“Follow her discreetly. Don’t let her see you. I want to know where she lives.”
The driver nodded and got out of the SUV.
Mika waited one minute. Five. Ten.
Then the driver returned, shaking his head.
“She’s gone.”
“Gone? How gone?”
“She turned into an alley near the fabric stalls and disappeared. I searched everywhere. She’s fast.”
Mika leaned back against the seat, his eyes fixed on the crowd, his mind racing.
That little girl was no ordinary child. She had vanished like a shadow, leaving behind only questions—and a necklace that belonged to him.
Mika did not sleep that night.
The image of the little girl, her worn school uniform, the necklace, the absent father—it all haunted him.
The next morning, he came back, but this time with his hands full.
He had brought a small bag. Inside were schoolbooks, beautiful black shoes, a teddy bear, a lunch box, and two illustrated storybooks.
He found Hope in the same place, holding her tray of yams.
As always, when she saw him, her eyes narrowed.
“You came back.”
“I told you, I’m not a bad man.”
He gently placed the bag in front of her.
“What is it?” she asked suspiciously.
“Open it,” he said softly.
She peeked inside and let out a cry of surprise.
Books. Shoes. A teddy bear. Everything new and shining.
Her suspicion softened.
“Is this really for me?”
Mika nodded.
“If you’ll accept it.”
“Yes.”
She looked down, then up at him again.
“If you’re not bad, I’ll take you to see my mommy. But no lies. If you lie, I’ll never talk to you again.”
He smiled.
“Okay.”
They walked in silence along winding paths until they reached a small, ruined hut at the edge of the village. The walls were cracked, the roof patched with rusted metal sheets and old fabric.
Hope knocked gently.
“Mommy, someone came.”
The wooden door creaked open.
A tired woman stood there, her skin pale with fever, her eyes half-closed—until they met Mika’s.
She froze.
He looked at her.
Something passed through her eyes.
Something from another time.
The woman at the door did not speak. Her hand trembled against the frame. Her breathing quickened.
Fever, or fear?
Mika did not know.
He took a step forward.
“You must be her mother. I’m Mika.”
She cut him off with one word.
“Grace.”
He blinked.
“Sorry?”
“My name is Grace,” she said in a dry, weak voice. “Not just her mother.”
Mika nodded, polite, but still wondering why she was looking at him like she had seen a ghost.
But for Grace, it was no ghost.
It was him.
Flashback.
Seven years earlier.
A small city club. Loud music. Dim lights.
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