All night, Mama Ifeoma kept wet cloths on Enkiru’s forehead. The young clinic assistant, Toby, came before sunrise and examined her carefully. He noticed her fever, dehydration, malnutrition, and the strange stiffness in her stomach.
“This is more than exhaustion,” he said quietly.
“Say it clearly,” Mama Ifeoma ordered.
Toby hesitated. “It looks like her body has been weakened over time. Maybe by wrong medication. Maybe medication given too often.”
Kunle frowned from the doorway. “You mean poison?”
Toby looked at Enkiru. “Sometimes poison comes in a bottle with a neat label.”
By noon, the village had already invented its own stories. Some said she was cursed. Some said she had run from home. Some said abandoned wives brought trouble. Mama Ifeoma chased every curious mouth away.
When Enkiru finally woke properly, her eyes searched the room in panic.
“You are safe,” Mama Ifeoma said.
But Enkiru did not know how to believe that anymore.
“My bag,” she whispered. “My papers…”
“Your husband is not here.”
Instead of looking relieved, Enkiru looked terrified.
Mama Ifeoma sat beside her. “What is your name?”
The woman took a long time to answer, as if searching for herself beneath all the pain.
“Enkiru.”
“Good. Enkiru, no one here will touch you without your permission. No one will send you away. But if we are to help you, you must tell us what happened.”
For a long moment, only the dripping roof spoke.
