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Terra sat in the police van with her wrists cuffed, heart pounding so loud she could barely hear the officers talking in front.
Her mind wasn’t in that van.
It was upstairs, in that small back room… with the woman everyone called Màd and the child she had risked everything to protect.
In the house, the woman with tangled hair and trembling hands held the phone so tightly it shook.
“Please,” she begged the lawyer through the receiver, her voice breaking, “I want you to start the case immediately. Terra has just been arrésted… and Eunice has been taken away from me. Please… I’m hopeless at this point.”
“Calm down, ma’am,” the lawyer replied. “I told you this day would come. Once he finds her, he will try to flip the story. But this time, he won’t be the only one talking. I’ll file the case today. You must stay hidden. Do not let anyone know you are alive until the judge calls you. Do you understand?”
Tears rolled down her cheeks as she whispered:
“Yes. But my daughter…”
“Your daughter,” the lawyer said firmly, “needs you alive and free. Not in jail. Hold on a little longer. I promise you, this time, the truth will not die.”
The line went dead.
The Màd woman—Ana—closed her eyes and pressed the phone to her chest.
Her whole body shook.
Downstairs, the house was eerily quiet.
Except for one sound: the echo of Eunice’s last words.
“He mustn’t find out that you’re still alive after he made attempt to kiII you 9 years ago…”
1. Interrogation
At the police station, Terra sat under harsh white lights in a small room that smelled of coffee and metal.
Across from her, an officer dropped a file onto the table.
“Miss Terra Osayemi,” he said, “you are being detained for suspected kidnapping and harboring a minor without consent of her legal guardian.”
Terra lifted her chin.
“I did not kidnap Eunice. She came willingly. And if you really want to talk about ‘legal guardian’…” She let out a bitter laugh. “Then you better look at the man who tried to murder her mother.”
The officer’s pen froze mid-air.
“Excuse me?”
“Her father,” Terra said slowly. “Nine years ago. He tried to kill his wife and erased her existence. Ask him where Eunice’s mother is. Ask him why he told the girl her mother was dead.”
The officer exchanged glances with his colleague on the other side of the mirror.
“Do you have proof?” he asked.
Terra’s eyes burned.
“Yes. I have proof. And so does her mother’s lawyer. Call him. His name is Barrister Adewale Ojo. Check your system—there is already a petition filed in Eunice’s name.”
The officer tapped the keyboard, frowning as he searched.
After a few seconds, his eyes widened.
A file flashed on the screen: “CRIMINAL PETITION: ATTEMPTED MURDER, CHILD ENDANGERMENT, FORGERY OF DEATH CERTIFICATE.”
Filed… just two hours earlier.
2. Eunice’s New Prison
Eunice sat in the backseat of her Dad’s SUV, hugging her schoolbag like a shield.
Her father kept glancing at her in the rearview mirror, forcing a smile that never reached his eyes.
“You see?” he said. “I told you that wicked woman would get arrésted one day. You should have listened to me. You don’t know what you escaped from. She’s dangerous.”
Eunice stared at her hands.
Her heart felt like it had been cut into little pieces.
“Dad…” she whispered, “Terra is not wicked. She took care of me. She—”
“Shut up!” he snapped, then quickly softened his voice when he realized how loud it sounded. “I mean… you’re confused, Eunice. You’re still a child. You don’t know what is good for you yet. That woman—”
“She’s my friend,” Eunice blurted out. “And you don’t even know her.”
He slammed his hand against the steering wheel.
“I know enough! You think I don’t know the kind of women who hide children? Do you know what they do to them? How they brainwash them? That woman… and that Màd woman she kept…”
Eunice’s throat tightened.
If he ever discovered that the Màd woman was actually her mother…
If he ever discovered she was alive…
She swallowed back tears and turned her face to the window.
Outside, the city blurred into smudges of grey and red.
Inside, her mind raced.
I promised Mum I would come back. I promised I’d protect her. I can’t break that promise. I won’t…
3. The Màd Woman’s Memories
Back in the house, Ana sat on the floor with her back against the wall.
The room felt smaller without Eunice’s presence.
Her laughter, her questions, her endless “Mummy, tell me again…”
Ana looked at the mirror on the wall.
The woman staring back at her looked older than her years: hollow eyes, sunken cheeks, hair like a wild storm.
For nine years, everyone had called her mad.
They didn’t know that madness had started one rainy night… in her own living room.
