EPISODE: 2

• “George,” she whispered, her voice dry with shock. “You You’re dead. You had an accident. How How are you here?” George looked at her with cold eyes. “I never died,” Adana, he said calmly. “It was all a mistake. I survived the crash. I’ve been in hiding, healing, and watching. and I’ve seen enough.
• Adana took a few steps back. No, no, this is not real. Her voice shook as she bent down, grabbed a small handful of sand from the ground, and threw it at him. If you’re a ghost, disappear, she screamed. But George didn’t disappear. He moved closer. “I’m real, Adana. Very real. And I came home to find out you threw my blind mother out of my house.” Adana stuttered.
• She’s a witch. She killed our daughter. She brought death into this home. No, George thundered. You’re wrong. You’ve been blinded by pain. Cynthia’s death was a tragedy, a silent illness that crept into her sleep. And now you blame my mother, a 70-year-old blind widow.
• He bent down beside his mother and held her hand. “Mama, I’m here,” he whispered gently. “Your son is here.” Mama George began to sob loudly. My son, my son. I thought I lost you, too. Adana stood frozen. Her body shook, but not from fear. Shame. George rose to his feet and stared at her. I never thought you could be this cruel, Adana. You turned against my mother at her lowest.
• You let grief poison your heart. And for that, he paused, his voice cracking. I can’t call you my wife anymore. Adana gasped. What are you saying? George pulled out his phone. I’ve already called my lawyer. I’m filing for divorce and everything. This estate, the cars, the business shares. I gifted you. They’re gone.
• You don’t deserve them. No, George. Please. You turned your pain into hate. You let the devil use your grief to destroy everything we had. You hurt the one woman who only ever loved us. He turned to the guards. take Mama inside and bring her food. Mama George was gently lifted and carried back into the mansion. Adana was left alone by the gate, her knees weak.
• She fell to the ground, sobbing uncontrollably, and the gate slowly closed behind her. Adana sat on a bamboo bench outside a small mud house, her faded wrapper clinging to her slim waist. Her feet were dusty, her hair undone, and her eyes swollen from crying. It had been 2 months since George threw her out.
• 2 months since she last stepped foot in the mansion on Banana Island, 2 months since her world crumbled. The village was quiet that morning. Only the distant sound of a rooster crowing and a passing wheelbarrow broke the silence. Children playing in the distance paused when they saw her. Some stared, others whispered. “That’s the woman who accused her blind mother-in-law of witchcraft.” One girl said, “Adonna heard it.

EPISODE: 3

• She heard everything. Even the old women at the stream spoke in hushed tones whenever she walked past. They didn’t understand. They didn’t know the pain she felt when she walked into her daughter’s room and found Cynthia cold lifeless in her bed. She had only gone into the kitchen to make her pap. Cynthia had just turned four. She was healthy.
• At least she looked healthy. There had been no warnings, no signs. And then she was gone. Adana never recovered. Her cries became whispers. Her heart turned to stone. And the only person who seemed untouched by the tragedy was Mama George. Blind, calm, always muttering prayers. Adana had snapped. She let bitterness grow.
• She stopped listening to reason. She wanted someone to blame. And Mama George, so quiet, so helpless, became her target. Now sitting in the village, Adana thought about everything she had lost. George, her home, her dignity. She stared at the sky. God, why didn’t you stop me? Suddenly, a knock came at the wooden door behind her. It creaked open and an old man stepped out.
• Papa Annio, her uncle. Adana, he called gently. She stood and dusted her wrapper. Yes, uncle. He sat on a stool beside her. I just came back from town. I saw your friend Nenna. She said, “You’ve been trying to reach George.” Adana nodded slowly. “I’ve sent people. I even wrote letters. He hasn’t replied.” Papaio sighed. He’s hurt.
• “But what about Mama George? That woman begged me many times to take care of you before you got married. She trusted you.” Adana, I know, Adana whispered. Then go and make things right. Pride won’t help you here. You lost your daughter. That was painful. But you turned your pain into hate. You became someone else. Tears rolled down her cheeks. I’ve already tried.
• What more can I do? Pray, he said. And wait. Sometimes people need time to heal. Adana looked up, the wind blowing her hair gently. I’ve prayed every night. I just want one more chance. just one. Meanwhile, back in Lagos, George sat in his private home office.
• He wore a gray capan and glasses, his face tired from reading legal documents. Across the room, Mama George sat on a recliner, a shawl over her shoulders. “My son,” she called softly. George turned to her. “Yes, mama.” She folded her hands in her lap. “I want to speak about a Donna.” George frowned slightly. Mama, please let’s not talk about her.

