In her name

Eighteen years ago, the streets of Bakana were not kind to the weak. The sun had barely begun its descent when Abike, just twenty-one and on her way to her mother's shop, caught sight of a tiny, helpless figure. A wailing infant, no older than a month, lay abandoned on the cold, cracked pavement, her little body curled into itself for warmth. The sight of her struck Abike in the chest, a sharp pang of sorrow cutting through the rhythms of her otherwise quiet evening. Abike hesitated for a moment, her heart pounding, and her feet reluctant to move.

She had so many reasons not to get involved, what if the child was cursed, abandoned by someone with ill intent, or worse, what if it was some kind of cruel trick? But those thoughts faded as quickly as they came, replaced by a gnawing instinct. The baby was alone, and that was enough for Abike to throw caution to the wind. Without thinking, she bent down, scooping the small child into her arms. The infant's cries stopped as soon as she was lifted, perhaps comforted by the warmth of a stranger's embrace. Abike's heart swelled, but fear laced every movement. She didn't know whose baby this was, why she was left there, or what could happen next. But she couldn't leave her there. Cradling the child against her chest, Abike walked briskly to her mother's shop, her thoughts running wild. What would her mother say? Her heart raced in anticipation. When Abike finally reached the shop, she could see her mother sitting in the back, a stern, composed figure, surrounded by the scent of freshly cut fabric and the low hum of a sewing machine. The door creaked open as Abike stepped inside, the quiet tinkling of the bell above the door matching the uneasy thrum in her chest. Her mother didn't look up immediately. Abike's footsteps were soft, deliberate, as she moved closer, the baby still nestled in her arms. It wasn't until Abike stood right in front of her that her mother's gaze shifted. Her expression was unreadable as she looked at the child in her daughter's arms. She didn't say a word at first, her lips pressing into a tight line, her brow furrowing as her eyes scanned the infant's face. "Abike," her mother finally spoke, her voice low and steady, the question in her tone unmistakable, "Who is this?" Abike felt her heart drop at the question. She had known it was coming. Her mother, practical and rooted in tradition, would never understand her decision to bring an unknown child into their lives. What if this was bad luck? What if the child carried an evil spirit? Abike could already hear the objections forming in her mother's mind, she could feel the disapproval hanging thick in the air. Swallowing her nerves, Abike held the child closer, taking a deep breath. "I found her, Mama. She was all alone, crying on the street. I couldn't just leave her there. She needs someone." Her mother's expression softened for a brief moment, a flicker of empathy in her eyes, but it was quickly replaced with concern. She didn't speak right away, clearly torn. "I understand, Abike," her mother replied, her voice tired. "But we can't keep her. What if she's... what if she's trouble? We don't know who she is or where she came from." Abike's heart ached at her words, but she wasn't backing down. She couldn't. The baby in her arms was real. She was alive. She deserved a chance. "I won't leave her," Abike whispered, her voice firm despite the knot in her stomach. "I can't just walk away from her, Mama." Her mother stood from the sewing machine, letting out a heavy sigh. She paused for a moment, then shook her head, as if deciding that this was not a fight she could win. "Fine," she said softly, "but we'll take her to the orphanage. It's the only right thing to do. We can't keep her here, Abike." Reluctantly, Abike's mother began to gather her purse and prepare to leave. As she moved, Abike's heart broke. She knew her mother was only trying to protect her from something she didn't understand. But she also knew that she couldn't just walk away from this child who had already wormed her way into her heart. "Please, Mama... can I go with you?" Abike asked, the words tumbling out before she could stop them. She had to be there. She couldn't stand the thought of the baby being left in the hands of strangers without some comfort. Her mother hesitated, her expression unreadable. After a long pause, she finally nodded, though it was clear she wasn't thrilled about the situation. "Fine. You can come with me. But we're not keeping her, Abike. This is the only choice we have." Abike's heart fluttered with a bittersweet mix of relief and sadness. At least she would be there for the baby. At least she could make sure she was safe. The two of them set out for the orphanage, walking the familiar streets, their quiet footsteps echoing in the dusk. Abike glanced down at the baby in her arms, who had quieted, her tiny hands curled