The courtroom was packed. Cameras rolled. Phones flashed. Outside, a sea of protesters screamed for justice, waving placards that read, “Williams the killer must die.” The energy in the air was tense, so thick you could almost hear hearts beating.

 At the center of the courtroom, sitting in a wheelchair and hooked to an oxygen tank, was the man they all came to see. Chief Williams, once the most powerful oil magnate in Africa, now frail and broken, accused of the most horrible crime, killing his own wife and only son to renew his wealth through an alleged occult ritual. He didn’t speak, he couldn’t.

 His eyes were empty, like a man who had died long before the trial even began. His head hung low. The guards flanked him with cold indifference. The judge cleared his throat. Is there any final evidence or witness to speak on behalf of the accused before this court pronounces judgment? A hush fell. Everyone turned. No one expected anything. His lawyers had withdrawn. His allies had disappeared.

 His name had been smeared across newspapers, social media, even in churches. Then a voice rang out. I have evidence. A slim young girl stood up slowly from the back of the courtroom wearing a maid uniform. Murmurss rippled through the crowd. She’s just a maid.

 

 Who is that? Is she not the girl that works for the family? Amarka stood trembling but determined. Her voice cracked a little, but she pressed on. I was in the house the night Chief Williams wife and son were murdered. I saw everything. I recorded it on my phone. Now the entire room was still. The judge leaned forward. “Step forward, young lady, and identify yourself.” She took a deep breath and walked slowly toward the front.

 Her maid uniform was neatly pressed, but her slippers were worn. Her eyes held back tears. “My name is a marker Benjamin. I was the maid in the Williams household. I know who killed Madame Elelliana and young George, and I have proof.” The moment she raised a flash drive into the air, all cameras zoomed in. The judge ordered it to be inserted and played on the courtroom screen. The silence was deafening.

 What followed changed the course of the trial forever. A video began to play, shaky, but clear enough to show the masked men storming the Williams mansion. Screams, gunshots. The image shifted slightly. And then the most shocking moment. One of the masked men removed his face covering. Gasps erupted in court.

 Some screamed it was Jonathan Chuka, Chief Williams fiercest business rival, the billionaire owner of Chuck’s Oil. He smirked in the video standing over the bodies of Elelliana and George as he told his men, “Good job. This is the final blow.” By the time the media spins this, the world will believe Williams sacrificed his own family.

 That red cap and white Abbada image was our greatest gift. He’s finished. Jonathan, seated in court with his lawyers, leapt to his feet. That’s a lie. That video is fake. But the judge had already summoned the court’s forensic team. Within minutes, the footage was confirmed as authentic. Chief Williams began to weep silently, his body trembling. For the first time since his arrest, his name was no longer a curse. Chaos erupted in the courtroom.

Reporters scrambled for angles. Police officers restrained Jonathan as he tried to lunge at a marker, calling her a lying rat. The judge pounded the gavvel. “Order!” Everyone settled slowly. And then the judge looked straight at a marker and said, “How did you come by this video? And why now?” Her voice quivered, but she answered honestly. I was hiding in the kitchen that night. I had my phone with me.

 I recorded everything. I wanted to come forward, but I was scared. I’m just a maid. Nobody would believe me. But when I saw how Chief Williams was suffering, I couldn’t sleep. I had to speak. The judge nodded slowly. Mr. Marker, you may have just saved an innocent man’s life. And just like that, everything changed. Then the judge delivered his judgment.

After a careful examination of the evidence before the court, it’s clear Williams was framed, and this court declared him innocent of all the accusations. Jonathan is hereby sentenced to death. The courtroom exploded in chaos again. Only this time, it was the sound of redemption, not doom.

 Outside the courtroom, as reporters flooded around the gates, a black van sat quietly parked on the other side of the road. Inside, a dark-skinned woman in a hooded sweatshirt tapped her phone furiously. On her screen was the video Aaka had just exposed. She sent it in an encrypted message and whispered, “Plan B has failed. We moved to plan C.” Amaka must not live to testify further. The sun had long set on the dusty streets of Ashi, but Amaka’s mind was ablaze with thoughts.

