My son died two years ago. Last night, at 3:07 a.m., he called me and whispered: “Mama… let me in. I’m cold.”

—“But you survived?” Nneka asked.

—“Barely. A fishing boat found me miles away. I was unconscious for days. When I woke up… I realized something.”

—“What?”

—“Whoever tried to kill me thought they succeeded.”

Nneka’s heart pounded.

—“So you hid.”

—“Yes. I had to. Because if I came back immediately…”
He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper.

—“…they would finish the job.”

A cup shattered somewhere behind them.

Both of them flinched.

Chuka’s eyes darted toward the entrance.

—“Did you tell anyone you were coming here?” he asked sharply.

—“No! You told me not to—”

He stood up suddenly.

—“We have to leave. Now.”

—“What’s happening?”

His voice was tight.

—“If Adanna knows I’m alive… then I’m already in danger.”

Nneka turned instinctively toward the door.

And her blood ran cold.

A woman stood outside the café, staring through the glass.

Still.

Unblinking.

Adanna.

Episode 3: The Wife Who Knew

Adanna slowly pushed the door open.

The bell above it rang.

Soft.

Deliberate.

Deadly.

Nneka’s heart slammed against her ribs.