into fists. Despite her fear and uncertainty, Abike's heart swelled with an inexplicable warmth. When they arrived at the orphanage, the air was heavy with the sense of finality. Mrs. Chinasa, the matron in charge of the orphanage, greeted them at the door, her face full of understanding but also concern. Abike's mother explained the situation, her voice steady, though there was a clear undercurrent of worry. She spoke about how they couldn't just leave Darego abandoned in the street that they had no idea who she was, but that they knew she couldn't be left to fend for herself. Mrs. Chinasa listened intently, nodding her head in quiet understanding, before thanking Abike and her mother for their compassion. Mrs. Chinasa nodded solemnly. "It's good that you brought her here," she said, her voice kind her voice warm but tempered with the weight of years spent working in the orphanage. "There's always a place here for children in need." "We'll make sure she's well taken care of." As Abike handed the baby over to Mrs. Chinasa, she felt a sense of loss she hadn't expected. The little girl's tiny face seemed to trust her, even as she was passed into the care of a stranger. It was as if the baby knew Abike had done her best, had cared for her even if it was only for a brief moment in time. Before leaving, Abike turned to Mrs. Chinasa. "I want to name her," Abike said softly, her voice trembling with emotion. Her mother turned, surprised by the quiet intensity in her daughter's words. "You want to name her?" her mother asked, her tone a mixture of surprise and curiosity. Abike nodded, tears welling up in her eyes. "I've always loved the name Darego," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "It means 'the one who brings joy.' She deserves that. She deserves to have a name, even if no one else in the world knows her story." Mrs. Chinasa nodded, understanding the sentiment, and accepted the name without hesitation. "Darego," she repeated, a soft smile on her lips. "A good name for her." Abike felt a sense of peace wash over her. In that moment, it felt right. The name was hers, and Abike would carry the memory of that tiny face with her, no matter where life took her. She said her goodbyes and, with one last look at the orphanage, turned to leave. Her mother didn't speak, but Abike could feel the weight of the silent understanding between them. "I'll come back for her," Abike promised herself quietly, though she wasn't sure if that promise could ever be kept. The next week, Abike returned to the orphanage, unable to shake the thought of Darego. She had spent every waking moment thinking about her, wondering how she was doing, whether she was being taken care of. Her heart had never been more conflicted. On the one hand, she knew she couldn't keep her. She didn't have the means to care for a child, and the world was a dangerous place. But on the other hand, the thought of leaving Darego in the orphanage, alone, broke her heart. Abike carried with her a small bag of supplies, diapers, powdered milk, and a small blanket she had sewn herself. It wasn't much, but it felt like something she could offer. As she approached the doorstep of the orphanage, Mrs. Chinasa appeared in the doorway, her expression a mixture of surprise and warmth when she saw Abike. "Well, look who's come to visit," Mrs. Chinasa said with a smile. Abike felt a rush of relief flood through her. Mrs. Chinasa's kindness, her genuine care for the children, had always been a comfort, and she could see that she was truly happy to see her. "I brought some things for Darego," Abike said, holding out the bag of supplies. "I just wanted to check on her." Mrs. Chinasa nodded, signaling to a young woman nearby to bring Darego. Abike's heart fluttered at the thought of holding the baby again, and she didn't try to hide the joy that filled her chest when Darego was brought into her arms. Darego was small, her face soft with sleep, but she stirred slightly when Abike held her close. Abike adjusted her in her arms, careful not to disturb her, and looked down at the innocent face before her. For a moment, all the noise of the world around her disappeared. It was just her and Darego, two souls connected by fate, a bond stronger than anything she could explain. She stayed with Darego for a while, cradling her in her arms, knowing full well that this might be the last time. The orphanage was a safe place, but it was also a place where children often ended up forgotten, lost in the shuffle. Abike refused to let that happen to her. When it was time to leave, Abike placed Darego back in Mrs. Chinasa's arms, reluctant to say goodbye. "Take care of her," she said, her voice barely audible. Mrs. Chinasa gave her a reassuring smile. "We will," she said, "She's in good hands." Abike's visits to Darego became fewer and fewer as the years went by. At first, it was every week, but as time