 After leaving the courthouse under heavy police protection, she returned to the only home she had ever known, a cramped one- room apartment shared with her ailing mother, Amanda. The electricity had been cut again, so the room was dimly lit by a flickering kerosene lantern.

 Amanda lay on a thin mattress, coughing weakly, her breath shallow. But when she saw Amarka enter, her eyes lit up with a fragile glow. “You did it,” she whispered. Amarka knelt by her mother’s side and nodded, holding back tears. “I did, mama. I showed the court the video. They saw everything. Chief Williams, he was declared innocent today. Amanda reached for her daughter’s hand, her fingers cold and trembling.

 You saved him, Amaka. You stood for the truth. I was so scared, Mama. Amaka admitted. I thought nobody would believe me. But when I saw how he was suffering, I remembered your words that even if we die, we must die for truth. Amanda’s lips curved into a faint smile, the first one in weeks. God is with you, my child.

 But outside, in the shadows of Ash’s narrow alleys, someone else was watching. In a tinted black SUV parked just two blocks away, two men in black suits spoke in hush tones. “That’s the girl,” one said, peering through binoculars. “She’s the one who exposed Jonathan.” “Orders are clear,” the other replied. “We wait for nightfall. Eliminate the girl.

 Make it look like a robbery. And if the mother is in the way, the words hung heavy in the air. Back in the apartment, Amarka changed out of her courtroom dress and slipped into an old t-shirt. Her body achd from fear and exhaustion, but she couldn’t rest. Something didn’t feel right. She went to the window and peered out into the darkness.

 The street was quieter than usual. Too quiet. The normal hustle of a shoddy at night. Kids playing, loud generators humming, petty traders arguing, had all faded into silence. Suddenly, there was a knock. A soft but deliberate knock at the wooden door. Her heart stopped.

 She turned to her mother, whose eyes were wide with fear. “Amaka,” Amanda whispered. “Who could that be?” “I don’t know.” The knock came again, this time harder. Amaka grabbed her phone, heart racing. “Who’s there?” she asked loudly, trying to hide the tremble in her voice. “No answer.” “Another bang, louder this time.” She rushed to the door, placing her ear against it. She heard footsteps, more than one person.

 Whispering and movement. “Mama,” she whispered urgently. “We need to leave now.” “But how? I can’t.” A maka rushed to the corner of the room and pulled out a small rusty key. It opened the back exit, an old wooden door that led into the shared alley behind the building. She helped her mother up, supporting her frail body with all her strength. The banging at the front door grew louder, more aggressive. We have to go.

 With adrenaline pumping through her veins, Amaka lifted her mother and slipped through the back. They moved through the dark alley, the stench of soaked trash and rotting food in the air. Amanda coughed violently, her body shaking. “Shh! Mama, please!” Amarka whispered. “Just a little more.” They heard the front door crash open behind them. Men shouting, feet pounding.

 The chase had begun. Amaka, clutching her mother tightly, turned into another alley, narrowly dodging a rusty barrel. She spotted a small kiosk where a fruit seller usually stayed during the day. She rushed behind it, hiding both herself and Amanda, pressing their bodies against the wall. The men ran past, their footsteps thundering.

 One of them stopped briefly, scanning the area with a flashlight. A marker held her breath. She could feel her mother’s heart pounding. “Gone,” one man finally said. “They must have slipped into one of these houses. We’ll find them.” They disappeared into the darkness.

 Tears streamed down a marker’s face as she silently cried, praying the men wouldn’t return. 10 minutes passed, then 20. Only after the sounds completely faded, did she slowly help her mother up again. They couldn’t return home. Not now, maybe never. She needed help. But who could she trust? There was only one person who had the power and the motive to protect them now. Chief Williams.

 A marker flagged down a Danfo bus at the junction. Her clothes were stained with dirt. Amanda was barely conscious in her arms. “Where are you going this night like this?” the driver asked, confused. “Please take us to Victoria Island. It’s urgent. I will pay.” She didn’t say how. She didn’t have the money. But she prayed someone at the mansion would help. The journey felt like a lifetime.

