock, relief, and hesitant hope. Jessica’s mother burst into quiet tears. Her father, a proud man weathered by hardship, looked at Scar with a new, cautious measure of respect. He gave a slow, solemn nod. "We suffered," he acknowledged quietly. "But our daughter is safe. Our grandchild is coming. That is what matters now."
Scar nodded, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. He turned to Jessica, his eyes filled with a vulnerable plea. She stepped forward, away from her parents, and walked into his open arms. He held her tightly, burying his face in her hair, the horrors of the day momentarily banished by the solid, living reality of her and the life they’d created. Home wasn't just a place; it was this woman, this child, this fragile, hard-won peace reclaimed from the jaws of treachery. The storm wasn't entirely over, but for now, the Lion was home, guarding his den, his mate, and his future cub.
TO BE CONTINUED...

THE DEVIL'S MISTRESS
PART 16
The Lagos heat pressed down like a damp cloth, but within the modest walls of Ghost’s third-floor apartment, a different kind of warmth pulsed – nervous, hopeful, and defiantly joyful. For weeks, William, Kola, and a handful of Scar’s most trusted lieutenants had moved with the precision of a covert operation. Not against rivals, but for Jessica. The secret baby shower was their rebellion, their apology, and their promise.
Chioma had transformed the small living room. Strings of tiny, multicolored paper lanterns crisscrossed the ceiling, casting a warm, dappled glow. Bunches of vibrant orange lilies and purple bougainvillea blooms overflowed from repurposed jars, filling the air with a sweet, hopeful fragrance. A folding table groaned under the weight of steaming pots of jollof rice, fragrant pepper soup, fried plantains, and small mountains of puff-puff. In the corner, a carefully curated pile of gifts grew – tiny knitted booties, soft cotton blankets, hand-carved wooden toys, and practical supplies donated by the men who’d once hunted her. A banner, painstakingly lettered by Chioma, hung crookedly above the food table: "WELCOME LITTLE LION CUB."
Jessica stood in the center of it all, one hand instinctively cradling the immense swell of her eight-month pregnant belly. She wore a simple, flowing dress of deep blue cotton that Chioma had sewn, the fabric straining gently over the curve of life within. Her long black hair was loosely braided, framing a face that held a complex mix of emotions – profound gratitude, lingering fear, and a fierce, protective love that radiated from her. She hadn’t felt this surrounded, this *cherished*, since before the poisoning. Ghost stood near the window, his usual stoicism softened by a rare, almost imperceptible smile as he watched Chioma fuss over Jessica, adjusting the dress and pressing a cool cloth to her forehead.
"We told him we were doing perimeter checks on the new warehouse district," William murmured to Kola, keeping his voice low despite the cheerful chatter of a dozen men awkwardly holding plates of food. "Benji said he had a family emergency down in Port Harcourt. Tunde claimed his mother needed him for a traditional ceremony." He ran a hand over his close-cropped hair, a flicker of unease in his eyes. "He bought it… but barely. He’s been like a caged panther these past few days, restless. Feels like he senses something’s off."
Kola nodded, his gaze sweeping the room, landing on Jessica. "It’s worth the risk, Will. Look at her. She deserves this moment. We owe her this." He lowered his voice further. "After tonight… after we show him…" He didn’t need to finish. The plan was set. The evidence against Amanda – meticulously gathered, witness testimonies secured, a timeline of her manipulations laid bare – was locked in a secure case in William’s car downstairs. The baby shower was the calm before the storm, a final act of solidarity before they presented their case and shattered Amanda’s poisonous reign.
The apartment buzzed with an energy that was part celebration, part conspiracy. Men who usually carried the weight of violence and suspicion laughed awkwardly, cooed over the tiny booties, and shared stories of their own children. Chioma moved like a benevolent whirlwind, refilling plates, urging everyone to eat, her eyes bright with tears of happiness for Jessica. Jessica herself felt a warmth seep into her bones, a fragile sense of safety she hadn’t known in months. She accepted a plate of puff-puff from a burly guard named Musa, who blushed furiously when she thanked him.
