Adaeze’s heart póunded like a drum as the phone buzzed on the small wooden table by her bedside.
The name on the glowing screen made her throat tighten instantly. “Mum.”

For a moment, she froze. Her chest rose and fell rapidly thinking of what to say. Her mother, the woman she hadn’t spoken to in months. The woman whose last words to her was “Don’t call me again unless you have something good to say about your life. You’re an embarrassment.” was the one calling now

Why now? “Why break the silence now, after leaving me to drown alone in rejéction for so long?”

Her hand shook as she reached for the phone and picked up.

“M… mummy,” Adaeze whispered

There was unbearable silence. Then, her mother’s stern voice came
“Adaeze… I heard you’re in the hospital. Are you alright?”

The words slîced through Adaeze’s heart. She wanted to scream Where were you when I needed you most? She wanted to empty out the years of paîn, the cruélty of her siblings, the endless silence that had nearly crûshed her spirit. But all she managed to say was, “I’m trying to be fine.”

On the other end, a long sigh came
“I’m not in a good place myself,” her mother muttered, “but… I’ll see what I can do. Just hold on. Don’t give up.”

Before Adaeze could speak again, the line went deád. She stared at the phone, numb asking herself Why now? Why only now, when the wórst has alreády scarred me?

Kemi, who had woken up and overheard part of the call, touched her hand gently.
“Adaeze, don’t let this break you again. Sometimes… even mothers fail. But God never fails.” she said with a calm voice

The words settled like a balm. Yet the ache in Adaeze’s chest didn’t vanish.

Each night stretched endlessly into the next, broken only by the steady beeping of monitors and the dragging shuffle of nurses in worn slippers. For Adaeze, time was no longer measured by hours, but by battles between páin and hópe.

Her body grew weák, her spirit even weáker. Yet one thing anchored her, like a rock in the middle of a raging sea: Kemi.

When the nurses ignored her faint calls for water, it was Kemi who rose without complaint and brought it.

When the doctors rattled off long lists of tests, it was Kemi who dashed about the hospital corridors, paying and arranging everything without hesitation.

When Adaeze cried in the middle of the night, whispering through tears, “Why me?” it was Kemi who held her close, whispering back, “Because you are strong enough to overcome this. And you’re not alone.”

By the fifth day, the doctors finally nodded with relief. Her féver was gone, her strength was slowly returning. Adaeze thought her nightmare was ending until the discharge papers came.

₦210,000.

The figure glared at her like a deáth sentence on paper. Adaeze’s world spun. She was just a cleaner. Even if she borrowed for six months, she could never scrape half of the bill. Her siblings hadn’t even called once, not a single one.

The thought of being trappéd in the hospital for debts she could never pay crûshed her. She wept bitterly, her sobs shaking her frágile body.

But then, like an angel disguised in human skin, Kemi stepped in again. She signed papers, arranged payments, and with a small reassuring smile said,
“Don’t worry. Just get better. That’s all the repayment I need now.”

Adaeze wanted to protest. She wanted to scream No! It’s too much! But gratitude cloggéd her throat. The weight of kindness overwhelmed her more than the illnéss ever had.

When the day of discharge finally came, Adaeze walked out of the hospital with weák steps, leaning heavily on Kemi’s arm. She expected deep down to see her siblings waiting for her at home, she imagined at least a pot of hot soup, a smile, or maybe a small word of comfort.But there was nothing. No knock on her door, no call,
Just silence.

It was Kemi again who filled her fridge with food. Kemi who brought steaming pepper soup to restore her strength. Kemi who checked her temperature every evening and Kemi who stayed nights in her small apartment, just to make sure she wasn’t alone.

Her sister lived barely twenty minutes away. Her brother passed her street daily. Yet not once did they show up.

One evening, as Adaeze sat on her bed watching Kemi wash her clothes by hand, she broke down again.

“Kemi… this is too much. You’ve done more than any blóod relative should. More than my own siblings have ever done for me. Why?”

Kemi looked up with her hands still dipped in soapy water and a soft smile lit her face.
“Because friendship is a choice. Blood ties you by chance. But love…” she paused, letting her words sink in, “…love is a decision. And I decided long ago that you are my sister, whether your family accepts you or not, I will always love you.”

Adaeze’s heart tightened as tears rolled freely down her cheeks.

In that moment, she realized that she wasn’t poor, she wasn’t abandoned, God had given her a treasure, hidden in plain sight.

And as the night stretched on, Adaeze made herself a vow: I will never take this woman for granted because in a world full of pretenders, friends like her are rare

But somewhere in the shadows of her heart, one question lingered: If Kemi could love her this deeply, why couldn’t her own family do the same? But the answer was yet to come