Victoria Island was the exact opposite of Oshoi, clean, well-lit, quiet. The gate of the Williams estate stood like a fortress in the night. She approached the intercom at the security post. Shivering, she pressed the button. A gruff voice responded, “Who is this?” “My name is a marker.

 I was the maid in this house. Please, I need to see Chief Williams. We’re in danger.” After a long pause, the gates slowly opened. Inside, the mansion was quiet, but lights were on. Staff in formal clothes hurried about. The house was now like a hospital. After everything that happened, Williams hadn’t returned to his room.

 He now stayed in a special wing of the mansion, guarded and isolated. A marker and Amanda were taken in. They were fed, given clean clothes. Amanda was rushed into the in-house clinic. Then finally, a marker was called to the private wing. Inside, Chief Williams sat in a wheelchair, a blanket over his legs, IV tubes attached to his arm. But his eyes were alive now, clearer, stronger.

 When he saw her, he whispered, “A marker. You saved me. Why are you here again?” She knelt before him, crying. “Sir, someone is trying to kill me.” “Tonight, they came for me and my mother.” Williams straightened slightly. “Who?” “I don’t know, but it has to be someone close to your enemy. Maybe Jonathan’s people. They think I might expose more.

” Williams gripped his wheelchair handles tightly. His lips quivered. “They won’t hurt you again from this night. A marker. You’re under my protection. She nodded, overwhelmed. But deep inside her, she knew the battle wasn’t over. This was only the beginning. Chief Williams didn’t waste time. The moment Amaka revealed the attempt on her life, he summoned his most trusted personal security team, men who had been loyal to him before the first drop of oil was ever sold, they formed a protective ring around the mansion, doubling surveillance and

ensuring that every vehicle and visitor was screened. But that wasn’t enough. I want the truth, he told his lead investigator, Detective Anio, a retired DSS agent. I want to know who sent them and how deep this goes. I want to know who is still pretending to be my friend while plotting my death. Yes, sir.

 Anyo replied with a salute. We start now inside the house. A marker sat quietly on a long velvet couch in one of the mansion’s sitting rooms, a place she had only cleaned from afar. Her thoughts were heavy.

 She kept looking toward the in-house clinic where her mother, Amanda, was being attended to by private doctors. “Amaka,” a voice called gently behind her. She turned. It was Yami, one of the mansion’s older cooks. She smiled warmly. “You did something brave. We’re all proud of you.” Amaka lowered her gaze. “I didn’t do it to be praised. I just couldn’t let him die for something he didn’t do.” Yi nodded. Still, that took courage.

 Not everyone would risk their life for a man they barely spoke to. Amaka smiled faintly. But deep down, she still couldn’t believe how drastically life had changed in just days. From a maid working endlessly for 30,000 naira, slapped and insulted daily, to now living in the heart of a billionaire’s mansion, being thanked, protected, even valued. But not everyone in the house was pleased.

 From behind a curtain upstairs, Martha, Chief Williams personal secretary, stared coldly at a marker. She should have died that night. Martha muttered to herself, her face dark. She’s going to ruin everything. She pulled out her phone, opened a secret chat app, and typed. A marker survived. She’s with the chief.

We need to act faster. He’s asking questions. A reply came almost instantly. Hold your ground. We move. During the board meeting, that same evening, Chief Williams summoned an emergency board meeting at the company’s headquarters in Victoria Island.

 It was the first time since his trial that the top executives of Williams Oil Gas had seen him. The conference room was sleek, marble table, leather chairs, and 98 in screen on the wall. Dozens of powerful men and women sat around the table. Some looked nervous, others annoyed. When Williams entered in his wheelchair, silence fell. He was thinner, paler, but his eyes were sharper than ever.

 “I know many of you thought I’d never return,” he began, his voice calm, but laced with steel. “Some of you even helped me get buried alive, but I’m here, and I want answers.” He paused, scanning the room. No one met his gaze. There was an attempt on my life twice. My wife and son are dead. I need to know if anyone in this room is working with Jonathan Chuka or his agents.

 One board member, Mr. Bellow, cleared his throat. Chief, with due respect, we’re just businessmen. We don’t meddle in personal wars. Williams raised an eyebrow. Is that what you think this is? A personal war? Jonathan framed me. He turned the nation against me.

