At the Badu house, the pressure became unbearable. Wages were withheld again. Madame Badu called her into the living room.
“You’ve been distracted,” she said coolly. “People like you should focus on gratitude, not ambition.”
Tenna swallowed. “Madam, I just want what I’m owed.”
Sirwa laughed. “Listen to her, as if we owe her anything.”
That night Tenna left trembling with anger she had no place to put. She walked until her feet hurt, until the city blurred into sound and light.
She found herself at the church again.
Kofi was there, standing this time like he’d been waiting.
“They’re going to fire me,” Tenna said. “Or worse.”
Kofi’s jaw tightened. “They won’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I know people,” he replied. “And I know when power is being abused.”
Tenna stared at him. “What are you suggesting?”
Kofi hesitated—truly hesitated—for the first time.
“I can help,” he said. “But it would change how people see you.”
“They already don’t see me,” Tenna said bitterly.
Kofi exhaled slowly. “Then maybe that’s the problem.”
Tenna searched his face, trying to reconcile the pieces that didn’t fit.
“Who are you really?” she asked.
Kofi looked away, eyes fixed on the church doors. “Someone who learned too late that hiding doesn’t make you safe.”
That night Tenna lay awake, staring at the ceiling of her small room behind the main house, replaying every word, every look. Something was unfolding around her—something bigger than her job, bigger than her fear.
And for the first time in a long while, she knew with certainty:
Staying invisible was no longer an option.
The morning the accusation came, Tenna was scrubbing marble stairs when Madame Badu’s scream split the house.
“My bracelet! The gold one—it’s gone!”
Sirwa’s eyes flicked to Tenna like a verdict already reached.
“Check her bag,” Sirwa snapped.
Tenna straightened slowly. “Please. I would never.”
Security men stepped forward. Her bag was emptied onto the floor—soap, a worn notebook, her phone, a folded photo of her brother.
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