The crowd around Zola’s house grew thicker as Mr. Wacucu stepped
forward, his presence commanding immediate attention. Cameras flashed, and
reporters jostled for the best angle, their voices overlapping in a cacophony
of questions.
“Governor Wacucu, what brings you here today?”
“Is this a campaign stop, or are you paying your respects?”
“What’s your response to the recent abductions?”
Mr. Wacucu raised a hand, silencing the reporters with practiced ease.
“Today, I am here as a father, a neighbor, and a fellow citizen,” he said, his
voice steady and sincere. “This family has suffered a great loss, and it is our
duty to stand with them in their time of need.”
Zola’s father stepped forward, his face a mixture of gratitude and
discomfort. “Thank you, Governor,” he said quietly. “Your presence means a
great deal to us.”
Herina lingered behind her father, her eyes still locked on Sani. She
tilted her head slightly, as if daring him to look away. Sani felt a chill run
down his spine. He wanted to turn to Zola, to explain, but the weight of
Herina’s gaze held him in place.
Zola, however, was no longer looking at Sani. Her attention was fixed on
Mr. Wacucu, her expression unreadable. “Why now?” she asked, her voice cutting
through the murmurs of the crowd. “Why come here when you’ve done nothing to
address the issues that plague this city? People are disappearing, and all you
care about is your campaign.”
The crowd fell silent, the tension palpable. Mr. Wacucu’s smile faltered
for a fraction of a second before he recovered. “Young lady, I understand your
pain,” he said, his tone softening. “But I assure you, my administration is
doing everything in its power to address these challenges. The safety of our
citizens is my top priority.”
Zola’s eyes narrowed. “Empty words won’t bring my mother back.”
Before Mr. Wacucu could respond, Herina stepped forward, her presence
commanding attention. “My father is here to offer his condolences,” she said,
her voice cool and measured. “But if you’d rather turn this into a political
debate, perhaps we should discuss the real issues. Like how your friend Sani
spent his night while you were grieving.”
Sani’s heart sank. He opened his mouth to protest, but no words came
out. Zola turned to him, her eyes wide with shock and betrayal. “What is she
talking about, Sani?”
Herina smirked, clearly enjoying the chaos she had unleashed. “Oh,
didn’t he tell you? While you were dealing with your mother’s death, Sani was
out with me. Quite the night, wasn’t it, Sani?”
The crowd erupted into whispers, and Zola took a step back, her face
pale. “Is this true?” she asked, her voice trembling.
Sani felt the weight of everyone’s eyes on him. “Zola, it’s not what you
think,” he began, but Herina cut him off.
“Isn’t it?” she said, her tone dripping with mock innocence. “You were
so eager to forget your troubles. And now you’re here, pretending to care.”
Zola’s hands clenched into fists, her grief and anger boiling over. “Get
out,” she said, her voice low but fierce. “All of you. This isn’t a photo op
for your campaign. This is my family’s pain.”
Mr. Wacucu’s expression hardened, but he nodded curtly. “We’ll leave you
to your mourning,” he said, signaling to his entourage. As they turned to
leave, Herina cast one last glance at Sani, her smirk lingering like a threat.
The crowd began to disperse, but the damage had been done. Zola turned
to Sani, her eyes blazing. “How could you?” she demanded. “My mother died, and
you were out with her?”
Sani reached for her hand, but she pulled away. “Zola, please,” he said,
his voice desperate. “I didn’t know what was happening. I thought you stood me
up. I was angry, and I made a mistake.”
“A mistake?” Zola repeated, her voice breaking. “My mother is gone,
Sani. And you were out having fun with some stranger while I was alone, trying
to save her.”
Sani’s guilt threatened to overwhelm him. “I’m so sorry,” he said, his
voice barely above a whisper. “I should’ve been there for you. I don’t know how
to make this right, but I’ll do whatever it takes.”
Zola shook her head, tears streaming down her face. “I don’t know if you
can.”
As Sani stood there, helpless, Jaha reappeared, his expression grim. He
had been watching the scene unfold from a distance, and now he stepped forward,
placing a hand on Zola’s shoulder. “Zola, I’m sorry for everything you’re going
through,” he said gently. “But you don’t have to face it alone. Let me help.”
Zola looked up at him, her eyes filled with gratitude and confusion.
“Why are you being so kind to me?” she asked.
Jaha smiled faintly. “Because you’re family,” he said. “And because I
know what it’s like to lose someone you love. My father’s death taught me that
we need to lean on each other in times of crisis.”
Sani felt a pang of jealousy but pushed it aside. Right now, Zola needed
support, and if Jaha could provide that, so be it.
As the sun began to set, casting long shadows over the yard, Sani made a
silent vow. He would find a way to make things right with Zola, no matter what
it took. But first, he needed to uncover the truth about Herina and her father.
Something about their presence felt ominous, and he couldn’t shake the feeling
that they were hiding something far darker than a political campaign.