…Her eyes welled with tears, but she didn’t move. Not even when his mother stopped visiting, not even when his friends stopped calling, not even when her own sisters begged her to leave the “deadweight” of a man who couldn’t even speak.
She remembered the days when Tunde used to carry her on his back after her shifts at the market when her legs could barely carry her. How he sold his motorcycle once just to pay her late father’s hospital bills. How he prayed with her, fasted for her, and believed in her dreams more than she believed in herself.
So now, even if his eyes were blank and his body broken, Nora whispered every morning, “You were there for me. Now it’s my turn.”
She fed him. Bathed him. Read to him. Massaged his limbs even when the doctor said there was no point. Her love refused to quit.
Then one rainy evening, as thunder cracked and the power flickered, Nora felt his fingers twitch—twice.
“Tunde?” she gasped, her heart racing.
And then, ever so slowly, his lips moved again.
This time, it wasn’t “Run.”
It was her name.
“Nora…”
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