EXILE TO LAGOS

The first night I spent in Mrs. Fortune's house was the first night I had slept peacefully in weeks.

Her apartment was small, with one bedroom, a worn-out sofa, a kettle with a cracked handle and photographs covering almost every shelf.

There were pictures of four young men at different stages of their lives. One wore a pilot's uniform, another held a little boy with a missing tooth, and the others smiled as though the world had never given them a reason to be sad.

Mrs. Fortune placed a plate of hot food in front of me.

"Eat, child."

I stared at the food.

"Thank you, ma."

"Don't thank me. Eat before it gets cold."

I picked up the spoon, but my hands were trembling.

For the first time since Dante had thrown me out, someone had offered me food without making me feel unwanted.

I took a few spoonfuls before the tears began falling.

Mrs. Fortune pulled out a chair and sat opposite me.

"Tell me what happened."

I hesitated.

Then I began.

I told her about my parents, the accident, the relatives who had taken everything, and the man I had fallen in love with.

I told her about the night at Room 49, the poisoning accusation and the public humiliation at the Romano mansion.

She listened without interrupting.

When I finished, she remained quiet for a moment.

"I had a husband and three sons," she finally said.

I looked up.

"We had a beautiful life. We travelled, laughed and made plans. Then one day, everything changed."

She turned the cup in her hands.

"I know what it feels like to lose the people you love. But listen to me, Aria. You do not get to disappear simply because somebody has treated you badly."

My eyes filled again.

She reached across the table and held my hand.

"You are not forsaken, child. Not under my roof."

I lowered my head and cried.

That night, I slept on her sofa.

For the first time in a long while, I didn't feel completely alone.

---

The following morning, I tried calling Brenna.

Her phone went straight to voicemail.

I called again.

Nothing.

I sent several messages, but none received a reply.

I was beginning to worry when an unfamiliar number called.

"Hello?"

"Good afternoon. Am I speaking with Aria Cole?"

"Yes. Who is this?"

"I'm calling from St. Luke's Hospital. Are you acquainted with a woman named Brenna?"

My heart began racing.

"Yes. She's my best friend. Is she okay?"

There was a pause.

"Your friend was brought in following a car accident. She's currently receiving treatment."

I gripped the phone.

"An accident?"

"Yes, ma'am. You should come to the hospital."

I didn't even remember how I ended the call.

I grabbed my handbag and rushed outside.

When I arrived, a doctor in green scrubs approached me.

"Are you her relative?"

"I'm her best friend. Please, how is she?"

He looked at me carefully.

"She's in a coma. Her condition is critical, and the chances of recovery are very low."

I stared at him.

"No. That's impossible."

"I'm sorry."

"Can I see her?"

He nodded.

I entered the room and stopped beside her bed.

Brenna lay motionless, surrounded by medical equipment.

Her beautiful face looked pale, and her hands rested quietly beside her body.

I held one of them.

"Brenna?"

There was no response.

I pulled a chair closer and sat beside her.

"Please wake up. You can't leave me like this."

My voice broke.

"You promised we would grow old together. Remember? You promised you would be the annoying aunt who spoiled my children."

I laughed through my tears.

"But you have to wake up first."

I remained beside her until a nurse came to check her condition.

---

Later that afternoon, I began feeling dizzy.

At first, I ignored it.

I had barely eaten, and the stress of the previous days was catching up with me.

But when I tried standing, the room began spinning.

The next thing I remembered was waking up in a hospital bed.

A nurse was adjusting the drip attached to my arm.

"Welcome back, ma'am."

I blinked.

"What happened?"

"You fainted. We ran some tests."

I rubbed my forehead.

"Is everything okay?"

The nurse smiled.

"Congratulations. You're three months pregnant."

I stared at her.

"What?"

"You're pregnant."

I couldn't speak.

Pregnant?

I slowly placed a hand over my stomach.

The man who had publicly rejected me, the man who had allowed everyone to call me a murderer, was the father of my child.

My eyes filled with tears.

"I can't do this," I whispered.

The nurse looked concerned.

"Would you like me to call someone?"

I shook my head.

"No. Please, I just need some time."

---

Mrs. Fortune arrived that evening carrying a flask of rice.

She immediately noticed that something was wrong.

"What's happening, child?"

I stared at the wall.

"I'm pregnant."

She put down the flask.

For a moment, she said nothing.

Then she pulled a chair beside my bed.

"How far along?"

