I WAS ERASED BY MY OWN SISTER
PART 7
The rain poured heavily as Nneka stumbled through the streets, her bare feet bruised and bleeding, her hospital scrubs soaked through. She had no money, no phone—nothing but the burning will to survive.
With the last of her strength, she knocked on a familiar door.
Amanda’s house.
When the door opened, Amanda’s eyes widened in horror.
“Nneka?!” she gasped, barely recognizing the frail, trembling woman before her.
Nneka collapsed into her arms, sobbing.
“It’s me… It’s really me.”
Amanda pulled her inside, wrapping her in a blanket, her hands shaking as she took in Nneka’s sunken cheeks, the scars on her wrists from restraints, the haunted look in her eyes.
“What happened to you?!” Amanda cried.
And then, Nneka told her everything
Amanda listened in stunned silence, her hands covering her mouth as Nneka recounted the nightmare—how Ngozi had drugged her, framed her as insane, and stolen her life.
“She’s living as me,” Nneka whispered, her voice raw. “She married Emeka. She destroyed my business. And she left me to rot.”
Amanda’s shock turned to fury.
“That monster!” she spat, gripping Nneka’s hands. “We’re going to expose her. Tonight.”
With Amanda’s phone, Nneka dialed her parents’ number, her fingers trembling.
When her mother answered, Nneka broke down.
“Mama… it’s me. It’s Nneka.”
Silence. Then—
“Nneka?! But… but you’re here with us! Ngozi is—”
“NO!” Nneka shouted, her voice cracking. “That’s not Ngozi! That’s me! Ngozi put me in a mental hospital and took my place!”
Her parents were silent for a long moment. Then, her father’s voice, thick with grief:
“Oh my God… We didn’t know. We didn’t see it.”
The realization hit them like a knife to the heart.
They had been living with an imposter.
And they had failed their real daughter.
Gathered in Amanda’s living room, Nneka, her parents, and Amanda devised a plan.
“We need proof,” Amanda said. “Something undeniable.”
Nneka’s eyes darkened.
“I have an idea.”
She knew Ngozi better than anyone.
And she knew exactly where to strike.
Meanwhile, Ngozi sat in Emeka’s house—her house, as far as she was concerned—sipping wine as she scrolled through property listings.
Emeka wanted a divorce?
Fine.
But she wouldn’t leave empty-handed.
If he thought he could throw her out, he was wrong.
Dead wrong.
She smirked, reaching for a small vial hidden in her purse.
A tasteless, odorless poison.
One sip, and Emeka would be gone in hours.
And as his "grieving widow," she would inherit everything.
“You should have just loved me, Emeka,” she murmured, swirling the wine glass.
“Now, you’ll die regretting it.”
That night, Nneka and Amanda drove to Emeka’s house, her parents following close behind.
Nneka’s heart pounded as she stared at the mansion—her home, now occupied by her betrayer.
She took a deep breath.
“It’s time.”
Inside, Ngozi was just lifting the poisoned glass to Emeka’s lips when—
The door burst open.
Nneka stood in the doorway, her eyes blazing with fury.
“Hello, sister.”
Ngozi’s glass slipped from her fingers, shattering on the floor.
Emeka turned, his breath catching.
“Nneka…?”
The room fell silent.
The game was over.
And Ngozi’s reign of lies was about to crumble.
To Be Continued…