 And someone in this boardroom gave him access to my calendar, my security details, and my CCTV blind spots. So tell me again, Bellow, who are you loyal to? Tension grew. People shuffled in their seats. Sweat gathered on brows. Then suddenly Martha walked in and stood behind Williams. She held a folder and leaned in. Sir, your medication. He reached to take it. But something about her eyes, a flicker of panic, stopped him.

 A marker had just entered the room with a doctor’s report on Amanda’s improving health when she saw the scene. “Sir, don’t take that,” she said sharply. “Everyone turned.” Williams looked at her, confused. “What is it?” Amarka walked to him and gently took the pill bottle from Martha’s hand. “Please let the in-house doctor check it first.” Martha stepped back quickly.

 What is the meaning of this? I’ve always given him his medication. Amaka didn’t argue. She simply passed the bottle to the doctor in the room. A quick scan revealed it was laced with Tramodol and sleepinducing opioids, a dose large enough to sedate him for hours. The room fell into chaos.

 Martha, what is this? Williams demanded, rising slightly from his chair in rage. She stammered. It must be a mixup at the pharmacy. But it was too late. Detective Anna stepped into the room with two officers. “We have evidence,” he announced, holding up a printed email. “Martha has been in contact with Jonathan’s people for months.

” She fed them your location the night of the attack. “Gps, shouts across the room.” “No wonder they knew everything,” Williams muttered, pain in his eyes. “I trusted you,” he said to her. Martha dropped to her knees. Please, he forced me. He said he’d kill my daughter if I didn’t help. But Williams had no sympathy. Take her, he said.

 As the officers dragged her away, Williams leaned back and exhaled. The board sat in stunned silence. Then he turned to a marker. “Thank you,” he said quietly. Everyone looked at her. This once invisible girl, now the reason their CEO was still alive. Later that night, Williams called Amma to his private lounge. He poured himself a glass of water and asked her to sit.

There’s something I haven’t told you, he said. Amarker nodded, listening. I knew your father, Williams began. Benjamin wasn’t just a name I heard in passing. He used to work with me many years ago. He was one of my most trusted engineers. Amarker’s eyes widened. He died when I was very young,” she whispered.

 “Yes,” William said. “But what you didn’t know is that Benjamin once saved my life during a rig explosion in Port Harcourt. I was trapped. He pulled me out and nearly died doing it.” Tears brimmed in William’s eyes. I owed your family. I never forgot that. But after his death, your mother disappeared. I searched, but Lagos is a big place.

 Amarka stared stunned. Now I understand why I felt so connected to you the moment I saw you in this house. You’re his daughter. She couldn’t speak. Her heart felt too full. I will not let anyone hurt you again, Williams said gently. You are part of my family now. And just then a staff rushed in. Sir, he said breathlessly.

 We’ve traced the men who came for Amaka last night. One of them was just arrested in Sango. he confessed and he mentioned a secret plan still in motion. A marker froze. What plan? Williams asked. The staff replied. They called it. The cleansing. It’s not over, sir. They’re planning to strike again soon. Williams turned to a marker.

 We’re running out of time. Rain lashed against the tinted windows of the police convoy as it sped through the dark streets of Lagos. Inside, Amaka sat beside Chief Williams, who now looked stronger, but only just. Beside him, sat Detective Anio, pressing his earpiece tightly and speaking in a tense whisper.

 We have 24 hours, maybe less. The lead assassin arrested in Sango, had cracked under pressure. He confirmed that a second attack code came the cleansing was scheduled to eliminate every loose end connected to the Williams case. And at the top of the list was Amaka. Apparently, Anio continued, “Jonathan’s allies didn’t stop at trying to frame you. They had a whole syndicate in place.

 Politicians, journalists, corrupt police chiefs, they wanted to erase your legacy entirely. Destroy the Williams name forever. This cleansing is their final move.” Williams nodded slowly. “Then we stop them before they finish what they started.” Amaka swallowed hard. How? Anio looked at her. By becoming bait.