She could still hear his voice, dripping with poison.
“You are nothing without me, Ana. You think you can take my daughter away? You think you can leave?”
She’d begged him to stop.
Begged him to let her go.
Begged him not to shout in front of baby Eunice, who had been just a few months old.
He’d smiled.
A smile she would never forget.
Then he pushed her down the stairway.
Bones shattered.
Blood everywhere.
Her head cracked against the edge of the last step.
She remembered the cold.
The darkness.
The lingering smell of his perfume as he walked away.
When she woke up days later in a strange, hidden clinic, Terra was there.
The only friend who’d believed her when she said, “He will kill me if he knows I’m alive.”
So Terra smuggled her out.
Faked her death.
Burned the records.
And for nine years they hid and waited, trying to find a lawyer brave enough to take on a man like him.
Now… it was no longer just about her.
Now it was about Eunice.
4. Terra’s Stand
“Miss Terra,” the officer said, closing the file. “We have verified that there is indeed an open petition accusing Mr. Kelvin Adeoye — Eunice’s father — of attempted murder and forgery. Why didn’t you come to the police earlier?”
Terra exhaled slowly.
“Because the last time Ana tried to go to the police, your colleague laughed in her face. He told her ‘No woman survives that kind of fall’ and that she must be ‘confused’.” Her voice shook with anger. “Because Kelvin has money. Because Kelvin has reputation. Because Kelvin knows how to make evidence disappear.”
The officer looked uncomfortable.
“With all due respect, madam, things are different now. We have to investigate all claims, especially when a child is involved.”
Terra leaned forward, eyes blazing.
“Then investigate him. Check the hospital records from nine years ago. Check his insurance claims. Check the death certificate he produced without a body. Check the clinic on Old Bridge Road where Ana was treated secretly and discharged under a fake name. Talk to Dr. Musa. He signed it.”
He scribbled furiously.
“And what about the ‘Màd woman’ everyone keeps mentioning?” the officer asked. “Where is she now?”
Terra stared straight at him.
“Alive,” she said. “And for the first time… ready to speak.”
5. The Lawyer Moves
At exactly 4:15 p.m., Barrister Adewale walked into the station like he owned the building.
Black suit. Calm face. Eyes like steel.
“I am the legal representative of Ms. Ana Adeoye and Miss Terra Osayemi,” he announced.
The officer in charge nodded quickly. He had already seen the petition, the attached documents, the medical reports. This wasn’t a social media rumor. This was serious.
“Sir, we were just about to—”
“You were about to charge my client with kidnapping,” Adewale cut in, “while the real criminal walks freely and continues to endanger a child he almost orphaned.”
The room fell silent.
Adewale placed a thick folder on the table.
“In here,” he said, tapping the file, “you will find:
Statements from Dr. Musa and the clinic staff who treated Ana after her ‘death.’
Copies of bank transfers from Kelvin to a private investigator who was ordered to ‘confirm the corpse was burned.’
Audio recordings from a conversation Kelvin had last year with a friend, bragging that he ‘got away with it.’”
The officer’s eyes grew wide.
“And,” Adewale added, “a statement from a certain shop owner… Mummy Victoria… who has seen him threaten his daughter in public more than once.”
The officer sat up straighter.
“Barrister… what do you want us to do?”
Adewale smiled faintly.
“What the law should have done nine years ago,” he said. “Protect the victim. And this time, the victim is not only Ana. It’s Eunice.”
6. A Home That Isn’t a Home
At Kelvin’s house, the walls were white and cold.
Everything was neat, expensive, lifeless.
Eunice sat on the edge of her bed, clutching the teddy bear Terra had bought her last Christmas.
Her father walked in without knocking.
“You’re grounded,” he declared. “No TV, no visiting friends, no phone. Do you hear me?”
She nodded silently.
He paced across the room.
“That woman is going to jaiI for what she did,” he continued. “She corrupted you. She made you disrespect your own father. Thank God Mummy Victoria recognized you, or who knows what they would have done to you there.”
Eunice stared at him.
A question bubbled up from somewhere deep inside — a question she’d never dared to ask.
“Dad… why did you tell me Mum was dead?”
Kelvin froze.
For a second, his mask slipped.
“Because she is dead,” he snapped. “You think I’d lie to you about something like that?”
Eunice’s heart slammed against her ribs.