passed, they dwindled to once every two weeks, then once a month, until they became so rare that it seemed like the visits had stopped altogether. The truth was that Abike had been swallowed by the demands of school. She had secured admission to a prestigious university, and the weight of her studies consumed her time and energy. She had no room for anything else, every waking moment was spent buried in textbooks, attending lectures, or preparing for exams. The thought of Darego was always at the back of her mind, but it was easier to push it away, pretending that the little girl she once held in her arms was fine, that she was getting the care she needed at the orphanage. But deep down, Abike knew the truth. She hadn't seen Darego in nearly a year, and that thought gnawed at her, especially when the loneliness of her new life as a student crept in during the quiet moments. She had lost track of time, and the guilt became a constant companion. Then, four years later, Abike stood on the precipice of a new chapter in her life. She had completed her university degree and was about to embark on her National Youth Service Corps (NYSC), a milestone that would define her future. But as she stood in front of the mirror that morning, a sudden thought struck her, Darego. It had been five long years since she last saw that little girl, and the memories of their time together flooded back. The image of that tiny infant in her arms, with a face full of uncertainty, weighed heavily on her heart. It was with a mixture of anticipation and guilt that Abike made the decision to visit the orphanage. She wanted to know how Darego was doing, to see how much she had grown, and maybe, just maybe, reconnect with the little girl who had once been so much a part of her life. When she arrived at the orphanage, Mrs. Chinasa, the kind-hearted woman who had taken care of Darego, was in absolute shock. It had been years since Abike had last walked through the doors. She stared at her, blinking as if unsure whether the woman before her was real. But then, her face softened, and she rushed forward, embracing Abike with open arms. "My dear, I can't believe it's really you," Mrs. Chinasa said, her voice trembling with emotion. "It's been so long... five years. You've grown into such a beautiful young woman." Abike smiled warmly, feeling a rush of emotion herself. It felt as though no time had passed at all. Mrs. Chinasa, with her motherly presence, led Abike to the children's dormitory where Darego now lived. She asked one of the staff to bring Darego out, and Abike's heart beat faster with anticipation. When Darego came into view, Abike's heart sank. The little girl she remembered, so small, so innocent, was now a sprightly five-year-old, with big brown eyes that searched Abike's face in confusion. "Darego," Abike whispered softly, crouching down to her level. She stretched her arms out, hoping for some recognition. "It's me. Abike." But Darego, staring up at her, looked lost. She blinked several times, then tilted her head. It was as if the years that had passed between them had erased the bond they once shared. The little girl's face was filled with curiosity, but there was no spark of recognition. Abike's heart cracked a little, but she wasn't about to give up. She pulled Darego into her arms, holding her tightly against her chest. "It's okay, darling," she whispered. "I'm still here." Mrs. Chinasa watched quietly, her eyes soft with understanding. She knew the pain of separation all too well. As Abike reintroduced herself to Darego, telling her about the day they first met, the weight of the moment hung in the air, heavy with all the unspoken years. The two women sat down together, catching up on their lives as the evening wore on. Mrs. Chinasa asked Abike about her future, her plans, and whether she had settled down yet. Abike smiled softly, shaking her head. "No, not yet. I'm still focused on my future. There's time for all that later," she said, though her words carried a hint of longing, as if the idea of starting a family of her own was far from her reach. As the sun began to set, casting long shadows over the orphanage grounds, Abike stood up to leave. She kissed Darego on the forehead, her heart heavy with the realization that so much time had passed, and so much had changed. But there was hope in her eyes as she promised Darego, "I'll be back. I haven't forgotten you." Darego's face remained unreadable as she was handed back to Mrs. Chinasa, but there was a flicker of something in her eyes, something that made Abike believe that, in time, Darego would remember her. Later that evening, as the lights in the orphanage dimmed and the other children settled into their beds, Darego sat quietly by the window, gazing out at the darkened world. Her close friend, Nne, sat beside her, and the two of them watched as families came and went, adopting children, taking them