The first time Titi felt truly alone within the walls of the Iroko estate, it was before dawn. The sky was a muted wash of purples and grays, the kind of early morning where even the birds seemed to hesitate before singing.
She stood outside Mama Iroko's door, her knuckles resting lightly on the polished mahogany frame. Inside, the faint sound of slow, even breathing came through the thick wood a fragile pulse that both comforted and terrified her.
Her heart beat faster.
Six months had passed since the Loyalty Game ended, and since Titi had stepped into her role as caregiver. Those months had been a blur of routines, medicine schedules, whispered prayers, and stolen moments of laughter when Mama Iroko recognized her own reflection in the mirror.
But this morning was different.
Mama Iroko hadn't called for her yet.
Titi exhaled slowly, her breath misting in the cool air. She pressed her palm to the door, almost as if willing her presence to be felt.
The weight of care was a silent thing, she realized. Heavy and constant, like the air before a storm, settling into your bones until you thought you might crack under its pressure.
She thought back to the Loyalty Game how every test, every challenge, had been less about proving her skill and more about proving her willingness to carry that weight without breaking.
And now, the true challenge was here.
Morning Rituals
Inside the room, sunlight seeped through the gauzy curtains, dust motes swirling like tiny dancers in the soft gold.
Mama Iroko lay in her bed, her silver hair spread like a halo on the pillow. Her eyes fluttered open slowly.
Titi was there in a heartbeat, smoothing the blanket and smiling gently.
"Good morning, Mama."
For a moment, Mama Iroko's eyes were clear and bright. Then, confusion flickered.
"Who… are you?"
The question landed like a stone.
Titi knelt beside her, taking her frail hand.
"I'm Titi, your caregiver. I'm here to help."
Mama Iroko's lips twitched into a ghost of a smile.
"I don't remember…"
"That's okay," Titi whispered. "I'm not going anywhere."
The Burden of Presence
As the days passed, Titi found herself learning a new kind of loyalty.
Not the one tested by games or challenges.
But the one demanded by silence, by confusion, by the slow fading of a woman she had promised to care for.
She catalogued every small victory the times Mama Iroko recognized her voice, the rare moments of laughter, the warmth in a touch.
And every loss the forgotten names, the vacant stares, the shadows that grew longer with each passing hour.
The estate's staff watched quietly. Kenny visited less often now, distracted by his own battles in politics and family power struggles.
But Titi stayed.
Because loyalty was not about recognition.
It was about showing up.
Shadows Stir
One evening, as Titi prepared Mama Iroko's medicine, a knock came at the door.
She opened it to find Chika standing in the hallway, her military jacket tight and worn.
"I heard about Mama's condition," Chika said quietly. "I wanted to check on you."
Titi nodded, stepping aside to let her in.
The two women sat by the window, watching the rain fall in soft sheets.
"I'm sorry I left the estate the way I did," Chika said. "But this… This place changes people."
Titi smiled softly.
"We all carry our own burdens. But this one? It's mine now."
Chika nodded, then added, "If you ever need backup, you know where to find me."
A promise made without words.
A New Threat
But peace was fragile.
The following week, a late-night call came to the estate.
A voice—deep and cold—warned that not everyone was pleased with the outcome of the Loyalty Game.
That some family members were planning to undermine Mama Iroko's care, to take control of the estate and its secrets.
Titi listened, heart pounding.
Loyalty was no longer just about care.
It was about survival.