“If she’s dead,” she whispered, “why did I hear you say you wanted her gone forever… that night when you thought I was asleep?”
His eyes narrowed.
“What did you just say?”
She swallowed hard.
“And if she’s dead… why does it feel like she’s still somewhere… waiting for me?”
Kelvin gritted his teeth.
“You are my child,” he hissed. “You will not question me.”
He stormed out, slamming the door.
Eunice curled up on the bed, tears sliding silently down her face.
If Mum is alive, she thought, please… please stay safe. I’ll find a way. I promise.
7. The Summons
Two days later, a court summons was delivered.
Kelvin stared at the document with disbelief.
“CRIMINAL CASE: STATE VS. KELVIN ADEOYE
Counts: Attempted murder, forgery, child endangerment, obstruction of justice.
Witnesses: Terra Osayemi, Dr. Musa, Mummy Victoria… and Ana Adeoye.”
His blood ran cold.
Ana.
Her name.
In black ink, official, undeniable.
He laughed nervously.
“This is a joke,” he muttered. “She’s dead. She’s been dead for nine years.”
But somewhere deep inside, a chill crawled up his spine.
Because if she was alive…
If she stepped into that courtroom…
Everything he’d built could fall apart in a single day.
And for the first time in a long time, Kelvin was afraid.
8. The Courtroom
The courthouse was packed.
Journalists. Curious neighbors. People who loved drama. People who loved justice.
Eunice sat on the front bench with a social worker and Barrister Adewale by her side. Kelvin sat at the defendant’s table, jaw clenched, pretending to be calm.
Terra sat behind them, pale but steady.
When the judge entered, everyone rose.
“Court is now in session,” the clerk announced. “Case: The State versus Kelvin Adeoye.”
Adewale stood.
“Your Honor,” he said, “before we proceed, my client wishes to present a key witness whose ‘death’ is central to this case.”
The judge adjusted his glasses.
“Very well. Call your witness.”
Adewale turned toward the back of the courtroom.
“The prosecution calls… Ms. Ana Adeoye.”
The room gasped.
For a second, nothing happened.
Then the doors at the back of the courtroom opened.
And a woman walked in.
Her hair was still wild, but combed back.
Her eyes, though tired, burned with a quiet fire.
She wore a simple dress and a scarf.
Every step she took echoed like thunder in Kelvin’s skull.
He went pale.
“Ana?” he whispered.
Eunice’s heart stopped.
That face.
Those eyes.
The way her hand trembled near her chest — the same way Eunice’s did when she was scared.
It was like looking at an older version of herself.
“Your Honor,” Adewale said, “nine years ago, this woman was declared dead. Today, she stands before you… alive.”
The judge stared, stunned.
“Ms. Adeoye… can you explain to the court what happened to you?”
Ana swallowed.
Her voice shook at first.
“Nine years ago,” she said, “my husband pushed me down the stairs in our home. He thought I died.”
She looked at Kelvin. “He wanted me dead. He told me with his own mouth ‘I will erase you from this world.’”
She turned back to the judge.
“But I survived. With the help of Terra… I survived. I’ve been in hiding because he threatened to find me and finish what he started. That’s why I couldn’t come back for my daughter. Not yet. Not without protection.”
The courtroom buzzed with whispers.
Kelvin jumped up.
“Lies!” he shouted. “All lies! She’s crazy! She—”
“Sit down, Mr. Adeoye!” the judge barked. “If you speak again out of turn, I will hold you in contempt.”
Kelvin sank back into his chair, breathing hard.
“Ms. Adeoye,” the judge continued more gently, “you’re telling this court that you remained hidden all these years because you feared for your life?”
“Yes, Your Honor,” Ana said, tears spilling down her cheeks. “And for my daughter’s life. He told me if I tried to take her, he would ‘bury us both.’”
Adewale handed copies of medical reports, photos, and statements to the judge.
“Everything she says,” he said, “is backed by evidence. We are not here today with stories. We are here with proof.”
9. Eunice’s Turn
“Call the minor, Eunice Adeoye,” the judge said.
Eunice’s hands shook as she walked to the witness stand.
Barrister Adewale gave her an encouraging nod.
“Eunice,” he said gently, “do you know the difference between the truth and a lie?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Will you tell this court the truth today?”
She nodded.
“Good. Now… Eunice… can you tell us how you ended up living with Terra and the woman people call ‘the Màd woman’?”