away to lives they could only dream of. "Do you think someone will come for us?" Nne asked softly, her voice full of a child's innocent hope. "Maybe someone will come and take us home." Darego didn't answer at first, her mind too full of the strange woman who had appeared today, Abike. She knew she had seen her before, but the memories were foggy. The woman had called her name, held her tight, and yet, it was as if a veil had fallen over her past. "I don't know," Darego said quietly, turning her gaze back to the window. "Maybe one day." Nne nodded, but there was a sadness in her eyes. Both of them understood, in some way, that while the world outside seemed to move on, they remained here, waiting, wondering when their turn would come. When someone would look past the walls of the orphanage and see them, truly see them, and take them home. But until then, they would hold on to each other. Because, in a world where so much had been taken from them, the bond between them was the only thing they had left. Three years later, Darego was now 8 years old. She had started attending school lessons at the orphanage, and though she was a bright and curious child, there was always a lingering sense of something missing. She had grown used to the routine of orphanage life, playtime, school lessons, and the comforting presence of Mrs. Chinasa, who had become a mother figure to many of the children. But there was still a void in her heart, one she couldn't quite name. Abike had returned to town, and the day she came to visit the orphanage, Darego didn't know what to expect. She had seen her a few times over the years, but each visit left her feeling both familiar and distant. Abike was someone she recognized, but the memories of her were fuzzy, like a photograph left in the rain, the details blurred beyond recognition. Still, Darego knew in her heart that this woman had once meant something very important to her. The connection was there, but the bridge between them had been weakened by time. As Abike approached, Darego stood by the window, watching with wide eyes. She knew it was her, even though the memories of their time together were scattered like pieces of a broken puzzle. Abike's smile, the warmth in her eyes, the way she carried herself, everything about her felt like home, even if Darego couldn't fully recall why. She felt an overwhelming rush of emotion, both joy and confusion. After that visit, Abike started coming around more regularly. She'd bring little gifts for Darego, clothes, toys, or treats, and they would sit together, talking about school, the weather, or Abike's life. But each time they spoke, Darego couldn't help but wonder why she wasn't with Abike. Why didn't Abike take her home? She wanted to ask, but the question seemed too heavy, too painful to voice. So she waited, hoping that, one day, the answer would come. One afternoon, while sitting in the quiet of her room at the orphanage, Darego decided she couldn't wait any longer. She had to know. She would ask Abike the question that had been bothering her for so long. It was a simple question, but one that carried the weight of her longing, Why don't you adopt me? That day, as the sun dipped low in the sky, Darego waited anxiously for Abike's arrival. She paced around the room, glancing out the window every few minutes, hoping for the sight of Abike walking toward the orphanage gates. Her heart raced as she imagined what it would feel like to finally go home with her, to be the one she chose. It was the only thing Darego wanted in the world. Nne, her closest friend, sat beside her. Nne had always been there for Darego, her constant companion and confidante. They would play together, study together, and share secrets that only they understood. As they both watched the road outside, Nne's eyes were filled with a gentle hope, but there was a quiet sadness behind them. She knew what Darego was thinking, and she knew the question her friend was too afraid to ask. Every hour, Darego would race to Mrs. Chinasa's office, her heart pounding in her chest. "Is she here yet?" she would ask, her voice trembling with anticipation. But each time, Mrs. Chinasa would give her the same answer, an answer that crushed Darego a little more each time. "No, my dear. She isn't here yet," Mrs. Chinasa would say gently, though there was an understanding in her eyes. She knew Darego's heart was aching, knew that the question Darego wanted to ask was one that could break her young heart. But Mrs. Chinasa said nothing. She had seen this kind of longing before. The children at the orphanage often dreamed of being chosen, of finding a family to take them in, and some of them had already found their new homes. Others, like Darego, were still waiting. Two years later, Darego was now 10 years old. Her peers, the ones who had been around her age when she first arrived, were slowly leaving the orphanage, adopted