CHAPTER TWO: Rebuilding in Pieces
The first night after the divorce, Amara didn’t cry. She didn’t sleep either.
She lay wide awake on the tiny couch in her best friend’s apartment, wrapped in a blanket that smelled faintly of lavender and old memories. The city buzzed faintly outside the cracked window — a mix of honking cars, clinking bottles, and muffled laughter. Life was moving on, uncaring, unbothered.
She wasn’t sure where to begin.
The past ten years of her life had been built around Jason — his company, his career, his schedule, his dreams. Now she was thirty-three, jobless, technically homeless, and the only thing she had full custody of was her six-year-old daughter, Malia, who was spending a weekend with her grandmother.
Amara stared at the ceiling, her fingers curled around her phone. She had typed and deleted the same message five times:
To Jason:
“Don’t forget Malia has a peanut allergy. And she gets nightmares if you let her watch those superhero movies too late. Also... never mind.”
She deleted the last line and hit send.
The next morning, she woke up to a dozen messages — none from Jason.
But one from a name she hadn’t seen in years: Nia Mensah.
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“Hey, heard what happened. I always told you you were too good for him. I need help rebranding my event company. Coffee?”
It was something. Not a job offer exactly, but a crack in the clouds.
By noon, Amara was dressed in the only blazer she hadn’t left behind, hair tied back, lips bare but chin high. She walked into the café like she belonged in the world again.
“You look tired,” Nia said, sliding her a cappuccino.
“Thanks. I feel... like a wreck in designer shoes.”
Nia grinned. “A stylish wreck. That’s a start.”
They talked for two hours. About everything and nothing. By the end of it, Nia offered her a freelance contract — rebranding a struggling wedding business. No promises. Just a beginning.
Amara took the deal. Not because it paid well. It didn’t. But because she needed something that was "HERS." A project. A purpose.
When she left the café, the sky had opened just slightly — a sliver of sunlight peeking through heavy Lagos clouds. It was small. But it was enough.
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