"This little warrior," Musa said gruffly, nodding towards her belly, "will be strong like his father, and wise like his mother." The simple words, coming from a man who had once been ready to drag her before Scar, brought fresh tears to Jessica’s eyes.
Suddenly, a sharp, insistent knock echoed through the apartment, cutting through the music Chioma had put on – a soft, traditional lullaby.
Everyone froze. The cheerful chatter died instantly. Plates were lowered. Smiles vanished, replaced by wary alertness. Ghost’s hand drifted instinctively towards his waistband. William and Kola exchanged a look of pure alarm. *Too early. No one else was expected.*
"I’ll get it," Jessica said, her voice calm despite the sudden pounding of her heart. She assumed it was perhaps a neighbor Chioma had invited, or maybe one of the men who’d been delayed. She smoothed her dress over her bump and moved towards the door, a welcoming smile already forming on her lips.
She unlocked the door, the cheap metal bolt scraping loudly in the sudden silence, and pulled it open.
The figure standing in the dimly lit hallway wasn’t a neighbor. It wasn’t a late-arriving guard.
It was Sebastian Scar.
He filled the doorway, dressed not in his usual impeccable suit, but in dark trousers and a slightly rumpled black shirt, the sleeves rolled up his powerful forearms. His face was a mask of cold fury, his dark eyes burning with the intensity of a predator who had finally cornered its prey. He’d followed William, his suspicion a coiled spring finally released. He’d seen the men gather here, heard the muffled music, the laughter that felt like a betrayal. He expected secrets, perhaps disloyalty, maybe even Ghost’s treachery laid bare.
He did *not* expect the sight that met him.
Jessica stood before him, bathed in the warm light spilling from the apartment. Her beauty, amplified by pregnancy, hit him like a physical blow. The gentle curve of her cheek, the luminous glow of her skin, the defiant strength in her eyes… and the impossible, undeniable swell of her belly, stretching the soft blue fabric of her dress. It was a reality so profound, so utterly shattering to the narrative of betrayal he’d clung to, that it stopped the breath in his lungs. His furious glare faltered, replaced by sheer, unadulterated shock. His eyes widened, locked onto the visible proof of life – *his* life, intertwined with hers – that pulsed beneath her hands.
"Jessica…?" The name escaped him, a hoarse whisper devoid of its intended rage, filled instead with bewildered awe.
The room behind her was utterly frozen. William had gone pale. Kola looked like he might be sick. Ghost stood rigid, every muscle tensed, ready to spring. Chioma clutched a platter, her knuckles white. The other men looked stricken, caught between loyalty and fear. They braced for the explosion, for the violence Scar was legendary for. They expected him to tear Jessica away, to unleash his wrath upon them all for their deception.
Scar didn’t move. He just stared, his gaze traveling from Jessica’s face, down to the incredible evidence of their child, and back again. The fury that had propelled him here seemed to dissolve, replaced by a wave of emotion so powerful it threatened to buckle his knees – disbelief, a dawning, agonizing understanding, and a surge of raw, possessive love that eclipsed everything else.
Then, he moved. Not with violence, but with a sudden, desperate urgency. He stepped across the threshold, ignoring the terrified men, his focus solely on Jessica. His large, powerful hands, capable of such destruction, came up, trembling slightly, and gently cupped her face. His thumbs brushed away the tears that had begun to spill down her cheeks, his touch impossibly tender.
"My God," he breathed, his voice thick with emotion, his eyes drinking her in. "You look… you look so beautiful, my love." The endearment, unused for so long, fell from his lips with aching sincerity. He pulled her carefully, oh-so-gently, into his arms, mindful of the precious burden between them. He buried his face in the curve of her neck, inhaling her familiar scent mixed with the new, warm sweetness of pregnancy. His arms tightened around her, not to imprison, but to anchor himself to this impossible reality. "I’ve missed you," he murmured against her skin, his voice cracking. "Every single day. Every single breath. Why… why did you run away from me, my little lioness?"