Eunice glanced at her father, then at Ana.
Something inside her clicked.
“This woman,” Adewale said softly, pointing at Ana, “do you recognize her from anywhere? Take your time.”
Eunice looked at Ana properly.
Her heart knew before her mind could speak.
Her lips trembled.
“She… she looks like me,” Eunice whispered. “Her eyes. Her hair. Even the way she cries…”
Tears blurred her sight.
“I used to dream of a woman calling my name,” she continued. “I thought… I thought it was just imagination. But when I met her… when Terra took me to see her… I knew. I knew before they told me.”
“Knew what?” Adewale asked.
“That she was my mother,” Eunice choked out. “And that my father lied to me. He told me she was dead. He told me she left me. But she didn’t. He tried to kiII her.”
The courtroom went silent.
Even the judge looked shaken.
Kelvin slammed his fist on the table.
“She’s a brainwashed child!” he shouted. “She’s been poisoned against me—”
“Enough!” the judge roared.
Eunice wiped her cheeks.
“I am not brainwashed,” she said, voice suddenly steady. “I know who loves me. Terra loves me. Mum loves me. You…” She looked at Kelvin with a mixture of hurt and strength. “You love your image. Your respect. Your control. But you don’t love me.”
Her words hung in the air like a final verdict.
10. Judgment
The proceedings stretched for hours, then days.
Witness after witness testified.
Dr. Musa confirmed Ana’s injuries lined up with a fall consistent with a push.
Mummy Victoria testified how she’d seen Kelvin shout at Eunice in public, and how terrified the girl had looked.
Evidence of forged documents, false reports, and payoffs surfaced.
In the end, it was not one piece of proof that broke Kelvin’s case.
It was all of them together.
The judge adjusted his glasses, looking tired but resolute.
“Mr. Kelvin Adeoye,” he said, “this court finds sufficient grounds to believe you orchestrated a cover-up of your wife’s ‘death,’ endangered your child’s wellbeing, and used intimidation to control those around you.”
He paused.
“Pending full criminal trial, you are hereby remanded in custody. Custody of the minor, Eunice Adeoye, is granted temporarily to her biological mother, Ms. Ana Adeoye, under supervision of the Child Welfare Department and this court.”
Gasps.
Murmurs.
A small, choked sob from somewhere in the front row.
Ana.
She brought her hand to her mouth, shaking.
Tears streamed down her face.
Eunice didn’t wait for permission.
She ran to her.
The officers didn’t stop her.
She threw herself into Ana’s arms, and for the first time in nine years, mother and daughter held each other without fear.
“I told you I’d come back,” Eunice sobbed. “I told you. I promised.”
Ana buried her face in her daughter’s hair.
“And I never stopped waiting,” she whispered. “Not for one second.”
11. After the Storm
Weeks later, the small safe house where Ana stayed with Eunice and Terra smelled of real food, real laughter, real life.
Ana was in therapy.
Eunice was enrolled in a new school under court protection.
Kelvin awaited his full trial, his name no longer a shield.
One evening, Eunice sat next to her mother on the small worn-out couch.
“Mum?” she asked softly.
“Yes, baby?”
“Are you still… mad?”
Ana smiled sadly.
“Sometimes,” she said. “Sometimes my mind gets loud. Sometimes my memories scream. But now… I have medicine. I have help. I have Terra. And I have you.” She cupped Eunice’s face. “So no… I am not ‘mad.’ I am healing.”
Eunice leaned her head on her shoulder.
“I used to think being emotional was a weakness,” Eunice said quietly. “Dad always told me to stop crying. But… you cry a lot too.”
Ana chuckled through her tears.
“Yes. We cry. We feel. That’s not weakness, Eunice. That’s our proof that we survived.”
Terra poked her head from the kitchen.
“Hey, you two,” she said. “Dinner is ready. And after that, we’re practicing for your testimony next week. The judge wants to know how you’re doing.”
Eunice groaned.
“More talking?”
Terra smiled.
“More truth.”
Eunice stood up and took both their hands.
For years, she had been the invisible girl in a house where her value was measured by what she did for others.
Now… she was just Eunice:
daughter, survivor, witness, and the bridge between a past full of shadows and a future filled with light.
As they sat at the small dining table — three plates, three hearts stitched together by pain and courage — Eunice realized something:
Her family had not been destroyed.
It had been reborn.
And this time, no one would ever lock them away again.