by families who had come to take them in. While Darego was happy for them, she couldn't help but feel a deep sense of loss each time one of her friends was chosen. They were leaving, moving on to new lives, while she stayed behind, still waiting, and still hoping for a family to choose her. On one particularly sunny afternoon, a family came to adopt Nne. Darego knew it was coming, but it still hit her like a wave crashing against the shore. Nne had always been her closest friend, the one person who had been there through everything, the good, the bad, the moments of joy and the moments of sadness. Now, Nne was leaving, and Darego was terrified of being alone. When the family arrived, Darego ran to Nne, tears already streaming down her face. She threw her arms around her friend and held her tightly, not wanting to let go. She cried deeply, her heart aching at the thought of losing her. She had never wanted to be separated from her friend, but now, it was happening. "I don't want you to go, Nne," Darego sobbed, her voice breaking. "Please, don't leave me." Nne pulled away, gently wiping away Darego's tears. She smiled softly, though her own eyes were filled with sadness. "You can always come visit me, Darego. I'll be waiting for you." "Promise?" Darego asked, her voice trembling with the hope that Nne would keep her word. "I promise," Nne said, her voice steady despite the tears in her own eyes. "Friends forever, right?" Darego nodded, the words catching in her throat. "Friends forever." And with that, Nne was gone, leaving Darego standing there in the quiet of the orphanage, the empty space around her echoing with the weight of her loss. She watched as her friend was taken away, into a new life, a new family. And as she stood there, Darego couldn't help but wonder if her time would ever come. Would anyone ever choose her? Would she ever find a family to call her own? As she walked back to her room, Darego clutched the promise Nne had made to her tightly in her heart. She didn't know if she would ever see Nne again, but she would keep that promise. She would carry it with her, always holding on to the memory of the friend she had lost. And deep in her heart, Darego continued to hope, for a family, for love, for a place to belong. That night, Darego sat in her room all alone. The orphanage, once a place of comfort, now felt cold and empty. Nne was no longer there to keep her company, no longer there to laugh and play with her during the long afternoons. The silence was deafening. She had grown accustomed to the presence of her friend, and now that she was gone, the void in her heart felt even larger. The other children had their families or were being adopted, but Darego was still here, still waiting for something that seemed more and more unlikely. She stared at the ceiling, tears welling in her eyes. The loneliness had settled deep within her, thick and suffocating. Why doesn't anyone want me? She wondered, her mind spiraling into dark thoughts. Am I ugly? Am I possessed? Is there something wrong with me? She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to push away the painful thoughts, but they clung to her like shadows, refusing to be ignored. Is it because I'm not good enough? The question felt like an insurmountable weight on her chest. She had always tried her best to be a good child, obedient and kind, but despite that, no one had come for her. The other kids came and went, adopted into loving homes. But she? She remained, year after year, watching from the sidelines as her friends walked away with their new families. It wasn't that she wanted to resent them, but the pain of seeing others chosen while she was left behind was becoming too much to bear. She wrapped her arms around her knees, pulling them close to her chest as if trying to protect herself from the ache that threatened to swallow her whole. The night felt impossibly long. The loneliness was a constant companion now, and she had no idea how much longer she could endure it. Five years passed, and Darego was now 15 years old. She was no longer the little girl who had arrived at the orphanage, wide-eyed and full of hope. She had grown into a teenager, but the years hadn't brought her any closer to the family she longed for. She had watched as more and more children, some younger, some older, came and went, their lives shifting and changing as they found families to call their own. But Darego remained. She had become the oldest child at the orphanage, and with that title came an uncomfortable sense of embarrassment. It wasn't just that she was the oldest, but it was also the fact that she felt like she had outgrown the orphanage in a way that no one had prepared her for. The other children would call her "Aunt Darego" out of respect, but sometimes it stung to hear them say it. She wasn't ready to be anyone's aunt, she was still just a girl who needed a family of