Chapter 1: Harmattan and Heartbreak

Five years after I married Tobi Adesina, Abuja’s harmattan cracked my lips and my heart alike. Dust settled on every window sill, and the air smelled of burnt firewood and dry leaves.

Time crawled when my spirit was heavy, but before I blinked, harmattan swept away everything I once held dear. That was the year the system—a strange voice in my head since I woke up in this borrowed body—finally told me I could go home.

With only seven days left before I could leave, I no longer cared where Tobi Adesina went or what he did. He was giving most of his salary to Simi Ajayi and even risking his future just for her. But now, my indifference seemed to make him uneasy all of a sudden. He dey look me as if I carry juju, but na peace I dey find.

These days, the house felt like an old wrapper: familiar, worn, but no longer warm. Sometimes, Tobi would walk past me and fidget as if he was looking for something to say, but the words died on his lips. Maybe it was the silence that unnerved him more than all my old complaints.

Later, when I went out to the market, Mama Sade, the shopkeeper I knew, balanced a tray of fresh ugwu on her head, wrapper tied tight, eyes sharp for gist. She asked if I was buying things for my mother.

Her face brightened with that knowing smile, the way Lagos women do when they sense gist. "My daughter, you dey pack load? Abi your mama call you for village?"

"Na so, Mama. I dey go village soon," I replied, not thinking much of it.

I tossed the pepper and onions into my basket, but Tobi Adesina, who was beside me, suddenly looked up, surprised. His eyes darted to me, then to the sacks of yam like he just realized something was missing.