She found Ada at the restaurant one afternoon.
Ada recognized her before she introduced herself. There was something about her posture, her clothes, her gaze. This was a woman from Okafor’s world.
“I’m Okafor’s mother,” she said.
Ada’s breath caught, but she sat.
The woman studied her. “You know what my son gave up.”
“Yes.”
“Because of you.”
“I didn’t force him.”
“No. But you didn’t stop him either.”
Ada said quietly, “That was his decision.”
The woman leaned forward. “My son is suffering.”
Ada’s heart tightened.
“You’ve seen it,” his mother continued. “The exhaustion. The frustration. The fall. He was raised for more than this. He had a future.”
“He chose this.”
“People make mistakes.”
The word mistake cut deeply.
“If you love him,” the woman said, her voice softening, “do what is best for him.”
Ada swallowed. “And what is that?”
“Leave him.”
Ada went still.
“He will never say it himself. He is too stubborn. But you see what this life is doing to him.”
Tears gathered in Ada’s eyes.
“You are not his future,” the woman said gently. “You are his obstacle.”
Then she placed a stack of money on the table.
“Take it. Start over somewhere else.”
Ada stared at it.
“I won’t take your money.”
“I didn’t think you would,” the woman said. “But you will do the right thing.”
That night, Ada did not sleep.
She thought about Okafor’s tired face. His failed interviews. His hunger. His pride breaking quietly day by day.
He never blamed her.
So she blamed herself.
By morning, her decision was made.
She packed the few things she owned, including one of his shirts that she had washed and folded after a rainy night. She held it for a long time, almost changing her mind.
Then his mother’s words returned.
You are the reason he is suffering.
Ada left without a note.
Because if she explained, she knew she would not have the strength to go.
Okafor knew something was wrong before he reached her door.
It was unlocked.
Inside, the room was empty.
Her things were gone.
“Ada?” he called.
