Chapter 3 The Fall from Grace

The ridicule became public, loud, and merciless.

At church, during family introductions, Chief and Mama Okonkwo would beam with pride as they presented Amara to the congregation. "Our jewel," they called her. "Graduate of a top university in London. Interned with Fortune 500 companies. Speaks like the Queen herself."

And then they'd gesture vaguely toward Chizaram, barely meeting her eye. "And our second daughter... Chizaram. She's... here."

People whispered. Some didn't bother hiding their smirks. The contrast was intentional.

That night, something inside Chizaram broke for good. She returned to the house, walked past the grand staircase and glistening marble floors, and packed a single suitcase. One pair of sneakers. A few changes of clothes. Her laptop. No goodbye. No explanations. Just the stale taste of rejection and a quiet hunger for something more-something hers.

She found a tiny flat in Surulere. Humble. One fan. One bed. Peaceful. She began work as a junior developer in a local tech company. The pay was little, but the possibilities were endless.

That's where she met Tunde.

He was the janitor. Quiet. Always respectful. Never intrusive. He read The Economist during his breaks, took detailed notes in a worn leather notebook, and sometimes stayed behind to ask about coding terms she mumbled while working late.

She didn't pay him much attention-until the day Amara showed up.

Amara sauntered into the office unannounced, eyes scanning the place like it was beneath her. When she saw Chizaram, she laughed coldly. "Still trying to matter, huh? You're just a desperate girl clinging to relevance."

The office fell silent. No one moved.

Tunde looked up from his mop, stepped forward.

"She has more strength than you'll ever understand," he said.

Amara scoffed. "Who are you to speak?"

He met her gaze calmly. "Someone who sees."