“Neither do I.”
She took a shaky breath.
“But you’re here.”
“I am.”
“And you chose this?”
“I did.”
Finally, Ada nodded.
“Then we figure it out.”
And they tried.
They moved into a small rented room with cracked walls and a fan that creaked all night. Okafor quickly learned that intelligence and discipline did not make poverty easy.
Without his name, no one cared who he had been.
He applied for jobs and was rejected. Some said he was overqualified. Others said he did not fit. Many promised to call. None did.
For the first time in his life, he understood that the world did not care who you used to be. It cared only what you could prove now.
Ada watched him struggle.
He tried to hide it, but she saw the exhaustion in his eyes.
One night, she handed him food.
“You need it more.”
“I’m fine.”
“Stop saying that when it’s not true.”
He looked at her, defeated for once.
“I’m not used to this.”
“I know.”
“It’s harder than I thought.”
“Life usually is.”
He looked down. “I feel like I’m failing.”
“You’re not.”
“I can’t even provide for myself.”
“You just started.”
“That’s not an excuse.”
“No,” she said. “It’s reality.”
Slowly, Okafor learned. He took temporary jobs. He listened more. He stopped expecting respect and began earning it. He stopped being the heir and started becoming a man.
For a while, love carried them.
But struggle has a way of wearing down even the strongest hearts.
Okafor’s mother knew this.
