Òyì nke e mepụtara

He went to her the next morning with the document in his hand. She saw it and went still. "It wasn't what it looks like," she said. "Tell me what it looks like from where you're standing," he said. And she told him — not everything, not yet — but enough. Her brother. The warehouse. What a seventeen-year-old boy had done out of desperation and what it had cost her mother to make it disappear. His father had not bought her family's silence. He had bought her brother's safety and used her heart as