When Shadows Return

It all started in a quiet Ibadan neighborhood. Two houses, separated by a dry small road and a hibiscus fence, held the childhood of Tunde and Ada. From suwe and ten-ten to selling imaginary puff-puff in their backhouse play house, they were inseparable. Their friendship was the envy of their parents, teachers, and even classmates. Ada was hot and humorous, her laugh overflowingly like hot amala on a Sunday afternoon. Tunde was cool, brooding, always observing the world with keen eyes.

But then there was Chisom.

Chisom was the one who stole Tunde’s breath away when they were all barely ten. Her father was a diplomat, her accent flavored with London and her hair perpetually in glistening cornrows adorned with purple beads. She disappeared suddenly after her parents were redeployed to Abuja. Tunde never got over her.

Years passed by. Tunde and Ada were close—university, NYSC, searching for jobs, everything. They had each other. Theirs was not love at first sight—it was love that grew from shared laughs, unspoken meanings, and the occasional, fiery kisses that neither of them spoke of the next day.

Until love turned real.

Tunde and Ada had been officially dating for eight months. Ada had moved to Lagos to work at her new role in a PR firm, while Tunde remained behind in Ibadan, running his family’s pharmacy. They met every other weekend, made morning calls, late-night texts, and Spotify playlists.

And then there was the news.

Chisom was in Ibadan.

He had spotted her at the market for the first time. She was dressed in black today, with full locs that bordered her face. She had lost weight, grown older, but still had that elegance about her. She smiled when she saw him.

“Tunde. you haven’t changed a bit.”

“Chisom?” he said, surprised. “Is this really you?”

She explained to him that she’d lost her parents in a car accident. She’d come back to bury them and maybe. remain.

They drank all day at a neighborhood bar one evening. One beer led to two. Two led to supper. He told Ada about it later that night, matter-of-factly.

“She’s just staying temporarily. We ran into each other.”

Ada laughed, not threatened. Not yet.

But then he kept running into her. Too often.

“Tunde, you missed our video call time again,” Ada texted one Friday evening.

“Sorry babe, I was working at the shop. and a bit exhausted.”

He was with Chisom.

They had started going out more. Coffee breaks turned into evening walks. She cried once when talking of her parents, and he hugged her. Something sparked in him—a memory, a tug.

Ada sensed the difference. She appeared in Ibadan unannounced.

She gathered a purple beaded hair tie off his couch at his apartment. The type Chisom used to wear when he was a child.

She did not wrestle with him. She only looked into his eye and told him, “Tell me it’s nothing.”

He delayed too long.

Ada left that night. He did not hold her back.

Chisom came to live with Tunde weeks later. He did not even realize how fast it was happening. She said her family house had too many painful memories.

His friends challenged him. “You sure about this girl?”

He brushed them off.

But strange things started to happen.

His uncle’s vehicle blew up two weeks after he had gone to see him. His younger brother almost drowned. Their family driver was killed under circumstances that could not be explained.

It seemed coincidental at first.

Then one night, Ada called.

“Tunde, listen to me. I think Chisom is dangerous.”

He laughed. “You’re jealous.”

“No. I asked around. Her parents didn’t get killed in a car accident. They were murdered. At their home. No one knows how. She never even asked for their bodies. Tunde, you have to—”

He hung up.

But the seed had been sown.

He cornered Chisom that night. She was calm.

“You think I’m a killer now?”

“Tell me the truth.”

She glared at him. Something cold edged into her eyes.

“You don’t remember, do you? Your dad. My dad. Business associates once. Until your dad sabotaged mine. Stole everything. My dad killed himself, Tunde. My mom lost her mind. We ran away in shame.”

Tunde tensed. He’d heard whispers of some ancient business dispute. But nothing else.

“So, this. this has been a plot?”

She smiled, a slow, wicked smile. “Yes, every step. But falling in love with you again? That was not part of the plan.”
His world was turned upside down.

Ada returned to Ibadan after receiving a call from a friend that Tunde had been involved in an accident.

She went to see him at the hospital, face bruised, broken ribs. Chisom had tried to poison him. The housekeeper caught her.

Ada was with him, even when he shared everything with her. She cried, not for jealousy, but sorrow.

“She almost murdered you, Tunde.”

“I murdered myself first.”

Chisom was arrested, but while being taken to court, she escaped. No one knew how. It made headlines. “Black Widow of Ibadan Escapes Custody.”

Tunde and Ada ran away. Therapy. Recovery. Silence. They began anew, this time without name tags, only being.

Time passed.

One morning, Ada opened a package. No signature. A purple-beaded bracelet and a note.

“He will never be safe.”

Tunde made up his mind. He would retaliate. He started digging—into his father’s books of business, his late father’s journals. And what he uncovered was proof of dishonesty, yes—but not just his dad. Chisom’s dad had embezzled money, set his partner up, then staged his own breakdown. It was a conspiracy.

Chisom had lived a deception on a broken foundation.

He staged a public press conference, exposing everything. He risked his life to tell the truth.

Chisom was watching—somewhere.

A week later, police received an anonymous tip. She was found hiding in a safehouse outside Ilorin. Detained.

There was no way out this time.

In her final trial, Chisom said nothing. Her lawyers invoked diminished responsibility, psychological trauma, and abuse. The jury was not deceived.

She was sentenced to life.

Tunde showed up once. Only once.

“I needed to know if you were real,” he said.

She didn’t look at him. Just drew breath, “I didn’t mean to love you.”

A year later, Tunde proposed marriage to Ada in front of their childhood hibiscus hedge.

“I chose you. I should have chosen you from the very beginning.”

She smiled. “Let’s age, not gripe.”

Shadows of the past had lingered way too long. But love, true love, could conquer even the most deadly specters.

Some wounds take time. Some trust takes more time.

But healing? Healing begins the moment you quit running.