"Three months."

She gently covered my hand with hers.

I turned towards her.

"I don't want this baby, Ma. Not because I hate children, but because I don't know how I'm supposed to raise a child when I can barely take care of myself."

She listened.

"Aria, you have been through more than enough. I won't pretend this will be easy. But you don't have to make every decision out of fear."

I looked down at my stomach.

"What if the child grows up and asks about the father?"

"Then you will tell the truth when the time comes. But don't let that man's choices determine the future of your child."

I remained silent.

Mrs. Fortune smiled gently.

"And there's something else."

"What?"

"I have a feeling you may be carrying more than one baby."

I frowned.

"Why would you say that?"

She laughed.

"Call it an old woman's instinct."

Despite everything, I smiled.

That night, I lay in bed with my palm resting on my stomach.

I didn't know what the future held.

But I knew I couldn't give up.

---

For the next three months, I spent almost every day at the hospital beside Brenna.

I read newspapers to her, brushed her hair and sometimes painted her nails with clear polish.

I told her everything.

I told her about the pregnancy, Mrs. Fortune and the small dreams I was beginning to make for myself.

The doctors continued monitoring her condition.

Then, on the ninety-third day, something happened.

I was halfway through reading a football report when I noticed her fingers move.

I stopped.

"Brenna?"

Her fingers moved again.

I dropped the newspaper.

Her eyes slowly opened.

They looked confused at first, then gradually turned towards me.

"Aria?"

I jumped from the chair.

"Brenna!"

I pressed the call button.

"Please, somebody! She's awake!"

Brenna's lips moved.

"How long?"

I held her hand.

"Since the first day."

She managed a weak smile.

"Of course. Stubborn. That's why I love you."

I began crying.

"Don't talk. I'll get the doctor."

"Aria."

I stopped.

She looked at me with tired eyes.

"I only came back to say goodbye."

I shook my head.

"No. Don't say that."

She squeezed my fingers weakly.

"You're going to have a girl."

I stared at her.

"How do you know?"

"Just promise me something."

"Anything."

"Name her after me."

I began crying harder.

"Stop talking like this. You're going to be fine."

"Promise me."

I pressed her hand against my cheek.

"I promise."

Brenna smiled.

For a few seconds, she simply looked at me.

Then her fingers loosened.

The machine beside her began screaming.

I shouted for the doctors.

But despite their efforts, my best friend was gone.

I stood beside her bed, unable to move.

The woman who had made me laugh when I had nothing left had finally left me.

This time, there was no message to send and no number to call.

Brenna was gone.

---

Her funeral was small.

Her elderly parents leaned on each other as they stood beside her grave.

I wore a borrowed black dress and stood at the back, holding Mrs. Fortune's hand.

I couldn't remember the hymns.

I couldn't remember the prayers.

All I could think about was the promise I had made.

I would name my daughter after her.

When the coffin was lowered, I closed my eyes.

"Goodbye, my friend," I whispered. "I will never forget you."

---

Months passed.

My pregnancy became more difficult as my stomach grew.

Mrs. Fortune did everything she could to support me, but money was becoming a serious problem.

At eight months pregnant, I began selling bottled water by the roadside.

I stood under the hot sun with a tray in one hand and my other hand supporting my stomach.

Some people bought water.

Others walked past without looking at me.

One afternoon, a taxi driver stopped and bought two sachets.

"Madam, are you sure you should be working in this condition?"

I forced a smile.

"I'm fine."

He looked unconvinced.

"Please take care of yourself."

I nodded and sat on the kerb to rest.

That evening, Mrs. Fortune returned from school and found me sitting in the dark.

A damp towel rested around my neck.

She dropped her handbag.

"Aria!"

I looked up.

"Welcome home, Ma."

"What are you doing sitting here?"

"Nothing. I'm just tired."

She walked towards me.

"You're staying home tomorrow."

"But we need money."

"I said you're staying home."

I wanted to argue, but I was too exhausted.

That night, she prepared dinner, and we ate together with the radio playing softly in the background.

Halfway through the meal, I suddenly stopped.

A strange pain moved through my lower stomach.

I gripped the edge of the table.

Mrs. Fortune noticed immediately.

"Aria?"

I tried to breathe.

Then I felt something warm spreading beneath me.

"Ma?"

She stood up.

"What's wrong?"

I looked at her with frightened eyes.

"I think..."

Another contraction stopped me from speaking.

