Star stepped out of the hospital with a heartbeat full of ache and a mind spinning in circles. She hailed a cab and slumped into the back seat, her hand resting protectively over her belly. The city still wore its morning hush, and by the time she reached home, not a soul stirred.
Quiet as breath, she unlocked the door and tiptoed inside. The silence was eerie, almost rehearsed. But someone saw her—someone watched from the shadows, unnoticed.
Back in her room, she dumped the pills onto the bed like they were a crime scene.
"Madam is really trying to kill me," Star whispered, voice trembling. "Let's see if it's her or God who owns my life."
Tears carved silent paths down her cheeks.
"People are evil… How did she even get Mendu to turn so blindly?"
She reached under the bed and retrieved the gun she'd hidden.
"I thought having this would make her bring Mr. Davids out. But I just endangered my baby." Her voice cracked. "No... I can't do this. My baby's the only shelter I have. If I lose him, where will I live—even in my own skin?"
She placed the gun under the bed.
"I'll take it back to her. I'm done being a pawn in her husband's mystery."
The clock struck 6 a.m. Her body begged for rest, but TikTok's endless scroll kept her distracted. Eventually, drowsiness won, and she fell asleep mid-swipe.
Mandume sat on the edge of his bed, unrest clinging to his chest.
"What's going on with my family?" he murmured. "First the car, now Star… everything's falling apart."
His fingers tapped restlessly against his leg.
"Dad, where are you? Mom says the car's worn out but it was fine yesterday. I don't know how much more I can carry—the company, this madness…"
Christine was the first to rise. Dressed in white, she moved with spiritual authority, placing Mr. Davids' portrait at the heart of the backyard. Her message echoed through the house:
"Come outside. Wear white. It's Sunday."
One by one, they gathered.
"What's this, Grandma? Dad's picture?" Bonita asked, puzzled.
"We begin a spiritual mission today," Christine said. "We'll pray every Sunday—for God to show us where my son is, and give us strength to endure. I believe he's still alive."
"That's powerful, Grandma," Mandume said, glancing at Bonita. "See? She believes. So do I. So does Star—"
"You sure you're not projecting, bro?" Bonita teased. "Star's still in bed."
"What? It's almost 9?" Mandume frowned.
"She's pregnant. Extra sleep," Bonita shrugged.
Maria, clearly irritated, turned to leave.
"Where are you going, Maria?" Christine called. "This is important."
Mandume trailed after her.
"Mom, please. This matters."
"It does, son. But I'm not ready to fight ghosts with bare hands. When you pray to a picture, it means the person's dead. And I— I still believe in other ways."
"Grandma didn't mean it like that—"
"I know. But you don't go to war without your sword. Let me fetch mine first," she said in riddles, and disappeared around the corner.
Back in Star's room…
She felt a hand gently patting her belly.
"I want a boy too," a voice whispered.
Her eyes snapped open.
"Steffy?!"
"Shhh," he said, calm and unreal. "Thank you… for saving my son."
Star blinked in disbelief. There was Mandume's necklace—around Steffy's neck.
Before she could react, he kissed her forehead.
"Don't worry. I'm here."
Just then, the door opened. Steffy raised a gun and fired.
"Mendu?!" Star cried out—
But when her eyes flew open again, Mandume was standing there, whole and alive.
"Were you dreaming about me?" he chuckled. "That's sweet."
Star's breath was short. Sweat beaded her brow.
"You okay? Sick? Morning sickness?" he asked, stepping closer.
"I... I'm fine," she stammered.
"We're having a prayer circle outside—for Dad. Will you join me?"
Star nodded mutely.
"Go freshen up. I'll be waiting," he smiled and stepped out.
In the washroom, she leaned on the sink, breathing heavily.
"A dream... or a warning?" she murmured. "God, if it's Your will, let it be. But I reject every evil sent my way. Shield me. Please."
Freshened and steadier, Star stepped out, the dream still clinging to her like a fog. Her thoughts spun back to the hospital.
"She stooped this low—poison disguised as treatment. Just to protect her secret."
She looked at the gun again.
"No more. I'll return this. But I will find Mr. Davids. For Mendu. For myself. For this child."
She marched upstairs, fire in her step. Meanwhile, in Maria's room, the woman filed her nails calmly as her phone buzzed. She answered and set it to loudspeaker.
"Speak," she said flatly.
"Morning, queen of venom," Romero said cheerfully.
"What's got you excited?"
"I've got a plan," he said. "A brilliant one. It'll get your gun back from that little rat... and remove her from your house forever."
Maria smiled wickedly.
"I'm listening."