Jessica clung to him, sobs shaking her shoulders, months of fear, isolation, and longing pouring out. "I had to," she choked out, her voice muffled against his chest. "I had to protect the baby… from your rage. From *her*." She lifted her head, her eyes searching his, pleading for understanding. "I didn’t poison you, Sebastian. I swear on our child’s life. I would *never*."
He looked deep into her eyes, past the fear, past the tears, to the unwavering truth he saw shining there. The damning evidence Amanda presented, the deleted footage, the apparent betrayal… it all crumbled in the face of this – Jessica, pregnant with his child, hiding not out of guilt, but out of desperate love. The last vestiges of doubt evaporated.
"I believe you," he whispered, the words a sacred vow. He kissed her then, not with the desperate passion of their reunion after Amanda’s arrival, but with a profound, reverent tenderness that spoke of homecoming, of forgiveness, of a love reforged stronger in the fire of betrayal. It was a kiss that silenced the room, that washed away months of pain and suspicion.
When they finally parted, both breathless and tear-streaked, Scar kept one arm firmly around Jessica, supporting her weight, his other hand resting possessively, protectively, on the curve of her belly. He turned to face the room, his expression no longer furious, but stern, demanding answers.
William stepped forward, his own eyes suspiciously bright. He cleared his throat. "Boss… welcome. We… we planned this for Jessica. For your child." He gestured around the decorated room, the food, the gifts. "But it’s more than a party. We have something else for you. Something crucial."
Scar’s gaze swept over his men, seeing not traitors, but allies who had protected what was most precious to him when he couldn’t see the truth. He gave a single, curt nod.
Kola stepped up beside William. "It was Amanda, sir," he stated, his voice firm and clear, cutting through the lingering tension. "From the beginning. She poisoned you. She framed Jessica."
One by one, the men added their pieces, painting a damning picture. William detailed how Amanda had sourced the aconite weeks before the poisoning through a disgraced chemist she’d paid off. Musa recounted seeing her near the penthouse security server room late on the night *before* Scar fell ill. Another guard, Femi, confessed under pressure how Amanda had subtly threatened his family if he didn’t corroborate her story about Jessica’s behavior. Kola presented digital fragments Ghost had painstakingly recovered – not the full CCTV, but metadata proving the deletion happened remotely from *within* the penthouse network, timed precisely during the chaos, using credentials only Amanda and Scar possessed.
Ghost finally spoke, his voice low but carrying. "I didn’t betray you, Boss. I followed a false trail she laid, knowing I’d be out of the way. When I realized the trap, I came back… not to help Jessica escape guilt, but to save her from being murdered for a crime she didn’t commit. Bringing her here, so close… it was the only way to keep her safe while we gathered proof."
As the evidence mounted, Scar’s face darkened with a chilling, silent fury directed not at Jessica, not at his men, but at the architect of this devastation. He held Jessica closer, his hand tightening protectively on her belly, the gesture speaking volumes.
The baby shower, interrupted by seismic revelation, slowly transformed. The fear melted away, replaced by a profound sense of relief and vindication. Scar, the feared kingpin, stood amidst the paper lanterns and flowers, gently guiding Jessica to a chair, fetching her a plate of food himself, his attention solely on her. He listened intently as the men, now relaxed, resumed their celebration, showering Jessica with well-wishes and playful predictions about the baby’s strength or intelligence. He touched her belly hesitantly at first, then with growing wonder as he felt the powerful kick of his son beneath his palm. A slow, genuine smile, the first in months, touched his lips.
"Strong," he murmured, looking up at Jessica, his eyes shining with a mixture of awe and fierce pride. "Just like his mother." He leaned down, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "I can’t wait to meet him, Jessica. Our son."
The party continued, the music restarted, the laughter now genuine and free. But beneath the celebration, a new tension simmered. Amanda was still out there. And Sebastian Scar, reunited with his lioness and anticipating his heir, had a debt of vengeance to collect. The storm hadn’t passed; it had merely found its true target. The final reckoning with the serpent in their midst was just beginning.
TO BE CONTINUED...

