It felt like the whole world had gone quiet, a suffocating silence that on her like a storm cloud. Amy sat frozen in the chair across from the doctor, her hands trembling in her lap. His words still echoed in her head, each syllable carving deeper into her chest: Autoimmune hepatitis. Badly damaged livers. A donor list. She was willing to chuck this up to a bad dream. But as she watched the doctor, his face a canvas of professional sympathy, she knew it was a terrifying reality. She couldn't break down now. Her babies needed her. She wiped her tears roughly with the back of her hand, forcing her gaze to steady on the doctor, her eyes filled with a new, fierce resolve.
"Doctor… what should I do now?" Her voice was hoarse, but steady.
The man adjusted his glasses, placing a hand on her shoulder, a gentle gesture of support.
"First, we need you to make payments for their medications. Then, start gathering money for the surgery—once we secure a donor."
Her heart skipped. She sat up straighter. "Doctor, I would like to donate my liver."
He looked at her, sympathy flickering in his eyes. He had heard that plea before, countless times, from desperate parents. It was never easy telling them the truth.
"I understand," he said quietly, "but you've been the only one coming here, haven't you? How about other family members? Maybe talk to them. It's not easy carrying this alone. They can get tested too."
Amy's jaw clenched. "Doctor, you know how long waiting for donors takes. Too long. Meanwhile, their condition will keep deteriorating when there are other options to explore."
He sighed. "Then speak to your family. See who can come in for a test. In the meantime, I'll start them on the medications." He scribbled quickly on a sheet of paper, tore it from his pad, and slid it across the desk.
"Here," he said. "This is the receipt for the medications and tests. Pay at the reception so we can commence treatment. I've also written down the estimated cost of surgery and post-surgery care. I know it's a lot, but take it one step at a time."
Amy stood, her hands tightening on the paper like it was her lifeline. "Thank you, Doctor. Please… look after my babies. I'll make the payments now."
The doctor nodded gravely as she exited.
The moment the door shut behind her, her body gave out. She squatted by the wall, pressing her forehead into her knees. Silent sobs wracked through her chest.
"Why, God? Why my children? What crime did these innocent babies commit to deserve this?" She couldn't understand the cruelty of it all.
Her hands shook as she pulled out her phone. She dialed her husband's number, her heart pounding with every ring. Please pick up. Just this once, please pick up the phone. The call went to voicemail. She tried again. And again. Nothing. Just then, a voice message notification from Amarachi popped up. Amy pressed play with trembling hands, and she instantly regretted it; the Unmistakable disdain in Amarachi's voice was a familiar poison.
"Hey, you worthless piece of trash. Since you ran off to God knows where, why are you disturbing my brother? You abandoned the house, left us starving, ignored our messages, and now you dare to call him? You'd better forget about this marriage. Only God knows where you've been these past days. If you know what's good for you, pack your useless buffalo self and those bastard children out of that house and never return."
The message ended with a long, sharp hiss.
Amy stared at the screen, her mind blank. What is her problem now? The message made no sense. She needed to speak to her husband, to tell him the truth. But deep down she knew—her in-laws had poisoned every line of communication between them. Her throat burned. She couldn't ask them for help; Her in-laws would never help, never give a drop of blood for or lift a finger to help her children. If she couldn't reach him directly, maybe she could find a way around them. An idea sparked—she could borrow someone else's phone. For once, she was outside their surveillance. She gathered herself and went to the receptionist. "I'd like to pay," she said, handing over the receipt.
"Cash or card, ma'am?"
"Card, please."
Amy pulled out her purse, slid her card into the POS, and typed in her PIN. She exhaled in relief. At least this part was covered.
But the machine beeped. The receptionist frowned slightly. "I am sorry, ma'am, but the card has been declined."
"That's impossible," Amy whispered. "Please, try again."
The receptionist obliged.
"Sorry, ma'am, but it's still declined."
Confusion twisted her face. She took back her card, mumbling apologies as people in line sighed impatiently behind her. Embarrassed and apologetic, she hurried to a quiet corner and pulled out her phone.
Her banking app loaded slowly. Her heart thundered. When the numbers appeared, she almost dropped the phone.
Balance: Đ0.00.
Her savings, her security, her twenty million Drex—gone.
All of it.
She slumped to the floor, her back against the wall. Her breathing grew shallow. A nurse rushed over with two male colleagues, trying to lift her to a chair. But she barely heard them. Her mind was a storm.
When Amy finally regained her composure, she stood up, her body numb. Had she been scammed? But how? she checked her account this morning. The money was there. Where did it go?
With shaking fingers, she dialed her bank.
"Hello, this is Mrs Bem. Please, put me through to Mr Chris. It's urgent."
A pause, then the familiar voice of her account manager filled her ear. Without hesitating, a second longer, she asked
"Mr. Chris, could you please tell me what's going on with my account? Why is all my money missing?" Her voice was tight with a mixture of fear and rage.
