I didn’t trust him.
Not completely.
After everything I had been through, how could I?
Even when Mr. Ade gave me food… even when he spoke gently… a part of me kept whispering:
What if he’s just like them?
That night, I stayed awake.
Curled in one corner of his shop.
Watching.
Listening.
Ready to run again if I had to.
But he didn’t come near me.
He didn’t touch me.
He didn’t even try to ask more questions.
He just sat far away… like he understood.
Like he knew I needed space.
That alone confused me.
The next morning, he said something that made my heart race.
“We’re going to the police.”
I froze.
“No… no, sir,” I shook my head quickly. “They won’t help me. Nobody helps me.”
He looked at me seriously.
“Not this time.”
I wanted to believe him.
But fear had lived inside me for too long.
Still… I followed.
Because deep down, I knew I couldn’t go back.
Not anymore.
The police station was bigger than I imagined.
Strangers everywhere.
Uniforms.
Serious faces.
My hands started shaking again.
“What if they send me back?” I whispered.
Mr. Ade bent slightly and said,
“Look at me. Nobody is sending you back.”
His voice was firm.
Steady.
And somehow… it held me together.
A female officer came to us.
She didn’t rush me.
Didn’t shout.
She simply sat in front of me.
“What happened to you?” she asked.
Simple question.
But it broke me.
Everything I had been holding in…
Came out.
The words.
The pain.
The fear.
The nights I wished I could disappear.
When I finished—
The room was silent.
The officer’s jaw tightened.
“That is not culture,” she said slowly.
“That is abuse.”
I blinked.
“Abuse?” I repeated.
“Yes,” she said. “And it is a crime.”
A crime.
Not tradition.
Not something I was supposed to endure.
A crime.
For the first time in my life…
I felt seen.
By afternoon, everything changed.
Police vehicles entered my village.
Sirens loud.
Dust rising.
People gathered in confusion.
Whispers everywhere.
My parents stood outside.
Looking shocked.
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