Just when I thought I had broken free, fire came to find me. Fire that burned away whatever fragile financial hope I was clinging to in Lagos.
When I opened my eyes, the world was tinted with orange and smoke, the bitter smell of ash already clawing its way into my lungs. My head pounded, my throat was dry. Gregory's arm was tight around me, not as a lover this time but as a shield, dragging me from the bed with urgent force.
"Stay with me, Timi," his voice commanded, deep, steady, though I could hear the strain at the edges. "Don't faint again, not now."
Everything had become chaos. Sirens wailed, voices shouted, the stench of something burning — not here, not in his house, but close enough to taint the air.
It was in my ears and far up my nose.
And then I remembered.
My shop.
The shop I had sweated to build from scraps of both my savings and my mother's, loans, and sleepless nights. The only thing that truly bore my name in the whole of Lagos.
I struggled out of his grip, staggering to the window. Beyond the tall compound walls, Lagos was a glow of confusion, flames leaped high. It wasn't Gregory's neighbourhood, no. It was mine. My street. My shop.
"No," I whispered, then louder, "No!"
Gregory caught me before I bolted for the door, his arms iron bands around me. "You're not going out there like this—"
"Let me go!" I screamed. "That's my life burning out there, Greg. My life!"
He didn't let go, but his hold softened. His jaw was set, his eyes dark with something between pity and fury. "I'll take you. But you don't run headfirst into fire. You hear me?"
I nodded, tears streaming down my face, but inside I was already gone, racing ahead in my mind to the ruins waiting for me.
The crowd was thick when we arrived. My workers,Onlookers. Strangers who always gathered when tragedy struck. The fire service had done their work, leaving behind smoke, dripping hoses, and a blackened carcass where my shop once stood.
The signboard that carried my name was half melted, swinging drunkenly on one hinge. The glass I had saved three months for was shattered across the pavement, and the racks inside were nothing but twisted, scorched metal.
I stood rooted, my hands trembling, my chest hollow.
Gregory's hand pressed firm against my back, steadying me. But I couldn't even lean on him.
I walked forward, through the damp ash, until my sandals crunched on what used to be my floor. A smell of charred fabric rose to choke me. My sewing machines, everything I had built from nothing — gone.
I dropped to my knees in the black soot, numb, eyes red but no tears. I clawed at the remains like I could pull my life back from the ashes.
And then I heard it.
"E be like say dem do this one on purpose."
The voice was low, a man whispering near the tape the firemen had stretched. Another voice answered, just as hushed, but sharp enough to reach me.
"If no be wrong wiring, village people dey pursue dis one."
Raymond.
I froze, my fingernails curling into the soot.
Gregory crouched beside me, sliding his arm around my shoulders. "Timi. Look at me."
I turned my face, and for the first time, I saw something raw in his eyes — not just concern, not just protectiveness, but fury.
"If this was him—" He stopped, jaw flexing, eyes burning as he held mine. "He will pay."
I should have felt relief at those words. Protected. But instead, all I felt was fear, officer. Because men like Gregory didn't talk idly. He meant it. And if he went after Raymond, nothing good could come of it.
I just stared at the ruin before me. My shop, my pride, my sweat. Blackened walls gaped like hollow sockets; the racks where I once stacked fabrics twisted into grotesque shapes. Everything I had built from nothing — eaten alive by fire.
And then I saw my workers. They stood clustered by the entrance, smoke-streaked, silent, their faces lined with despair. Seeing them there cut deeper than seeing the wreckage. Some had children waiting for school fees. Some had sick parents clinging to the money they earned here.
This wasn't just my loss. It was theirs too.
My throat clenched. Sick parents.
The words pulled my eyes across the group, searching, counting. My stomach dropped.
Bose wasn't among them.
A cold shiver slid down my back. Everyone knew Bose. Stubborn Bose, who would stay long hours in the shop even on weekends, sometimes sleep there if a job ran late. I always warned her against it. She always waved me off. And now—
My voice came out raw. "Where is Bose?"
The question froze them all. Their eyes flicked from one face to another as though each hoped someone else would answer first. The silence grew unbearable.
It struck me then — wasn't it odd that it hadn't been Bose who called me about the fire? It was Benjamin.
Benjamin finally stepped forward, clearing his throat. "She complained of a headache on Friday before we closed. Said she would stop by the clinic." His eyes dropped to the ground. "I tried calling her since yesterday but her phone was switched off."
My chest tightened. "So… what you're saying is she probably wasn't here this weekend?"
"Yes, madam." His voice softened. "And the firemen confirmed nobody was trapped inside. No one got hurt."
The air left my lungs in one violent rush. Relief — hot, dizzying, merciless. At least she wasn't among the ashes. At least she wasn't burned alive.
I nodded quickly, words breaking apart in my mouth. "Okay… okay. You can all go home now. Thank you for today. I'll… I'll get in touch."
The tears I'd been swallowing since finally betrayed me. It choked me as I spoke. My workers didn't press me further. One by one, they walked away, shoulders slumped, leaving behind the carcass of my dream.
The silence that followed was worse than their murmurs. It pressed in on me, heavy and final.
I turned to Gregory. His presence was a weight, steady and immovable. But I couldn't bear him seeing me like this, broken to the bone. "Go home, Greg," I whispered. "Please."
He looked like he wanted to argue, but he didn't. He only gave a sharp nod, his jaw tight, and stayed rooted until I walked away.
I drove straight to Bose's house. My chest was splitting open with grief, and if there was anyone I could crumble before, it was her. With Bose, I didn't need to be strong. I didn't need to hide.
I expected her warm voice, her quick scolding, her small body folding me into an embrace. I expected the comfort that only she could give.
But, Officer, nothing in me was prepared for what I found.