The building is simple, but full of laughter. There’s a mural of a mother holding her child up to heaven.

Nonso sends me a monthly allowance. I never asked for it.

“It’s not charity, Lucía. It’s justice.”

I still live humbly. I cook, sweep, and wash clothes. But now I sleep better.

I told my story. Finally, someone listened.

Today, when I walk through the schoolyard and see the girls taking classes, I think about how far I’ve come. One of them, with long braids and a shy smile, approaches me:

“Are you Chidera’s mother?”

“Yes, why?”

“I want to be like you: strong, even if I’m afraid.”

I hug her.

“You’re already strong, you just have to believe it.”

Sometimes Nonso calls me to ask about school. He talks less, listens more.