I WAS ERASED BY MY OWN SISTER
PART 6
Nneka sat on the cold floor of her padded cell, her fingers tracing the cracks in the wall like a map to freedom. Months had passed since Ngozi stole her life, and every day in this hellhole chipped away at her sanity. The drugs made her weak, but they couldn’t kill her will to survive.
She had stopped screaming.
She had stopped begging.
Now, she was planning.
Then, one day, hope walked in wearing scrubs.
Nurse Adaeze was new to the psychiatric ward. Young, observant, and kind-hearted, she treated patients like humans, not animals.
One evening, as she handed Nneka her medication, she paused.
"You don’t seem like the others here," she whispered.
Nneka lifted her hollow eyes. "Because I don’t belong here."
Nurse Adaeze studied her face—the sharp cheekbones, the faint birthmark on her left wrist. Then, her eyes widened.
"Wait… I know you."
Nneka’s breath hitched.
"You’re Nneka Okoye. The founder of Naturé by Nneka. I use your products!"
Tears welled in Nneka’s eyes. For the first time in months, someone saw her.
"Please… help me," Nneka begged, clutching Nurse Adaeze’s hand. "My sister did this to me. She stole my life."
Nurse Adaeze hesitated. She knew the risks. But looking into Nneka’s desperate eyes, she made a decision.
"I’ll get you out."
Over the next few days, Nurse Adaeze smuggled in small things—a phone, a change of clothes, a forged discharge form.
"There’s a back exit near the laundry room," she whispered. "Cameras are broken. Tomorrow night, when Dr. Bello is on duty—he never checks the records properly."
Nneka memorized every detail. This was her only chance.
Meanwhile, the drugs they forced into her system made her limbs heavy, her thoughts slow. But she fought through the fog.
"I have to escape… I have to make Ngozi pay."
While Nneka plotted her escape, Emeka sat in his study, staring at divorce papers.
The woman he married—or thought he married—was not the Nneka he fell in love with.
This Nneka was reckless.
This Nneka was cruel.
This Nneka didn’t love him.
She partied all night, spent money like water, and barely remembered his name.
"Where were you last night?" he had asked her the day before.
"Out," she shrugged, not even looking up from her phone.
That was the moment he knew.
He had married a stranger.
That evening, Ngozi stumbled in at 3 AM, drunk, her dress disheveled, lipstick smeared.
Emeka stood in the hallway, arms crossed.
"We need to talk."
Ngozi rolled her eyes. "Ugh, not this again. What now?"
"I want a divorce."
The words hung in the air like a death sentence.
Ngozi froze. Then, she laughed—a sharp, mocking sound.
"You’re joking, right? After everything I’ve done for you?"
"What have you done, exactly?" Emeka snapped. "Spent my money? Ignored me? Destroyed Nneka’s business?"
Ngozi’s smirk faded.
"Wait… what did you just say?"
Emeka’s eyes narrowed.
"I said Nneka’s business. Not yours. Because let’s be honest… you were never half the woman she was." I don't know this nneka standing before me
Ngozi’s face twisted in rage.
"You have no idea what you’re talking about!"
But Emeka was done.
"Pack your things. I want you out by morning."
Back at the asylum, Nurse Adaeze slipped Nneka a set of keys.
"Tonight. Be ready."
Nneka’s heart pounded.
This was it.
Freedom.
Revenge.
As the clock struck midnight, Nurse Adaeze disabled the alarms. Nneka changed into the clothes she had hidden, slipped out of her cell, and followed the shadows to the laundry exit.
The cold night air hit her face like a slap.
She was free.
But this wasn’t over.
Not even close.
Because now…
It was Ngozi’s turn to suffer.
To Be Continued…

“I Was Their Housemaid. They Told Their Visitors I Was a Cousin.”
20 Years Later, I Bought Their Mansion — And Gave It Back to Them Rent-Free.

They dressed me in hand-me-downs.
Made me serve their guests and wash their underwear.
But anytime visitors came, they’d smile and say:

> “She’s our little cousin from the village.”

I wasn’t family.
I was labour disguised as love.

But when the winds of life changed…
They never expected the same "cousin" to become their landlady.

From Maid to Millionaire — What She Did With the House That Once Housed Her Pain Left the Entire Family Speechless
Written by Rosyworld CRN

2002. GRA, Port Harcourt, Nigeria.

I was 11 when I moved in with them.
They promised my widowed mother they’d send me to school.

Instead, I became their domestic help.
Up by 4 AM.
Sleep by midnight.

I washed their dishes, ironed their uniforms, ran errands, and never complained.
Every time they introduced me as “our cousin,” I smiled through the lie.

Only the last daughter, Amaka, ever treated me kindly.
She once whispered:

> “One day, you’ll be bigger than all of us. Just don’t forget yourself.”

When I turned 15, they let me go.
Said they couldn’t afford to “keep an extra mouth.”

I moved in with a church family.
Hustled.
Went back to school.
Studied Accounting.
Sold snacks during holidays.

Eventually, I opened a small cleaning agency.

2020.

My agency serviced estates.
Managed elite homes.

That’s when I saw the house again.

Their house.
Old now. Paint peeling. Broken gate.

I found out it was up for auction.
They had lost everything to debt.

I didn’t blink.

I bought it.

Cash.

Then waited.

One Saturday morning, I knocked on their door.

The father opened.
Wrinkled, surprised.
They were squatting in one room upstairs — no light, no dignity.

They didn’t recognize me… until I said:

> “I’m the cousin who used to clean your toilets.”

Gasps.
Confusion.
Then silence.

I handed them keys.

> “This house is yours. Rent-free. No shame.

You don’t owe me.

But you owe the next person like me — kindness.”

The mother fell to her knees.
The daughters cried.

Only Amaka could speak.
She hugged me and whispered:

> “You didn’t forget yourself… and you didn’t forget us either.”