"Mrs Bem, please calm down. What happened?" Chris asked concern laced in his voice
"What happened? Are you asking me? You're my account manager. Kindly explain to me why I see nothing in my account. Not even a single drex. What is going on?"
"Oh… that." He hesitated. "Your husband came in. He withdrew everything. We assumed it was with your permission."
Amy's body went cold. "With my permission? He never told me. How could you let that happen?"
"Mrs Bem, it's a joint account. His name is still on it. He even brought the original document—the one where you authorized him to close the account anytime he wanted. Since he mostly funded that account, we had no reason to deny him."
Her husband was in town? And he cleaned out her account without telling her? Something was terribly wrong. She hung up without replying. Her mind reeled. She remembered her in-laws had bullied her into keeping only a joint account. They had stripped her of financial independence. And now—everything was gone. No, her husband would not do this. He wouldn't. He couldn't. A cold dread seeped into her bones. Panic surged through her veins. If he was in town, then he was at the house. She had to confront him. She had to explain. She grabbed her keys and rushed home.
By the time she reached home, dusk had begun to fall. The gate was locked. She pushed and pushed, then started banging on it.
"Open up!"
The gate swung open suddenly. Onyinye and Joy appeared, looking down at her with mocking smiles.
"Well, well," Onyinye drawled, blowing a bubble with her gum. "Look who remembered where she lives. Unfortunately, this house no longer welcomes you."
Joy smirked, holding up her phone to record. "Better leave now before Sister Amara catches you. You're dead meat if she does."
Amy's eyes narrowed. She pushed forward, but they shoved her back. She fell hard onto the ground, pain shooting up her spine. Laughter erupted from the two girls as Joy broadcasted the humiliation live on Life-stylegram.
The gate opened again, and Amara appeared, her figure-eight shape flaunted in a white tee and shorts. She stared down at Amy, a look of pure disgust on her face. Onyinye pointed subtly at Joy's phone, signaling her sister to be careful of her words on camera. Amara's smile widened. She stepped closer, stopping just out of the lens's view.
"Sister-in-law," she said sweetly, "what is the meaning of this?"
Amy rose with such difficulty, brushing dirt off her skirt. "I need to see my husband."
"You really can't be helped. My brother gave you twelve years of his life. And what did he get? Betrayal. Heartbreak. You stole his millions, trapped him with children that aren't even his for three whole years, and when he found out and retrieved the money, you ran to your lover, the biological father of those children. Now you dare come back? I mean, you starved us, left the house in a messy state and always threw tantrums at us and even mentioned you didn't want us to live with you, even as Mama's health worsened. How low can you get, Amy? Haven't we suffered enough? please leave our family alone, we beg. You have mooched off us, and it's choking."
She said pleadingly, her voice breaking. Joy dropped her phone to the ground, perfectly positioned to capture her and Onyinye kneeling, hands clasped, tears in their eyes, begging Amy to leave. The scene was a theatrical masterpiece, and comments flooded in, painting Amy as the villain.
Before Amy could react, a group of women stormed in, pelting her with stones and sand, their faces contorted with rage.
"You homewrecker! Leave our husbands alone!" one cried.
"You made my husband waste my children's school fees on you!" another shouted.
"My own husband brought this witch into our bed!"
Amy staggered back, horrified. "I don't even know you people!"
But they didn't stop. Their accusations grew louder, crueler, each word cutting deeper than the stones. Passersby gathered, watching without lifting a hand to help. They turned on her, a mob of manufactured rage. They kicked and shoved her, their insults a constant barrage. Amy, bleeding and bruised, her face swollen, managed to get to her car. She looked at Amara, who was snickering, her eyes filled with cruel satisfaction, mouthing the words: You shouldn't have done that.
Amy understood then. This was no accident. It was a trap.
She stumbled into her car, the mob pounding on the windows as she fumbled with the keys. The engine roared to life, and she sped off, heart hammering.
She needed to get to her husband. She needed to explain. But the more she thought about the scene, the more her vision blurred with tears that clouded the road. Her swollen eye left her half-blind. Thoughts of her babies gnawed at her mind—sick, helpless, alone.
A blaring horn jolted her. A black sedan shot past. She swerved, tires screeching, but her hands slipped. The car veered off, spinning out of control.
The world flipped.
Once. Twice. Five times.
Metal screamed against asphalt. Glass shattered like rain. The door tore off, flung onto the road. Then—impact. The car wrapped around a tree, flames licking at its edges.
Amy was thrown out, her body hitting the ground with a sickening thud. Pain exploded everywhere. Blood pooled beneath her. She tried to move—nothing. Her chest heaved, each breath sharp and shallow.
Darkness crept at the edges of her vision. She thought she saw a shadow moving closer. Her lips parted.
"Please… please help," she whispered. "I don't want to die here. Jayden… Jessi…"
Her tears mingled with blood.
The world dimmed. The sound of birds grew faint. Her eyes fluttered shut.
Jessi, Jayden… Mommy is sorry she couldn't stay with you till the end.
Her last thought, a silent plea for forgiveness, as darkness consumed her.