I saw the post below. It touched the core of my soul. With people like Chiemelie Kyrian Offor, I am again hopeful for my country. God bless him

***Let me share this here.***

Of this incident that happened a few hours ago.

I wasn’t supposed to stop.

But I did.

There was chaos just ahead of the supermarket gate somewhere in Surulere.

A black Toyota Corolla was surrounded by three LASTMA officials.

The driver, mid-40s, shirt soaked in sweat, kept pacing between them.

And something in his voice stopped me.

"Please. Please just look inside the car. He is not even moving anymore. That’s my son. He is sick, he is very sick. We were going to the hospital. I only stepped in to grab his medication. I was gone for just five minutes."

One of the officials shook his head like he’d heard it a thousand times.

"You people always have stories. Why park where you're not supposed to? You want us to lose our job?"

Another officer barked.

"Oga, if you don’t bring ₦70,000 now, this car is going to the yard. And from there? You’ll need close to ₦400,000 to bail it."

The man reached out. Not to touch them. Just to plead.
They stepped back like he carried something contagious.

"I swear I’m not lying. Please. He has severe asthma. I forgot the nebulizer at home. I was rushing to the hospital, Faithview, just ten minutes from here. Look at him! You have a child, right? Please, have sympathy."

That was when I looked.

The boy,maybe ten, was in the backseat, his small frame slumped against the door, eyes half-closed. His chest heaved in rapid spasms, every breath sounding like gravel grinding in a pipe.

His fingers trembled. His lips were turning dark.

So I stepped forward.

"What’s wrong with him?"

The father looked at me, disoriented.

"Asthma. It started an hour ago. He had a mild attack in the morning, but it’s worsening fast. I was going to get him treated and just stopped for a refill. Please, sir… help me talk to them."

I tried to talk to the LASTMA officers but they ignored me so I turned back to the man.

"Try and sort this with them, let me take him to the hospital."

His eyes widened.

"You…?”

"We don't have another option and there is no time. He needs oxygen. Now.”

He hesitated.

"You’re a stranger."

"I am. But your son is dying.”

He looked back at the boy.

Then at me.

He obviously saw that there was no other option left.

His lips trembled.

"Give me your number. Please.”

I gave him mine.

And he gave me his.

I opened the door and gently lifted the boy from the backseat.

He was warm. Burning. His eyes barely focused on mine.

As I placed him in my car, the father shouted behind me.

"Please, call me the moment you get there. Please don’t let anything happen to him!"

I nodded once. Then I got into the car and quickly drove off.

The hospital wasn’t crowded, I guess because it was a private one.

I rushed in carrying the boy in both arms.

"Emergency! Severe asthma attack. Ten-year-old boy!"

The receptionist stood up so fast her chair hit the wall.

She shouted.

"Treatment Room Two! Get Doctor Okafor!"

While I tried to fill the form I was given, two nurses rushed and took the boy, placed him on the oxygen tank, connected a nebulizer, and began checking vitals.

One of the nurses murmured.

"He’s tachypneic. Respiration over 40. Oxygen saturation 82%."

The doctor said as he rushed in still zipping his scrubs.

"Get the hydrocortisone ready. Nebulize him every 20 minutes. Keep him on oxygen. If he doesn’t stabilize, we’re moving to adrenaline injection.”

I stood there.

My heart pounding.

This wasn’t my child.

But it felt like my fight.

Minutes passed.

Then the doctor came out.

“He is stable."

He said, wiping his forehead.

"That was close. He’ll be okay, but he needs to stay a few hours for monitoring.”

I thanked him so much.

The bill came.

₦89,000.

I paid with my debit card.

I stepped outside and called the boy’s father.

He picked on the first ring.

“Hello! Sir, please, is he?"

"He is stable. He is getting oxygen and treatment.”

A pause.

Then I heard the man begin to cry. Softly.

I didn’t speak. I let him.

But he wasn’t done.

“They’ve taken the car. They refused to wait. I was still begging when the towing truck came. They said the 70K grace was over. I’m at their yard in Iponri now. Sir… they’re asking for ₦385,000 to release my car.”

I looked at the hospital door behind me.

Then at the sky.

Then back to my car.

I didn't know what to say to him.

But all I found myself saying was.

"I’m coming.”

And I meant it.

He couldn't believe his ears.

I arrived at the LASTMA office just before 3PM.

The weather was warm, no sun, but the heat stuck to my skin like wet cloth.