Today, I own 13 properties.
But that house?
It’s my loudest statement in silence.

Because the people who hid your pain with lies…
May one day live inside your compassion.

From housemaid… to house owner.
From “cousin”… to quiet conqueror.
From thrown away… to throne giver.

Follow Rosyworld CRN for more stories that prove:
True wealth is when your heart remains rich — even after you become powerful

My sweetheart,

I know that I am guilty of failing to express my true feelings for you. I admit that I am not very talkative and putting my feelings into words is definitely not easy for me.
However, I want you to know that my feelings for you are as strong as on the day I proposed to you. Actually, as time goes by, my love for you grows stronger and this heart to heart bond is everlasting and unbreakable.

I haven’t told you lately that you are the reason I have happiness in my life and even after long days of work your presence soothes all my aches and troubles. I haven’t told you lately that I would be lost without you; that life would have less meaning, less color, less excitement, less of everything … I haven’t told you often enough how much I love you.
So now, with this occasion, I want to etch in stone my love and devotion to you so that it will be there for all eternity and you would never need to doubt it. Ever.
Yes, my true feelings are of eternal love for you. I love you, indeed I love you very much.

WAS ERASED BY MY OWN SISTER
PART 5
The walls of the psychiatric hospital were cold, the air thick with the scent of antiseptic and despair. Nneka sat curled in a corner of her padded cell, her once-glossy skin now dull, her bright eyes hollow.
She had stopped screaming.
No one believed her when she told them she was Nneka Okoye, a successful businesswoman, a loving daughter, a woman about to marry the love of her life.
They called it "delusions of grandeur."
The drugs they forced into her veins made her thoughts slow, her words slurred. Some days, she couldn’t remember her own name.
But deep inside, buried beneath layers of medication and forced sedation, a spark of rage still burned.
"Ngozi…" she would whisper in the dark.
Her sister had stolen everything.
Her face.
Her name.
Her life.
And now, Nneka was nothing but a ghost in her own body.
Meanwhile, Ngozi—now living as Nneka—was drowning in luxury.
She had married Emeka in a lavish ceremony, smiling as he slid the ring onto her finger—the same ring that was meant for her sister.
But the thrill of deception was wearing off.
Ngozi had never been as smart as Nneka.
She couldn’t handle the business meetings, the investors, the pressure of running Naturé by Nneka. So, she did what she did best—she quit.
"I need a break," she told Emeka, shrugging. "Work is stressing me out."
Emeka frowned. The Nneka he knew would never abandon her dreams so easily.
But he said nothing.
Then, Ngozi stopped sending money to their parents.
"They’ll be fine," she scoffed when Emeka asked. "They have savings."
But Emeka knew the truth—Nneka had never neglected her family.
Ngozi spent her days shopping for designer bags and her nights clubbing with her new "rich friends."
She came home drunk, stumbling past Emeka as if he were furniture.
She ignored his texts, dismissed his concerns, and rolled her eyes when he tried to hold her.
"Why are you so clingy?" she snapped one night, pushing him away.
Emeka stood there, heart cracking.
This wasn’t the woman he fell in love with.
This wasn’t Nneka.
One evening, Emeka sat alone in their empty penthouse, staring at their wedding photo.
Nneka—no, Ngozi—was out again, probably laughing in some VIP section while he sat here like a fool.
He picked up his phone and dialed his best friend, Chike.
"I think… I made a mistake," Emeka whispered, voice breaking. "This isn’t the woman I proposed to. She’s changed. Or maybe… maybe I never really knew her."
Chike sighed. "Brother, I’ve been wanting to say this for months. The Nneka you married… she’s not the same Nneka you fell in love with."
Emeka closed his eyes.
He knew.
He just didn’t want to believe it.
Back in the asylum, Nneka lay on her thin mattress, staring at the ceiling.
She had learned to stay quiet. To obey. To pretend the drugs had won.
But behind her empty gaze, her mind was sharpening.
She watched.
She listened.
She planned.
Because one day…
One day, she would escape.
And when she did—
Ngozi would regret ever crossing her.
To Be Continued…