her own. Yet here she was, surrounded by younger children, none of whom knew what it felt like to wait as long as she had. One afternoon, Darego couldn't take it anymore. The burden of unanswered questions and unspoken fears had become too heavy, and she decided to go to Mrs. Chinasa. The woman who had been a mother figure to her all these years, who had comforted her, laughed with her, and guided her through the toughest times. Mrs. Chinasa had always been there, a constant presence of kindness and wisdom, but now Darego needed more than just comforting words. She found Mrs. Chinasa in her office, sorting through papers. When Mrs. Chinasa looked up and saw Darego standing there, her face softened immediately. She knew something was wrong, Darego had a way of looking at her when she needed to talk, when the weight of her heart was too much to bear. "Mrs. Chinasa," Darego began, her voice shaky, "Is there something wrong with me?" The question came out in a whisper, barely audible, but Mrs. Chinasa heard the desperation behind it. She set down the papers and looked at Darego, her eyes full of compassion. "My dear," Mrs. Chinasa said gently, walking over to her and placing a hand on her shoulder. "There is nothing wrong with you. You are perfect just as you are. Sometimes, things take time. God's timing is always the best." She smiled softly, but there was a sadness in her eyes, a deep knowing that she couldn't fully explain to the girl in front of her. "You are here for a reason, Darego. You are special, and when the right time comes, your family will find you." But Darego's heart wasn't soothed by those words. She had heard them before, year after year, and they had begun to feel like empty promises. She nodded silently, trying to hold back the tears that were threatening to spill. It wasn't that she didn't believe Mrs. Chinasa, it was just that she had waited so long, and it was hard to keep believing that someone would eventually choose her. "Mrs. Chinasa," Darego hesitated, the words coming out as a quiet plea. "Have you heard from Abike? Has she come back to adopt me yet?" The question caught Mrs. Chinasa off guard. She had seen Darego's face light up whenever Abike's name was mentioned, but she hadn't heard from Abike in years. Mrs. Chinasa hesitated, her heart aching for Darego, knowing that the truth would break her. She had seen the way Darego's face would fall whenever someone came inquiring about adopting. The girl had been waiting for Abike for so long, and now, it seemed, she was beginning to wonder if that dream would ever come true. Mrs. Chinasa looked at Darego, her eyes filled with sorrow, and for a moment, she didn't know what to say. It was clear that the girl was no longer the innocent child she once was, she was growing up, and the questions were becoming harder to ignore. "I'm sorry, Darego," Mrs. Chinasa said softly. "I haven't heard from Abike in years. I know how much you've wanted to see her again, but I can't lie to you. She hasn't come back." Darego's heart sank. She had hoped, no, believed, that Abike would come back for her. That one day, she would walk through those doors and take her hand, just like she had dreamed of all those years ago. But now, hearing the truth from Mrs. Chinasa, it felt like her last thread of hope had snapped. She turned away, blinking back tears. "I see," she whispered, her voice cracking. "I just... I just thought maybe this time would be different." Mrs. Chinasa didn't have the words to comfort her. There was nothing she could say that would make the pain go away. She simply stood beside Darego, her hand resting lightly on her shoulder. The two of them stood in silence, understanding the depth of the girl's pain without needing to say another word. Darego had been waiting for so long, and now she felt more lost than ever. She couldn't escape the feeling that she was somehow unworthy, that her dream of having a family was slipping further and further out of reach. But as she stood there, Mrs. Chinasa's words echoed in her mind, God's timing is always the best. Perhaps, one day, Darego would come to understand that timing. Perhaps, one day, her family would find her. But for now, she would have to hold on to the little hope she had left, even as the world around her seemed to spin in circles. At that age, Darego found solace in books. It was the only escape she had from the loneliness that seemed to seep into every corner of her world. The orphanage, with its crowded rooms and distant faces, could never offer her the comfort she longed for. Instead, she found herself drawn to the pages of whatever book she could get her hands on, novels, old magazines, even weathered textbooks. They were her refuge, her window to worlds beyond the cold walls of the orphanage. Sometimes, she would lose herself in the words, her mind wandering far away. On many nights, she would fall asleep with