I found him standing by a corner fence, head down, fingers digging into his scalp.

He was tired and confused.

So I said to him gently.

"Sir."

He looked up like someone coming out of a bad dream. His eyes were red, his face streaked with dry sweat and tears.

He approached me nervously.

His voice was hoarse.

"My car… they have impounded it. Said I’ll pay ₦385,000. They even threatened to keep increasing the fine by day. That car is my only source of income. That's my office from where I make money to take care of my son and my wife. God, please, help me."

I told him.

"Stay calm. Nothing will happen to your car, you'll get it back, I believe."

He nodded slowly.

"They have been laughing at me. One said, ‘Your son is sick? Na why you go break law? You think say we be Red Cross?’"

I felt something cold stir in my chest.

Not rage.

Just sadness.

I said to him.

"Please, come with me."

We walked into the building.

Inside, it smelled of engine oil, sweat, and indifference.

I approached the counter.

“Good afternoon. I’d like to speak with your superior officer. It’s regarding a car that was impounded a few hours ago, black Toyota Corolla.”

A thickset officer with bloodshot eyes looked up at me. "Eeyyaa who you be? Police or Army? Abeg everything you want to say, say it here. We don’t have time.”

I responded calmly but firm.

"I was the one who rushed the sick boy to the hospital, I have the hospital card and bill here. He was in the back seat of that vehicle. That child would have died today if I didn’t act."

He scoffed.

"And so? Good for him. E mean say we no go do our job?”

"No one said that but this man was in an emergency. All he asked was a few more minutes. Instead, you people want to extort him. Now you’re billing him almost ₦400,000. This isn’t traffic enforcement. It’s cruelty."

Another officer chimed in.

"Oga, the car don enter system. Na only Oga inside go override am. And e no dey see everybody."

"Then let him see me."

"As governor of Lagos State or as who?"

Silence.

I stood my ground.

"Get your superior. I’ll wait.”

The minutes crawled.

The father stood beside me like a child awaiting judgment.

Fortunately, a senior officer emerged.

Bald, tall, stern. I saw his name tag.

He sized me up before he said.

"What’s the problem?”

I stepped forward and told the story. From the moment I saw the boy wheezing in the back seat, to carrying him into the hospital, to paying the ₦89,000 hospital bill, to returning only to find the car had been towed.

The Commander listened without interruption. Then he asked a single question:

“Do you have proof the boy was sick?”

I handed him the hospital bill and the case card. He studied them for a long moment.

Then something shifted in his eyes.

He looked at the officers behind the desk.

"You towed the vehicle knowing a child was dying in it?"

"Sir, the man parked in a no-parking."

"I didn’t ask that. I asked if you knew a child was in distress in the car."

No one answered.

He sighed.

"Release the car. Immediately. Remove the fine. No man should suffer for saving his own son’s life. And you."

He turned to the father.

"You’re lucky someone still has a conscience in this country. Thank this guy for stepping in."

The man fell to his knees.

"Thank you. Thank you, sir… I swear, thank you…"

When the superior left, he turned to me.

And his voice broke.

"You didn’t know me. Yet you rushed my son to the hospital. You paid for his treatment. And now, you’re standing here fighting for me when I couldn’t even fight for myself."

I helped him to his feet.

He opened his wallet and tried to hand me some money.

"I don’t have much. Please… even if it’s part of what you spent..."

I shook my head.

"Your son is breathing. That’s enough. Please, pick your car and go and see him. God bless you."

He looked at me, eyes trembling.

"Why? Why would you do this for me?"

I didn’t know how to answer that.

So I said the only thing I truly believed.

"Because someone should."

As we walked out into the fading light, I handed him a folded note.

It was the hospital’s follow-up card. His son had to return in two days for further tests.

"I already booked the appointment. He’ll need more care. Don’t miss it."

He opened it slowly, then looked back at me, his lips parted, but no words came.

Only tears.

Only silence.

And behind us, the LASTMA officers watched.

They were quiet now. Maybe even ashamed.

But I left there happy and fulfilled.

You could do the same.

And the world will be a better place.

.

Chiemelie Kyrian Offor
June 17, 2025