I wept bitterly until my head pounded as though it would split in two. Weakly, I rose and made my way back to the room I had slept in. I picked up my handbag along with the hijab I had worn for dawn prayer. To avoid running into that wretched dog, I slipped out through the kitchen, though I barely knew the layout of the house. By the time I came around to the gate, the dog was nowhere in sight.
Suddenly, the gatekeeper, who had been sitting and humming along to a song, jumped to his feet, his lips trembling as he greeted me. I ignored him and barked:
“Open the gate for me!”
Stammering nervously, he said, “But, madam, the master didn’t say—”
“By God, if you don’t open this gate, I’ll call your master and rain curses on you,” I snapped, grabbing the stick he’d left on the bench. “Will you open it, or should I break your head with this?”
Terrified, he pleaded, “May God calm your heart, madam. I’ll open it.” He rushed to unlock the smaller gate. I shot him a deadly glare before stepping out, tossing the stick back at him once I was certain I was outside.
The street ahead stretched wide, paved and orderly, yet I couldn’t recognize which neighborhood it was. Fear tightened in my chest, but I pressed on, my steps quick though my body weakened. I prayed silently for God to send a tricycle—or even a car—so I could get help.
The dizziness worsened. My head spun until I had to stop and clutch it, whispering God’s name. Just then, a white car drove past, then reversed back.
“Are you alright, my sister?” came the voice of a young woman.
Through blurred vision, I muttered, “I’m fine.”
She shook her head in concern, stepped out, and supported me as I staggered. “You don’t look fine at all. Let me put you in my car and take you where you need to go.”
Seeing that she was a woman—and knowing I desperately needed help—I agreed. Once inside, my head throbbed worse, my eyes shutting heavily.
When she asked where to take me, I barely managed to whisper, “Yakasai.”
“Okay, but first we must stop at a clinic. You need urgent care—I’m a doctor,” she said.
“Please, no… just take me home,” I pleaded faintly.
“Forgive me, but I can’t. For God’s sake, let me help you.”
At the mention of God, I fell silent. Moments later, I blacked out completely.
Maash’s Cold Resolve
Panicked, the gatekeeper rushed inside, only to meet Maash standing by the door. Terrified by his master’s stern expression, the guard dropped to his knees, swearing, “By God, it wasn’t my fault—she forced me. She said she’d curse me if I didn’t open the gate.”
Maash remained silent. The guard stammered more excuses until Maash finally whispered, “Go back to your post.”
Though relieved to be dismissed, the guard sensed hidden consequences. Minutes later, a horn sounded outside. It was Hayatu, who greeted the guard and drove in.
Inside, he met Maash, who was glued to his phone. Without lifting his eyes, Maash listened as Hayatu reported:
“Sir, she collapsed as soon as she entered the car. They rushed her to a clinic—her blood pressure is dangerously high, and they’re worried about her heart. I gave them permission to do everything necessary.”
Only then did Maash glance at him briefly before setting aside his phone. He fixed Hayatu with a piercing gaze before instructing calmly:
“Tell Hameed we leave for Abuja at 9. Arrange with Faisal to meet us at the airport with the patient.”
Stunned, Hayatu blurted, “But sir, won’t her family suspect something? She was just brought to you yesterday as a bride. People will talk—this is the North; religion and culture matter.”
Maash leaned back, eyes closed, silent. Hayatu knew that silence meant finality. Resigned, he left, worrying about the fallout. He alone knew the truth—that Samraah’s marriage had been tied to Maash through manipulation, and not even her family knew his identity. Still, he obeyed, though unease gnawed at him.
Family in Turmoil
Meanwhile, at Samraah’s home, chaos erupted. Mom pressed Abba until he revealed the truth: the marriage had not been to Mansoor, but to another man. Whispers spread from relatives to neighbors, stoking gossip and scandal.
Mom, overjoyed at first, clashed bitterly with Aunty Jimmai, Kawu Musa’s eldest daughter. Soon, a full-blown fight broke out, with insults hurled until Mom broke down in tears. Gwaggo Gudidi even swore that as long as she lived, Abba would take another wife.
Only Musaddiq’s calm presence prevented worse.
At that tense moment, Hayatu arrived. By fortune, he met Abba, Musaddiq, and Kawu Musa at the entrance. With deliberate calm, he delivered the news: Samraah was gravely ill at a clinic.
Shocked and alarmed, the family immediately prepared to follow him there. Hayatu did not resist; in fact, it suited his plan to keep suspicion from falling on Maash while ensuring Samraah’s condition was handled discreetly.