her head resting on the book, a quiet exhaustion taking over as she sought the peace in those pages. She taught herself, picking up lessons wherever she could. With no formal education, books became her teachers. Her thirst for knowledge never wavered, reading became a rhythm, a comfort. But despite the comfort of stories, an aching emptiness always gnawed at her heart. Every time she closed a book, the real world would still be there, cold and unyielding. She would often wonder if anyone would ever see her beyond the walls of the orphanage. But with every year that passed, the hope of being adopted seemed more and more distant. By the time she turned 18, she had grown used to the bitter sting of rejection. It was not just that no one came to adopt her, it was the deeper feeling that no one wanted her. Her biological parents had rejected her before she could even remember their faces, and now it seemed that no one else wanted her either. At 18, Darego had become a quiet figure in the orphanage, her spirit worn down by years of longing and unmet hope. She spent her days in the same routine, waiting for a life that seemed to never come. The other children came and went, carried away by families who loved them. But Darego remained, her heart heavy with a growing belief that she was somehow undeserving of love. What was wrong with me? She often thought, her mind spiraling. Why doesn't anyone want me? Every night, she would lie in her bed, staring up at the ceiling, tears silently falling down her face. She felt as if she was a burden to the world, like her very existence was a mistake, a negative impact on the lives of others. The thought of being unwanted had taken root deep within her. Sometimes, she would sit in her small room, alone with her thoughts, and wonder if she would ever escape this cycle of loneliness. Maybe I am just meant to be here forever, she thought. Maybe I'll never belong anywhere. And yet, no matter how deep the despair ran, Mrs. Chinasa was always there. She had become a steady presence in Darego's life, a motherly figure who never once wavered in her support. She would sit with Darego when she cried, holding her close and whispering words of comfort. But it wasn't just the comfort that kept Darego from falling apart, it was the hope Mrs. Chinasa offered. "You are not alone, Darego," Mrs. Chinasa would say, her voice warm but firm. "You have a purpose. Your life means something, even if it's hard to see right now." The older woman had a way of speaking that made Darego believe her, even when it felt impossible to understand. Purpose, it was a word that both soothed and tortured Darego at the same time. What was her purpose? How could she possibly have one when she was still stuck here, forgotten by the world? Mrs. Chinasa would always tell her, "You might not see it now, but everything happens for a reason. You are here for a purpose, and one day, you will know what it is. Just keep looking for it. Don't give up." Darego tried to hold on to them, even though it felt like she was just surviving, not living. The loneliness was unbearable at times, and the emotional weight of being passed over year after year was like a constant ache in her chest. She had learned to mask her pain with smiles, to pretend that she wasn't crushed by the indifference of the world. But inside, the longing was raw and unrelenting. But the years passed. At 19, she was still there. Still waiting. Still hoping. She picked up another book, her old comfort, and let herself get lost in the words. For a moment, she forgot about the pain. For a moment, she was reminded that there were still things to learn, still things to see, still a world out there beyond the orphanage's walls. And as she turned the pages, Darego whispered to herself, "One day, I'll find my place. One day, I'll know why I'm here." A month later, Darego stood outside Mrs. Chinasa's office. The decision had been made, and she was ready. She had spent countless nights wrestling with her fear, but now, she was sure. She had told Mrs. Chinasa that she would be leaving, and the day had finally come. As she stepped into the office, Mrs. Chinasa looked up from her desk with a gentle smile, but there was a flicker of sadness in her eyes. She had seen this coming, but that didn't make it any easier. She motioned for Darego to sit down, her voice warm but tinged with concern. "I know you've made up your mind, Darego," Mrs. Chinasa began softly, "but before you go, I need you to listen to me. The world out there... it's not always kind. People can be cruel, and it's easy to feel lost. But you, Darego, you are stronger than you think. When things get tough, and they will get tough, you can't give up. You must keep going. No matter how hard it gets, you have to push forward. Always remember, you are not defined by your past or by the challenges you face. You are defined by how you rise above them." Darego's heart swelled with emotion, her eyes filling with tears that she quickly blinked away. Mrs. Chinasa had been the only constant in her life. She had been her mother, her protector, her everything. And now, she was letting her go. The thought was almost unbearable, but Darego knew she had to take this step. The next morning, Darego stood by the door, her bags packed and ready to go. It was still early, the sun just beginning to rise, casting a soft golden light across the orphanage grounds. It felt like a dream, one that was about to end. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself, but before she could leave, Mrs. Chinasa called her into her office one last time. Darego stepped inside, her heart pounding in her chest, unsure of what to expect. Mrs. Chinasa was sitting at her desk, a serious yet caring expression on her face. She reached into her drawer and pulled out a small piece of paper, unfolding it carefully before passing it to Darego. "These are important numbers," Mrs. Chinasa said, her voice gentle but firm. "The first one is for my colleague's friend Ronke. She's looking for a housekeeper, someone reliable and hardworking. I know you've been through a lot, but she's a good woman, and she'll treat you well. The second number is for Abike, you know her from the orphanage. She's a kind woman, and she can help you too." Darego's eyes scanned the numbers on the paper, confusion creasing her brow. "Who are they?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. Mrs. Chinasa smiled faintly. "Ronke is looking for someone to help around her house, and I was going to give the job to someone else, but when you told me you were leaving, I realized it would be best for you. You'll need shelter, money... and most importantly, a place to rest your head at night. This could be your opportunity, Darego. And the number for Abike, she'll always be there for you." Darego nodded, a small weight lifting from her shoulders. But as Mrs. Chinasa spoke, she felt the lump in her throat grow, threatening to choke her. The kindness Mrs. Chinasa had shown her over the years, the care, the love, it was more than Darego had ever felt in her life. She hadn't even realized how much she had come to depend on it until now. Mrs. Chinasa handed her a piece of paper with directions written carefully in her neat handwriting. "Here are the directions to Ronke's house, from here to Port Harcourt. I don't want you to get lost. Don't forget to keep in touch with me. And don't be afraid to reach out if you need anything. I'm always here for you, Darego. Always." The tears that Darego had been fighting against finally broke free, rolling silently down her cheeks. She couldn't stop them, couldn't contain the swell of emotion that was crashing over her. Mrs. Chinasa had been her world, and now she was leaving. Darego stood there for a moment, holding the papers in her hands, feeling the weight of her future pressing down on her. She had spent so many years dreaming of leaving this place, of finding a life of her own, but now that it was finally happening, she wasn't sure she was ready. Could she make it on her own? Could she survive in a world that had always seemed so indifferent to her? But as Mrs. Chinasa got up from her desk and embraced her tightly, Darego felt a warmth she hadn't known she needed. Mrs. Chinasa's arms around her felt like home, safe, loving, and unyielding. In that moment, Darego realized that, no matter what happened, Mrs. Chinasa had given her something no one else had. Hope. A sense of worth. "I love you, Darego. You are so much more than you think you are. I believe in you," Mrs. Chinasa whispered into her ear, her voice breaking as she held her close. "I love you too," Darego choked out, her voice thick with emotion. The words didn't seem enough, but they were all she had. They pulled away from the hug, both of them wiping at their tears. Mrs. Chinasa gave her one last smile, her eyes full of love and pride. "Go now, Darego. Your life is waiting for you." With one last look at the woman who had been her rock for so many years, Darego turned and walked toward the door. Her heart was heavy, but a new sense of determination was beginning to grow inside her. This was the moment she had been waiting for, the moment when her life would truly begin. Stepping outside the orphanage gates for the first time, Darego felt the cold bite of the air against her skin. It was a strange feeling, liberation, but also fear. She was about to step into a world she had only heard about, one that seemed both thrilling and terrifying. With every step she took away from the orphanage, she felt both excited and scared. This was her first time leaving the only home she had ever known. Everything was unfamiliar. But she knew she couldn't stay behind, trapped in the shadows of her past. She had to move forward. Her future was waiting for her.