The glow of the laptop screen was harsh in the dim room, casting long shadows on the cream walls of the Iroko estate's private study. Titi sat cross-legged on the couch, her face drawn, her fingers trembling slightly as she scrolled through the barrage of online reactions. The silence in the room was loud, only broken by the occasional hum of the air conditioning and the soft buzz of her phone—another notification, another comment, another headline.
It had been two days since the Governor officially announced the winner of the Loyalty Game. Two days since her name was spoken on national television, broadcast to millions across the country as the woman chosen to care for Mama Iroko. Two days since her world flipped on its head.
At first, it had felt surreal.
People clapped. A few cheered. Even Mama Iroko had smiled faintly and held her hand, whispering a Yoruba blessing over her head. But the euphoria didn't last long. The real world—the world beyond the gates—had opinions. And they weren't all kind.
Titi's eyes burned as she skimmed through endless posts on social media. The algorithms had locked in, feeding her a constant stream of public reaction.
"Why should a caregiver earn more than some of our public servants?"
"How do we know this wasn't rigged?"
"The Governor just bought himself a glorified housekeeper. Six thousand dollars a month? Please."
"#CaregiverGate #LoyaltyOrLies #6KScandal"
Titi's throat tightened as she stared at the trending hashtags.
#6KScandal. It was everywhere now—splashed across blogs, reposted by influencers, even parodied in memes. Someone had Photoshopped her face onto a dollar bill, calling her "The First Lady of Care." Another meme showed her dressed in royal garb, seated beside an elderly queen—Mama Iroko—with the caption: "All hail Her Caregiveness."
She shut the laptop abruptly, breathing hard.
The room seemed to shrink around her. The recognition she had never asked for now loomed like a shadow. What began as a private, deeply emotional journey to win trust, to show loyalty, to earn a position rooted in care… had become a national debate.
A quiet knock interrupted her spiraling thoughts.
"Come in," she said, her voice hoarse.
It was Kenny.
He stepped in, dressed in a navy blue blazer and slacks, the tailored edges slightly crumpled—a rare departure from his usual perfection. He looked tired.
"I thought you might be awake," he said, his tone soft.
Titi offered a weary smile. "Did you see the memes?"
He nodded, rubbing his temples. "I saw too many things I can't unsee. One even said you were Mama's secret heir."
Titi laughed—bitterly. "I wish I could find it funny."
Kenny moved to sit beside her. "Listen, the storm will pass. This is just the media trying to make noise. People love drama more than they love the truth."
"But it's not just noise, Kenny," she said, turning to face him. "It's my name. My integrity. The work I've done. The sacrifices I made… reduced to hashtags and clickbait."
Kenny looked down, ashamed. "I should've prepared you. When the media smells blood—"
"I'm not bleeding," she said firmly, sitting up straighter. "Not yet."
He looked at her—really looked—and saw the fire still alive in her eyes. The same fire that had gotten her through each brutal stage of the Loyalty Game.
Outside the Estate – The Storm Brews
By morning, the Iroko estate had turned into a spectacle. Reporters gathered at the gates like vultures circling a carcass. Camera lights flashed even in daylight, microphones thrust through the iron bars in hopes of capturing a soundbite, a sliver of scandal.
One of them, bold and sharp-tongued, caught Kenny at a public event near the Ministry of Welfare, where he'd gone to give a brief speech on elderly care reform.
"Mr. Kenny Iroko," she called loudly. "Are you and your family hiding something? Is the caregiver really the puppet master behind the scenes?"
The crowd went silent.
Kenny's jaw clenched.
He stepped closer to the podium and answered, measured but firm. "Our family's affairs are private. The Loyalty Game was about trust, character, and honor. No manipulation. No puppeteering. Just a simple but powerful decision rooted in care."
The moment went viral. Some praised him for his poise. Others accused him of rehearsed charm.
Private Messages, Public Pressure
Back in the estate, Titi sat on the patio with a cup of tea gone cold. Her phone buzzed beside her, again and again.
This time, it wasn't trolls or critics. It was love.
Baba Kareem had sent a message—handwritten, scanned, and sent via Joy Obiakor's assistant.
"Child, remember the fire you walked through to get here. Let no storm dim the dignity of your journey. You are seen. You are honored."
—Baba Kareem.
Titi blinked, tears filling her eyes.
Then her phone rang.
"Joy?" she said, surprised.
"Hi, sunshine," Joy's voice came through, warm and clear. "Ignore the noise. You've got more people rooting for you than you realize."
"I don't even know who I am right now," Titi admitted. "The girl who scrubbed Mama's walls with tears in her eyes? Or this… public figure everyone wants to dissect."
"You're both," Joy replied. "You're complex. And that's what scares people—they can't control a narrative they don't understand."
Nightfall – A Reckoning
That night, after the house had gone still, Titi sat alone in her room.
No laptop. No phone. Just a journal and pen.
She began to write, slowly at first, then with urgency.
"I didn't come here to be famous.
I came here to serve.
To honor an old woman's life.
To prove to myself that care is still sacred, even when the world sees it as cheap labor.
They want a puppet. I will be a mirror.
They want scandal. I will be grace."
Titi paused, exhaled, then added the final line:
"This is not a game.
This is my purpose."
The Morning After – Strength Reclaimed
By the next morning, she was different.
She wore her best linen top, tied her braids neatly, and walked out to the garden where Mama Iroko sat with her shawl draped around her shoulders.
"Mama," she said softly.
Mama Iroko looked up and smiled. "They're barking, aren't they?"
Titi chuckled. "Loudly."
"Let them bark," the old woman said, patting the bench beside her. "We will still drink our tea."
As they sat in silence, Titi realized something profound.
Caregiving was no longer just a personal act. It had become a public trial. A social mirror. A battleground for values the world had forgotten—empathy, loyalty, dignity.
And she was the woman standing in the middle of it.
Not as a victim.
But as proof that love, when fierce and true, could withstand even the harshest scrutiny.
Later That Week – A National Interview
After much thought, Titi agreed to do a single live interview—not to defend herself, but to redefine the narrative.
Sitting before the cameras, she spoke not as a headline, but as a human.
"I'm not here because I won a contest," she said plainly. "I'm here because I showed up when others didn't. I chose love, consistency, and care—not for a paycheck, but because it's who I am."
The anchor blinked, caught off-guard by the rawness.
Titi leaned in. "The world can argue about the money. That's fine. But I will never let them argue about my heart."
And just like that, the story began to shift.
Not entirely. Not overnight.
But cracks appeared in the wall of cynicism and in those cracks, light started to shine through.