Description
Escape and Rescue
I wept bitterly until my head pounded as though it would split in two. Weakly, I rose and made my way back to the room I had slept in. I picked up my handbag along with the hijab I had worn for dawn prayer. To avoid running into that wretched dog, I slipped out through the kitchen, though I barely knew the layout of the house. By the time I came around to the gate, the dog was nowhere in sight.
Suddenly, the gatekeeper, who had been sitting and humming along to a song, jumped to his feet, his lips trembling as he greeted me. I ignored him and barked:
“Open the gate for me!”
Stammering nervously, he said, “But, madam, the master didn’t say—”
“By God, if you don’t open this gate, I’ll call your master and rain curses on you,” I snapped, grabbing the stick he’d left on the bench. “Will you open it, or should I break your head with this?”
Terrified, he pleaded, “May God calm your heart, madam. I’ll open it.” He rushed to unlock the smaller gate. I shot him a deadly glare before stepping out, tossing the stick back at him once I was certain I was outside.
The street ahead stretched wide, paved and orderly, yet I couldn’t recognize which neighborhood it was. Fear tightened in my chest, but I pressed on, my steps quick though my body weakened. I prayed silently for God to send a tricycle—or even a car—so I could get help.
The dizziness worsened. My head spun until I had to stop and clutch it, whispering God’s name. Just then, a white car drove past, then reversed back.
“Are you alright, my sister?” came the voice of a young woman.
Through blurred vision, I muttered, “I’m fine.”
She shook her head in concern, stepped out, and supported me as I staggered. “You don’t look fine at all. Let me put you in my car and take you where you need to go.”
Seeing that she was a woman—and knowing I desperately needed help—I agreed. Once inside, my head throbbed worse, my eyes shutting heavily.
When she asked where to take me, I barely managed to whisper, “Yakasai.”
“Okay, but first we must stop at a clinic. You need urgent care—I’m a doctor,” she said.
“Please, no… just take me home,” I pleaded faintly.
“Forgive me, but I can’t. For God’s sake, let me help you.”
At the mention of God, I fell silent. Moments later, I blacked out completely.
Maash’s Cold Resolve
Panicked, the gatekeeper rushed inside, only to meet Maash standing by the door. Terrified by his master’s stern expression, the guard dropped to his knees, swearing, “By God, it wasn’t my fault—she forced me. She said she’d curse me if I didn’t open the gate.”
Maash remained silent. The guard stammered more excuses until Maash finally whispered, “Go back to your post.”
Though relieved to be dismissed, the guard sensed hidden consequences. Minutes later, a horn sounded outside. It was Hayatu, who greeted the guard and drove in.
Inside, he met Maash, who was glued to his phone. Without lifting his eyes, Maash listened as Hayatu reported:
“Sir, she collapsed as soon as she entered the car. They rushed her to a clinic—her blood pressure is dangerously high, and they’re worried about her heart. I gave them permission to do everything necessary.”
Only then did Maash glance at him briefly before setting aside his phone. He fixed Hayatu with a piercing gaze before instructing calmly:
“Tell Hameed we leave for Abuja at 9. Arrange with Faisal to meet us at the airport with the patient.”
Stunned, Hayatu blurted, “But sir, won’t her family suspect something? She was just brought to you yesterday as a bride. People will talk—this is the North; religion and culture matter.”
Maash leaned back, eyes closed, silent. Hayatu knew that silence meant finality. Resigned, he left, worrying about the fallout. He alone knew the truth—that Samraah’s marriage had been tied to Maash through manipulation, and not even her family knew his identity. Still, he obeyed, though unease gnawed at him.
Family in Turmoil
Meanwhile, at Samraah’s home, chaos erupted. Mom pressed Abba until he revealed the truth: the marriage had not been to Mansoor, but to another man. Whispers spread from relatives to neighbors, stoking gossip and scandal.
Mom, overjoyed at first, clashed bitterly with Aunty Jimmai, Kawu Musa’s eldest daughter. Soon, a full-blown fight broke out, with insults hurled until Mom broke down in tears. Gwaggo Gudidi even swore that as long as she lived, Abba would take another wife.
Only Musaddiq’s calm presence prevented worse.
At that tense moment, Hayatu arrived. By fortune, he met Abba, Musaddiq, and Kawu Musa at the entrance. With deliberate calm, he delivered the news: Samraah was gravely ill at a clinic.
Shocked and alarmed, the family immediately prepared to follow him there. Hayatu did not resist; in fact, it suited his plan to keep suspicion from falling on Maash while ensuring Samraah’s condition was handled discreetly.