Chapter 50 A Future I Never Chose

• Sunday mornings in the Tunde household always had a quiet rhythm. The sun filtered gently through the curtains, and the aroma of fried plantains wafted from the kitchen. But today, the silence wasn’t peace—it was tension. Heavy. Palpable. Like a storm waiting to break.
• Zara sat on the dining table, absently scrolling through her phone, her food untouched. She hadn’t spoken much since the day before. The USB was still on her desk, haunting her like a ghost she had no strength to confront.
• Her mother, Mama Zara as the neighborhood fondly called her, moved around the kitchen in purposeful silence. She was usually the first to break awkwardness with small talk or forced laughter, but today, she kept her lips sealed.