 What do you mean? We leak false information that Chief Williams has secretly moved all his company’s confidential documents and unreleased evidence into one place, his home. We’ll make them believe that all remaining threats to their plan are gathered there. Including you. Amaka blinked. So, we wait in the mansion for them to come. Yes, Anio said, but this time we’re ready. Back at the mansion, heavy security returned.

 Not just guards, but drones, motion sensors, and men in black suits patrolling rooftops. The estate, once known for its grand beauty, now resembled a military zone. Amanda had recovered well in the mansion’s clinic, gaining strength each day. But when she heard the plan, her legs buckled beneath her. No, she cried, grabbing Amarka’s hands. Please, you’ve done enough.

 Why must you risk your life again? Amarka knelt before her mother. Mama, they won’t stop until they wipe out every witness. That includes us. Hiding won’t save us. Tears rolled down Amanda’s cheeks. But I just got you back. I just started dreaming again. Amaka embraced her tightly. Well be okay. I promise. At midnight, a new storm raged. Lightning flashed across the sky, briefly illuminating the long fence surrounding the estate.

 Inside the mansion, all lights were off except one, the light at the study. Chief Williams sat behind his desk, a marker seated beside him, their silhouettes barely visible behind the large window facing the garden. The bait was set. Detective Anio and a SWAT team lay in wait, hidden in secret compartments.

 Rooftop sniper stations and underground tunnels built years ago for emergency escapes. Time ticked slowly. 1 a.m. 1:27 a.m. Then silence broke. The power line outside the gate snapped, plunging the street into darkness. Moments later, three SUVs with their headlights off pulled up at the back of the estate. They’re here,” whispered one of the rooftop guards. Thermal drones picked up movement.

 Eight intruders, masked, armed, and moving like ghosts. The estate’s cameras caught them, disabling the outer motion sensors with trained precision. They scaled the side wall with rope and landed quietly near the rose garden. Inside the house, a marker gripped the arm of her chair. “They’ve breached the first gate.

” A voice echoed in Anio’s earpiece. Don’t move until I say,” he responded. Through the study’s glass, Amaka saw them now. Dark shadows moving like water, heading straight toward the study, just as planned. Then there was a heavy crash. The glass shattered. Gunshots rang out. Smoke bombs rolled into the study. The attackers swarmed in.

 Chief Williams slumped backward in the chair, seemingly unconscious. Amaka screamed and dropped to the floor. Where’s the flash drive?” one attacker shouted. “Give it to me or die.” Another man searched the bookshelf, tearing out drawers, smashing the laptop on the desk. “Where’s the girl?” another called. “I thought she’d be here.

” Suddenly, there was a loud sound. Gas exploded from vents in the walls, a non-lethal immobilizer. Flash grenades dropped from the ceiling, hidden panels burst open, and SWAT agents stormed in. down. Hands where I can see them. Gunfire exploded from every corner. It was chaos. A marker covered her ears, crawling behind a table.

 Two attackers tried to flee, but the security gate outside had shut tight. In under 7 minutes, the entire assault team was neutralized. Chief Williams sat up, coughing from the smoke, but alive. A marker peered through the thick fog, her chest heaving. It’s over, Annayio said, stepping in with a victorious expression. We got them all.

 The next morning, headlines across Nigeria screamed the news. Cleansing plot foiled. Assassins linked to Chuck’s oil captured in failed mansion raid. Brave maid who saved billionaire’s life escapes second assassination attempt. The nation finally began to believe the truth. People who once cursed Chief Williams online now flooded social media with apologies. We were wrong. God bless her marker. She’s the real MVP.

 Justice finally wins. Even the president sent a delegation to the Williams estate with public honors and national protection for Amara and her mother. Chief Williams watched all of this unfold from the lounge. His fingers curled around the armrest of a chair. When Amarka entered, his eyes softened.

 I owe you more than I can ever repay. You don’t owe me anything, sir. Amaka said gently. I just did what was right. William shook his head. No, Amaka. You brought me back from the dead twice. You faced death for me. And now I need you to do one more thing. Amaka raised a brow.