Mrs. Fortune grabbed her coat.

"Don't worry. We're going to the hospital."

She rushed outside and flagged down a taxi.

---

I remembered very little about the labour.

The bright lights.

The midwife's hands.

Mrs. Fortune's voice praying outside the delivery room.

I remember thinking that I couldn't do it.

Then I heard a cry.

And another.

A nurse smiled as she approached my bed.

"Congratulations, madam. You have a boy and a girl."

I stared at her.

"Twins?"

"Yes. A beautiful set of twins."

She placed the babies against my chest.

They were tiny, wrinkled and perfect.

I touched the boy's little fist.

"Jayden," I whispered.

Then I looked at the girl.

"Brenna."

Mrs. Fortune sat beside me, covering her mouth with both hands.

"They're beautiful," she whispered.

I smiled through my tears.

For the first time in months, I felt something other than sadness.

I had two reasons to keep fighting.

I kissed their little foreheads.

"Mommy loves you both. I promise I'll give you the life I never had."

But as I looked into their tiny faces, I noticed something.

Their eyes.

They were grey.

The same unmistakable grey eyes I had seen every time I looked at Dante Romano.

My smile slowly disappeared.

I looked away.

I wasn't ready to think about him.

Not yet.

---

A month after the twins were born, Mrs. Fortune received a letter from the landlord.

She read it quietly at the kitchen table.

Then she folded it into eight pieces and placed it inside a drawer.

"What is it, Ma?"

She looked at me.

"We have to leave this apartment in six months."

I sighed.

"Where will we go?"

She adjusted her glasses.

"I have a cousin in Lagos. She says there may be work there."

"Lagos?"

"Yes. We can start again."

I looked towards the twins, who were sleeping peacefully.

I had no money, no husband and no family willing to help me.

But I had Mrs. Fortune and my children.

That was enough to make me try.

---

The journey to Lagos was long.

I sat by the window of the bus, holding both babies against my chest.

As the buildings gradually disappeared and the scenery changed, I watched the roads stretch into the distance.

Mrs. Fortune sat beside me, holding a small bag containing our belongings.

At a rest stop, I bought roasted corn while she bought a map.

By evening, we arrived at a small one-room apartment in a yellow building overlooking a car park.

I looked around the room.

It wasn't beautiful.

It wasn't spacious.

But it was ours.

"Welcome to Lagos," I said, laughing.

Mrs. Fortune laughed with me.

For the first time, I felt that perhaps we could build something meaningful together.

---

A few mornings later, Mrs. Fortune opened an old cupboard and pulled out a dusty Singer sewing machine.

She placed it beside the window.

I stared at it.

"Ma, where did you get that?"

"It belonged to someone in the family. I thought you might find a use for it."

I walked closer and touched the wheel.

Then a memory came rushing back.

My mother sitting beside me when I was twelve, patiently teaching me how to sew.

I smiled.

"I never told you this, but I can sew. My mother taught me."

Mrs. Fortune looked at me.

"Then sew."

I turned towards her.

"What?"

"You heard me. You have two hands, a sewing machine and a talent. Why waste them?"

I stared at the machine.

For the first time, I began imagining something beyond survival.

Perhaps I could make clothes.

Perhaps I could sell them.

Perhaps one day, I could own a fashion business.

I took a deep breath.

"Okay, Ma. I'll try."

And that was how I started.

I placed a small stool outside the building and wrote a sign by hand.

CLOTH ALTERATIONS AND CUSTOM STITCHING.

My first customer wanted a pair of trousers shortened.

The second brought a wedding dress with a torn seam.

By the end of the month, more women were coming.

Some came for my stitching.

Others stayed because they enjoyed talking to me.

I smiled at everyone, even on the days when my heart felt heavy.

Within a year, I had saved enough to rent a small shop with a glass front.

It wasn't much, but it was mine.

At night, after putting the twins to sleep, I would stand on the little balcony and look down at the car park.

Sometimes, memories of the Romano mansion returned.

I remembered the humiliation, the accusations and the night I had been thrown into the rain.

I remembered Dante.

I remembered Serenna.

And I remembered the promise I had made to myself.

I would return one day.

Not as the helpless Omega they had rejected.

But as a woman who had built something of her own.

I placed my hand against my chest and looked towards the sleeping city.

"One day," I whispered. "They will know who Aria Cole really is."

I had no idea that my little sewing business was about to become the beginning of something far greater than I had ever imagined.