Third Person POV
For the next few months, something soft began to bloom inside Chidinma—like sunlight slowly melting away the ice.
Little by little, she started opening up, not just to Fiona or Callum, but to herself. Her body language changed. Her eyes held less fear. Her steps were lighter.
She was healing.
And for the first time in years—since her father's death and the fall of her family's wealth—Chidinma had things that reminded her of her past life: a brand-new Samsung Galaxy S23 and a slim silver HP laptop. They were part of the shopping Fiona and Callum had taken her for at a luxury mall in Ikoyi.
The last time she touched such gadgets was when her father was still alive, when life was soft and sweet. After his death, everything had been sold—phones, laptops, furniture, even jewelry—just to keep food on the table.
But now, it was like a second chance.
She no longer lived in survival mode. She was learning to breathe again, to smile without fear, to want more than just safety. She was starting to live.
At first, it was small things. She created a Facebook account, then an Instagram page, and finally a TikTok profile. She didn't post much—just simple pictures of herself, often with Fiona by her side, smiling, laughing, dressed up in casual clothes, taking selfies at restaurants or cafes.
It wasn't long before people started following her. Not because she was famous. But because there was something warm and peaceful about her presence. She looked like someone you'd want to know.
Callum noticed.
He'd been buried in his own pain, trying to recover from betrayal and grief. But Chidinma's presence, her soft return to life, gave him something to care about again. Without even realizing it, he started paying attention to Nigeria again—why he came here, what his next steps would be. He wasn't in a hurry. But he was no longer stuck.
Fiona knew what had caused that shift.
She once told her brother, "I think she saved us. You brought her here broken. But somehow, she's the one fixing us."
Chidinma didn't even know what she was doing.
She no longer avoided Callum or anyone else. She spoke when spoken to. She smiled often. Her voice had regained its calm rhythm. Her skin glowed. People at the estate started noticing her more.
There was just something about her. She was likable, soft and approachable.
And when she and Fiona stepped out together—whether to the spa, lounge, or a movie night—they looked like fairies. People turned to look twice, because they looked so effortlessly beautiful. As though they belonged in a fairy tale.
Then, one day, about three months later, Chidinma said, "I want to see my family."
Fiona didn't even hesitate. "We'll go together."
And they did.
The drive to her mother's place was quiet. Chidinma held her phone tightly, staring out of the tinted Prado SUV window. She hadn't seen her siblings in almost a year. She didn't even know what to expect.
When they arrived, the compound was quiet, dusty. The building was old, the kind that carried tired sighs in its walls.
But the moment Chidinma stepped down from the SUV, someone screamed her name.
"Nma!"
It was her younger sister, Adaeze.
And just like that, everyone came out. Her only brother, her mother—even the neighbor's kids.
Chidinma froze, tears already filling her eyes.
Her mother couldn't even speak. She just opened her arms. And Chidinma ran into them like a little girl. They stood there, crying into each other's shoulders.
"Nma… is it really you?" her brother asked. "You look like someone I'm watching on TV."
Fiona stood to the side, smiling and wiping her eyes. It was an emotional moment— full of love.
Chidinma explained everything, leaving out some ugly details, but enough to let them know she was safe now. Her mom, though weak from illness, cried with relief.
And then, everything changed.
Within three days, her mother and siblings were moved into a beautiful duplex in Ikoyi. New furniture. New clothes. New phones. Bags of rice and beans. Freezers full of chicken and fish. Two brand-new Prado SUVs. A driver. A cleaner. A cook.
All of it paid for by Callum.
There were no speeches or conditions. Just quiet acts of kindness.
This was the kind of man Callum was. If he called you "his person," then he'd go all out for you. No questions asked.
And he did it all because of Chidinma.
She had given him something words couldn't describe. Peace. Warmth. A reason to hope again.
She didn't beg him. She didn't ask. She simply chose to live—and he responded.
One evening, Chidinma sat on the balcony of her new home, scrolling through Facebook on her phone. She hadn't done it in a while. She was just curious to see if any of her old friends were still online.
And then she saw her.
Urenna Nwankwo.
Her best friend from childhood.
Chidinma's hands froze on the screen. A small sob escaped her lips. Her chest tightened.
She clicked on Urenna's profile. She looked so grown—beautiful, mature, strong. Her posts were filled with poetry, quotes, random pictures of food and sunrises. But one particular post made Chidinma's heartbreak all over again.
It was a picture of the two of them from secondary school. Young. Innocent. Happy.
And Urenna had written:
"Oh, how I miss Nma. Where are you bestie?!"
Chidinma didn't even think twice. She hit the friend request button on Facebook. Followed her on Instagram. Followed her again on TikTok.
She stared at her screen for a long time, hands shaking, heart full.
So much had changed. But some things—like real friendship—could never die.
That night, as Lagos lights danced across the horizon and soft music played in the background, Chidinma felt something she hadn't felt in a long time.
Hope.
And a strange, powerful sense that her journey was only just beginning.