EPISODE: 4

• Mama George smiled. I know she hurt me, but I am not angry. You should be, he replied. She threw you into the street. She called you a witch. You almost died from hunger. Mama George shook her head. When a person is drowning in grief, they don’t think straight. Adana lost a child. Then she thought she lost you. She was broken. She still had no right. I forgive her. Mama George interrupted.
• George stood pacing. Mama, this isn’t about forgiveness. It’s about what’s right. She threw away everything we built. Yet she’s still your wife, Mama George said. And I still see her as my daughter. George rubbed his forehead. What are you saying? I want you to go and bring her back. George turned quickly. Mama. No. Yes, she insisted.
• Everyone deserves a second chance. He paused. The room went quiet. Mama George’s hands reached out gently. You are not just my son. You are her husband. And I know your heart, George. You still love her. If I, the one she hurt the most, can forgive her. Then you can, too. George didn’t speak for a long while. Finally, he picked up his phone.
• Get the convoy ready, he said. We’re going to the village. The next morning in the village, Adana was sweeping the front yard with a tired broom. Her back achd, her stomach rumbled. She had lost weight. Her beautiful skin was now dry, her fingers rough from house chores. A young boy from the village market ran up to her.
• “Auntie Adana, Auntie Adana,” he shouted. “What is it?” she asked, wiping sweat from her face. There’s a convoy coming. Big cars, private guards. They’re heading to this side. Adana stood up straight. Her heart raced. Convoy? Could it be? She dropped the broom and ran to the front of the compound.
• The dust was rising in the air as a black escalade slowly pulled into the narrow village path, followed by two Hilux vans. People from nearby houses rushed out. What’s going on? Is that the governor? No, it’s George, Adana’s husband. Adana froze, her legs shook. The door of the black SUV opened, and there he was, George. He stepped out, dressed in white Abbada, eyes calm but unreadable.
• Then, Mama George stepped out behind him, holding his arm. Adana gasped. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t speak. Was this a dream? They were standing in front of her house. real alive. George looked straight at her. I came, he said simply. Because mama asked me to. Adana dropped to her knees, shaking. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Mama.

EPISODE: 5

• George stepped forward. She placed her hand gently on Adana’s shoulder. “My daughter,” she said with a warm smile. “I know you were hurt. I know grief can confuse the heart, but I forgive you from my heart. I forgive you. Adana broke into tears with loud sobs. George helped her to her feet. I don’t know what tomorrow will bring, he said.
• But Mama says, “Everyone deserves a second chance. So, I’m here to try again.” And with those words, he took her hand. The villagers clap. Some cried. Adana looked at George, then at Mama George. And in that moment, she felt something she hadn’t felt in months. Hope. Adana stood by the bedroom window of their mansion, watching the garden below. Birds flew between the flowers. The water fountain gently sprayed mist into the air.
• Everything looked the same, yet everything felt different. It had been 3 weeks since George and Mama came to the village and brought her back. 3 weeks since she stepped foot in this house again. 3 weeks since she felt safe, but also 3 weeks of healing. She turned and looked around the room.
• It was still hers. The cream colored curtains, the soft white bed, the silver framed photo of her and George on their wedding day. Their smiles were full back then, untouched by tragedy. She walked to Cynthia’s room and slowly pushed the door open. It hadn’t changed either.
• The pink wallpaper with stars, the tiny bed with a teddy bear sitting on top. Her drawings still hung on the wall. One showed a stick figure family, George, Adana, and little Cynthia, all holding hands under a smiling sun. Adana picked it up, holding it close to her chest. A soft knock came on the door behind her. She turned. It was George. He looked at her, eyes warm, but careful.
• Are you okay? Adana wiped her eyes. I come here every morning just to remember her. George stepped closer. I do too. Sometimes when you’re asleep, Adana gave a weak smile. I was so lost, George. I blamed everyone but myself. I let pain change me into someone. Someone I never wanted to be.
• You weren’t yourself, he said gently. Grief does that. But I can’t forget what I did to Mama. George sighed. She has forgiven you. That’s what matters now. I don’t deserve her forgiveness, Adana whispered. or yours.” George reached out and held her hand. “Adonna, I was angry. Deeply angry. But I’ve learned something through all this.
• People make terrible choices when they’re hurt. What matters is what they do after they realize it.” She looked up at him. “I want to change,” she said. “I want to be someone Cynthia would be proud of.” “You already are. Or at least you’re becoming her.” They both stood in silence, still holding hands in Cynthia’s room. There was no music.
• No loud voices, just the sound of healing hearts. In the days that followed, Adana began to change. It wasn’t loud or dramatic, but it was real. She began waking up early to help Mama George bathe and get dressed. She served her food with care, even sitting to eat with her and listened to her stories. Some days they laughed together.
• Other days they simply sat in silence, sharing warmth. The staff noticed it, too. She no longer shouted at the house helps. She smiled at the driver. She helped the gardener carry tools. She even visited a nearby orphanage once a week with food and clothes. Something in her heart had truly shifted.
• One afternoon, Mama George sat outside under a large umbrella, feeling the breeze. Adana brought her a bowl of fruit. Mama, are you comfortable? Yes, my daughter. Thank you. Adana sat beside her. Mama, can I ask you something? Go on. That day when I dragged you out, when I called you those horrible names, why didn’t you curse me? Why didn’t you hate me? Mama George turned her blind face toward the sky.