The words settled deep.
Over the next weeks, Tenna noticed things she couldn’t explain. Kofi spoke about land ownership with ease, mentioned developments she’d only heard Madame Badu discuss. Once, when a black SUV slowed near the church, Kofi’s posture changed—alert, controlled—before relaxing again.
“You notice a lot,” Tenna said.
“You survive by noticing,” he replied.
At the Badu house, the tension snapped.
A gold bracelet went missing. Madame Badu’s scream echoed through the hallway. Tenna was summoned, accused, searched. Her bag was emptied onto the floor. Minutes later, the bracelet was found under a sofa cushion.
No apology followed.
Madame Badu’s eyes were cold, calculating. “You should be grateful we are patient. Next time the police will handle it.”
Tenna walked out into the night shaking, anger and fear tangled in her chest. She didn’t know where else to go.
She went to the church.
Kofi was there.
She spoke, and for the first time the tears broke free. When she finished, Kofi was silent for a long moment.
“No one should have that much power over you,” he said quietly.
Tenna laughed bitterly. “That’s how the world works.”
“Only because people allow it,” he replied.
Tenna looked at him—really looked at him. The man the world dismissed, listening as if her life mattered.
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