Laura was the kind of girl whose name was known before she could even walk. Her mother had entered her into a petroleum jelly advert when she was just 6 months old. The ad went viral. Everyone knew the softest baby in Nigeria with glowing cheeks and wide curious eyes. By the time Laura turned five, she had her own portfolio.

By age seven, she was already working one way in kitty’s fashion shows, pageants, followed local, states, even international ones. From junior miss Lagos to Miss African teen, she won almost every crown she wore. Her beauty was unforgettable. Her presence filled any room. She grew up used to that spotlight.

It made her careful with her skin, her hair, her weight. She could not afford pimples or flaws. Not responsors watching. But beneath all the shine, Laura was used to one thing, getting away. She was an only child. Her parents adored her, especially her mother. If Laura didn’t get what she wanted, she will find a way to get it. crying, pouting, silent treatment, manipulation.

Her parents had learned not to push too hard. At 19, Laura entered the university on a full scholarship through a pageentry wins. Yet at her core, she remained deeply self-centered. She wanted to be seen, admired, obeyed, and she was never wrong in her own eyes. One Sunday in church, a woman gently stopped her in the corridor.

Laura, is this how we behave now? You just passed me without greeting. Laura turned her lips curled slightly. Ma mama, please. You have eyes. You have ears. You’re an elderly person. M. I greeted you. I’m sure you heard me. Why are you just looking for something to see? Go ple. The woman blinked, taking her back. Before the silence could settle, Laura’s mother, who had been a few steps behind, quickly stepped in.

Ma, please, please, I beg you. Forgive her. Forgive her. You know she’s exhausted. She has been on three shoots this week alone. From Abuja to Leki, she’s not herself. My mother said, smiling apologetically. The woman hesitated and nodded slowly. No problem, man. God bless you. As they walked away, Laura didn’t say a word. Her mother gave her a side glance, but she said nothing either because that was Laura and nobody wanted to upset her.

The staff in Laura’s house avoided her as much as they could. When they had her car on, they found reasons to disappear. Nobody wanted to be the one she noticed. One night around 900 p.m., Laura returned from a long photo shoot. The cook, mama, you know, was about to leave for the day. Please, baby, wait.

Where are you going? Laura asked, dropping her bag on the couch. I’m just leaving, ma. It’s getting late and it’s traffic. I want catfish, pepper soup. Make it for me now. Please, Madame Laura, I need to go to my children. There’s school tomorrow and I e Okay, so you don’t want to do what I asked you to do, then don’t come back here tomorrow.

No job, no salary. Also, you forfeit your pay for the new month. Pick your choice. The woman face fell. Please, ma. I didn’t mean any disrespect. Even Laura’s mother, Agnes, stepped in. Laura, please let her go. You can eat something else. Mommy, please stay out of it. If she doesn’t want to do her job, then she doesn’t deserve it.

Agnes sighed and turned to the cook. Please, mama. I know. I know. Just do what she asks, but be fast. I beg you. so that you can beat the traffic. It took Mamayo almost an hour to prepare the soup and clean the kitchen. At 1000 p.m., she brought the food to Laura. As she removed her apron and reached for her bag, Laura looked up. Hey, stop.

Where are you going to go? No, wait. When I finish eating, you will clear the dishes. Mina sat in silence, her eyes heavy with fatigue. Laura slowly ate her soup, scrolling through her phone, not in a hurry. When she was done, she pushed the bowl away and stood. You can go now. The woman packed the dishes and left around 10:30 p.m.