Chapter 1
🍀The Things She Takes
The first thing Diekolaoluwa Akinwale stole that morning was a gold bracelet.
She didn’t want it.
That was the part she hated most.
She stood behind the counter of her boutique in Lagos, staring at the bracelet resting inside her palm.
It belonged to one of her customers.
A delicate piece.
Thin gold chain. Tiny beads. A small pendant shaped like a leaf.
Dieko knew exactly where it had come from.
Mrs. Adebisi had left it behind when she came to pick up an order two days earlier.
Dieko had found it beneath the fitting-room chair.
She had meant to keep it safely until the woman returned.
Instead, she had slipped it into her handbag.
Now it was back in her hand.
She didn’t remember taking it out.
Dieko slowly closed her fingers around it.
“No.”
Her voice came out barely above a whisper.
She opened her palm again.
The bracelet was still there.
Her heart began beating faster.
“Not again.”
She looked toward the glass entrance of the boutique.
Empty.
Her employees were in the back room arranging new stock.
Nobody had seen her.
Good.
Or perhaps that was worse.
Dieko pushed the bracelet into the drawer beneath the counter and locked it.
Then she stepped back.
She pressed both hands against her waist.
Breathe.
She had learned to do that.
Breathe.
Count.
Think.
Remind yourself that you are not a bad person.
She had told herself those words so many times they had begun to sound like lies.
The bell above the door rang.
Dieko immediately straightened.
“Good morning, ma.”
Her employee, Sade, walked in carrying two shopping bags.
“Morning, madam.”
“Morning.”
Sade glanced at her.
“You okay?”
Dieko smiled.
“I’m fine.”
Sade nodded and walked toward the stockroom.
Dieko waited until she disappeared.
Then she opened the drawer again.
She stared at the bracelet.
She could return it.
Of course she could.
She picked it up.
Her fingers trembled.
Something inside her whispered:
Keep it.
Dieko squeezed her eyes shut.
“No.”
She placed it back.
Keep it.
“Stop.”
She shut the drawer.
This time, she walked away.
By noon, Dieko had convinced herself she was fine.
Her boutique was busy.
Customers came and went.
Orders were processed.
Her phone rang constantly.
This was the life she had built for herself.
At twenty-nine, Dieko owned a successful fashion and lifestyle business in Lagos.
It hadn’t been easy.
She had started small.
One sewing machine.
A rented space.
A few loyal customers.
Now she had employees, suppliers, regular clients and a business name people recognized.
Everyone thought she was doing well.
And she was.
At least on paper.
Her phone vibrated.
She glanced at the screen.
Mum.
Dieko sighed before answering.
“Hello, Mum.”
“My daughter.”
The warmth in her mother’s voice softened her immediately.
“How are you?”
“I’m fine.”
“Are you eating?”
Dieko smiled.
“Mum, I’m twenty-nine.”
“And?”
“I can take care of myself.”
“You’ve been saying that since you were seventeen.”
Dieko laughed.
Then her mother’s voice changed.
“Your father wants you to come home.”
The smile disappeared.
“Home?”
“For the festival.”
Dieko looked through the glass window at the traffic outside.
“When?”
“Next week.”
“Mum…”
“Don’t start.”
“I have work.”
“You always have work.”
“I can’t just leave Lagos whenever Daddy says so.”
There was a pause.
Then her mother said quietly,
“You haven’t come home properly in almost three years.”
Dieko looked down.
She had no answer.
“You’re his only daughter,” her mother continued. “Come home, Dieko.”
Only daughter.
The words landed differently.
She was the only girl among four children.
Three brothers.
Three men who had spent their entire childhood treating her like both their little sister and their personal responsibility.
Sometimes it suffocated her.
Sometimes she missed it.
She rubbed her forehead.
“How long?”
“Just for the festivities.”
“Three days.”
“Five.”
“Mum.”
“Five.”
Dieko sighed.
“Fine.”
Her mother’s voice immediately brightened.
“Good girl.”
“I’m coming because I want to see you.”
“Yes, yes.”
“And not because Daddy ordered me.”
“Of course.”
“Mum?”
“Yes?”
“Is everything okay?”
Another pause.
Too long.
Dieko frowned.
“Mum?”
“Everything is fine.”
Something about the way she said it made Dieko uneasy.
Then her mother added:
“Just come home.”
The call ended.
Dieko stared at the phone.
She didn’t know why.
But suddenly, the bracelet in the drawer felt heavier.
That evening, Dieko stood alone in her office.
The boutique had closed.
The lights outside had dimmed.
She opened the drawer.
The bracelet was still there.
She picked it up.
Then she did something she had promised herself she would never do again.
She put it inside her handbag.
Her breathing stopped.
She stared at the bag.
“Why?”
No answer.
Only the hum of the air conditioner.
Dieko sat down.
For a moment, she felt very tired.
Not physically.
Something deeper.
She had spent years trying to understand herself.
Doctors had asked questions.
Therapists had asked questions.
She had searched online at two in the morning.
She had made rules.
Never carry large handbags.
Never stay alone around valuables.
Never visit someone without knowing where you placed your hands.
Never touch anything unnecessarily.
She had even stopped wearing jewellery because she was afraid she’d start taking someone else’s.
And still—
her hands betrayed her.
She looked at the bracelet again.
“I don’t want you.”
Her voice cracked.
“I don’t want any of this.”
She removed it from her bag.
Placed it on the desk.
Then walked away.
She didn’t look back.
That night, Dieko barely slept.
She dreamed of red earth.
A narrow path.
Tall trees moving in the wind.
And a woman standing at the end of the road.
The woman wore old-fashioned clothing.
Her face was difficult to see.
But her eyes—
Dieko could see those clearly.
They were fixed on her.
Waiting.
Dieko tried to move.
She couldn’t.
The woman raised one hand.
In her palm was something small.
Metallic.
Shining.
Dieko reached for it.
The woman smiled.
Then whispered something Dieko couldn’t understand.
Dieko woke up suddenly.
She sat upright.
Her room was dark.
Her heart hammered against her ribs.
She switched on the bedside lamp.
Nothing.
Just her bedroom.
Her handbag sat on the chair.
Her clothes lay across the couch.
Everything was normal.
Dieko exhaled.
Then she noticed something on her bedside table.
Her gold bracelet.
The same bracelet she had left inside the locked drawer at work.
She stared at it.
For several seconds, she couldn’t breathe.
She reached toward it.
Stopped.
Her phone rang.
She nearly screamed.
“Mum?”
Her mother’s voice came through.
“Dieko.”
“Yes?”
“Don’t forget.”
“Forget what?”
A pause.
Then:
“Your journey home.”
The call ended.
Dieko looked at the bracelet.
Outside her window, Lagos continued to move.
Cars.
Voices.
Music.
Life.
But somewhere far away, beyond the noise of the city, something ancient had begun to remember her name.
And for the first time in years—
Dieko felt afraid to go home.