I WAS ERASED BY MY OWN SISTER
PART 4
The days leading up to Nneka’s wedding were supposed to be filled with joy, laughter, and final preparations. But Ngozi had other plans—plans so dark, so twisted, that no one could have ever imagined them.
Ngozi had spent weeks studying Nneka’s every move—her routines, her habits, even the way she spoke. She had memorized the sound of her laughter, the way she brushed her hair, the little gestures she made when she was nervous.
Now, it was time to become her.
Three nights before the wedding, Ngozi invited Nneka out for a quiet sisterly dinner—just the two of them, she said, to celebrate their last days as single women.
Nneka, ever trusting, agreed.
They went to a secluded restaurant, where Ngozi had already bribed the staff to ignore anything unusual. She ordered Nneka’s favorite wine—spiked with a sedative.
"To us," Ngozi said, raising her glass with a smile.
Nneka clinked her glass, unaware that her last moments of freedom were slipping away.
Within minutes, Nneka’s vision blurred.
"I… I don’t feel so good," she slurred, her head drooping.
Ngozi caught her before she could collapse.
"Shhh, sis. Just sleep," she whispered, stroking her sister’s hair like a predator soothing its prey.
Ngozi took Nneka to a rented car, where she had everything prepared—a syringe filled with a powerful drug that induced hallucinations, paranoia, and mental instability.
She rolled up Nneka’s sleeve and injected her.
"By the time they find you," Ngozi murmured, "no one will believe a word you say."
Then, she drove to a remote psychiatric hospital—one where no one asked too many questions.
She checked Nneka in under a fake name, spinning a story about her "sister’s" sudden mental breakdown.
"She’s been hearing voices," Ngozi lied, her face a mask of concern. "She keeps saying she’s someone else. Please, help her."
The doctors nodded sympathetically. They had seen cases like this before.
And just like that, Nneka disappeared.
Ngozi returned home—but not as herself.
She cut and styled her hair exactly like Nneka’s. She wore Nneka’s clothes, her perfume, even practiced her voice in front of the mirror.
When Emeka called, worried about Nneka’s sudden absence, Ngozi answered in her sister’s voice.
"I just needed some space, baby. I’ll be back soon."
Emeka, though uneasy, believed her.
The next morning, Ngozi staged her own "death."
She left Nneka’s car by a river, along with a suicide note in her handwriting:
"I can’t take it anymore. The guilt is too much. Forgive me."
Then, she scattered some of her own belongings—a scarf, a shoe—near the water’s edge.
When the police arrived, they declared it a tragic suicide.
Nneka’s parents collapsed in grief. Emeka was devastated.
But no one questioned why "Nneka" seemed so… unaffected.
With Ngozi now living as Nneka, the wedding preparations continued.
Emeka noticed something was off—the way "Nneka" suddenly hated foods she used to love, the way she flinched when he touched her in ways only the real Nneka would enjoy.
But every time he questioned her, Ngozi would burst into tears.
"I’m just grieving my sister! How can you be so cruel?"
Emeka, racked with guilt, would immediately apologize.
"I’m sorry, baby. I’m just worried about you."
Ngozi would smile through her fake tears, knowing she had won.
Meanwhile, the real Nneka woke up in a cold, sterile room.
She screamed for help, but the nurses only shook their heads.
"Another episode," they muttered.
She tried to explain—"I’m Nneka! My sister did this to me!"*—but the drugs made her words slur, her thoughts scatter.
The doctors diagnosed her as severely delusional.
And as the days passed, even Nneka began to doubt herself.
Was she really Nneka? Or was that just another lies her broken mind had created? *
On the morning of the wedding, Ngozi stood in front of the mirror, admiring herself in Nneka’s wedding dress.
She smiled—a cold, victorious smile.
She had won.
Nneka was gone.
Emeka was hers.
The life she had always wanted was finally within reach.
But deep in the shadows of the psychiatric hospital, the real Nneka clenched her fists.
Because somewhere beneath the drugs, the confusion, the despair…
A fire still burned.
And one day, she would make Ngozi pay.
To Be Continued…

Hello friends,am single. And am tyre of it, pls can I do. and I don't want to go into friendship 4now

“The trouble is that you think you have time…”
Time is not promised, it is borrowed. We live each day as though the clock is ours to command, forgetting that moments slip by while we wait for the 'right time' to live, to love, to begin again.
We postpone dreams, delay healing, and put off saying the words that matter most — assuming tomorrow will greet us.
But tomorrow is a hope, not a guarantee.
So rise today. Call that person. Write that story. Start that business. Forgive. Speak up.
Because life is not waiting for you to be ready — it is happening now.

She always love taking pictures with one hand on her….?
Complete the statement guys
Let’s see those who are smart enough

#fypシ #trend #beautiful #everyonehighlights

*I Will Lift Up Mine Eyes Unto The Hills, From Whence Cometh My Help. My Help Cometh From The LORD… Psalms 121:1*

I Will Lift Up Mine Eyes Unto The Hills, From Whence Cometh My Help. My Help Cometh From The LORD… Psalms 121:1