The morning sun hung lazily in the sky as Tonia tightened the strap of her bag and stepped out of her mother's compound. The streets of Osogbo buzzed with the usual mix of laughter, early traders, and distant chants from hawkers. Today wasn't meant to be anything more than a simple errand — a quick trip to Aunty Joy's market store to pick up a few items.
As she walked through the market gate, the smell of ripe tomatoes, dry pepper, fish, and palm oil filled her nostrils. Familiar voices called out to potential customers, bartering and arguing in that beautiful, chaotic rhythm that made the market feel alive.
Tonia reached Aunty Joy's stall — a small but neatly arranged space overflowing with food items. Aunty Joy was not just a family friend; she was like an aunt, one of those people whose hugs felt like home and whose scolding came only when deserved.
"Ah Tonia, my beautiful daughter!" Aunty Joy greeted, her face lighting up. "What can I get you today?"
Tonia smiled warmly. "Just some spices and that ogbono you promised my mum."
They began discussing prices — nothing serious, just the usual banter over a few naira. Then suddenly, without warning, a girl appeared behind her, struggling to carry a large rubber bowl filled with garri.
"Sorry, can I pass?" Tonia asked politely, stepping slightly aside to make way.
But instead of shifting, the girl — unfamiliar, expressionless — did something strange. She deliberately let one hand slip, and in a heartbeat, the heavy rubber tipped, spilling the entire content of garri across the floor.
Before Tonia could react, the girl turned sharply. "Why would you push me?!"
"I didn't touch you," Tonia said calmly, her brows furrowing. "You know what you did. Don't pin this on me."
But the girl — whose name, Tonia would soon learn, was Mercy — wasn't backing down. Her voice rose with dramatic intensity, drawing the attention of nearby sellers and buyers.
"You better find a way to replace that garri!" she screamed.
Tonia, shaken but not one to cause a scene, simply said, "You know the truth. Fix it yourself." And with that, she turned and walked away.
What she didn't expect, however, was the piercing pain that followed.
Like a nightmare bursting into reality, a bottle crashed into her back, sharp and unforgiving. She screamed and spun — just in time to see a wild-eyed woman standing behind her, a broken bottle in hand.
It was Mercy's mother.
Tonia staggered, clutching her side, the pain making her dizzy. She could hear shouting — a mixture of gasps and confusion — but she didn't stay to listen. Blood trickled from her side, and her body moved before her brain could catch up.
She ran. Past fruit stands. Past onlookers. Past shouts of "Hey!" and "Who stabbed her?!"
She ran until she could no longer hear anything but her own heartbeat thudding like a drum inside her ears.
She didn't stop until she reached the wide, gleaming gates of a massive fuel station — one she recognized as belonging to Hon. Chief Otah, a well-known politician in the city.
She ducked behind a diesel tank, gasping, bleeding, and terrified.
It was there, hidden among the humming generators and whiff of petrol, that a soft voice reached her.
"Are you okay, dear?"
Tonia looked up through blurred eyes to see a graceful, well-dressed woman in a cream-colored wrapper and soft heels. Her expression was calm but filled with concern.
"I… I was stabbed… she blamed me for what I didn't do…" Tonia murmured, the pain overwhelming her.
Without a second thought, the woman knelt beside her and pulled out her phone.
"Don't worry. You're safe now. I'm Mrs. Nneka. And we're going to sort this out."