 He turned to his drawer, pulled out an envelope, and handed it to her. inside a full scholarship to study medicine at one of the top universities in Nigeria, fully funded. Her hands shook. I heard you once wanted to become a doctor. You sacrificed that dream to take care of your mom. I want to help you get it back. A marker stared at the papers, blinking back tears.

 But sir, I I’ve also arranged for your mother to be flown abroad for a full treatment plan. He added, she’ll be fine. And when she returns, I want her to work here at headquarters. She has a degree in economics. I remember. Tears poured from Amarka’s eyes. You’re giving us a life we never dreamed of. No, Amaka, William said quietly. You earned this life.

 And as the sun rose over the estate, washing the mansion in gold, Amaka finally believed something she never thought possible. Her story was just beginning. 4 years later, the auditorium buzzed with excitement. Rows upon rows of family, friends, and dignitaries sat eagerly, their eyes focused on the stage, decorated with banners that read, “Congratulations, graduating class of the University of Lagos College of Medicine.

” A marker stood behind the curtain in her white doctor’s coat, fingers trembling slightly around her cap. Her heart beat wildly as the names were called one by one. Her name was close. She couldn’t believe it. After all the pain, loss, betrayal, and near-death experiences, this moment was real.

 The girl who once begged for leftover food in rich kitchens, the maid who once scrubbed the floors of a mansion when no one even knew her name, the girl who nearly died for telling the truth, was now Dr. Amaka Benjamin, graduating at the top of her class. When her name was finally called, the entire auditorium erupted, not because they all knew her, but because of the name that followed. Dr.

 Amaka Benjamin, sponsored by Chief Maxwell Williams Foundation. At the front row, sat Chief Williams himself, dressed in a pristine navy blue Abbada with silver embroidery. Though his health had improved, he still used a walking stick. But today, he looked 10 years younger. Beside him sat Amanda, glowing in a lilac lace gown, healthier than she’d ever been, smiling with pride only a mother could wear.

 And next to Amanda, holding her hand, was Jerry, Amarka’s husband. The day Amaka met Jerry, she was attending a medical conference in Port Harort, representing Williams Foundation Hospital, where she now worked. He was a charming, quiet young man, a clinical pharmacist who had given a powerful speech on local drug accessibility.

 After the session, he’d walked up to her and simply said, “I watched your court trial 4 years ago. You don’t know how many lives you inspired.” She had smiled nervously, not expecting that memory to follow her into her new life. One conversation turned into coffee. Coffee turned into dinners, and soon love blossomed. Chief Williams didn’t just approve, he celebrated it.

Any man who truly sees your worth, a marker, is already rich. He once told her their wedding was small but elegant, held in the Williams estate garden. Amanda cried throughout the ceremony. Williams gave her away, walking her down the aisle himself.

 And as he held her hand at the altar, he whispered, “Your father would be proud.” Now 4 years later, a marker stood with Jerry at the hospital’s grand opening ceremony. The banner stretched across the glass walls read, “The Elelliana, George Williams Memorial Hospital, a place for healing and truth.” It was a foundation hospital, fully funded and free for pregnant women, children, and the poor.

Inside the building, the walls were decorated with portraits, one of Chief Williams and his late wife and son. And beside them, a massive framed photo of a marker wearing her medical coat with the words, “The girl who chose truth over fear.” As cameras flashed and guests applauded, Chief Williams took the podium to speak.

 His voice, though slow, was firm. Today is not just about bricks and machines. Today is about redemption. a second chance. A girl once seen as a nobody saved a billionaire when no one else would. When everyone else turned away, she walked forward. She defended me in a court where the world had already judged me guilty.

 And today, she wears a doctor’s coat, not because I gave it to her, but because she earned it step by step, against all odds, the crowd applauded. Amanda wept silently. Chief Williams looked at a marker and continued. Many people ask me what wealth means to me now. I tell them this. Wealth is not money. Wealth is when someone can look back and say, “Because of you, I survived. Because of you, I had hope. Amaka is my wealth.

” He paused, then smiled. But I didn’t just gain a daughter. I gained a wife. Laughter and gasps echoed through the audience. Yes, after years of partnership, Amanda and Chief Williams had fallen in love. Their bond had grown naturally, rooted in shared grief, understanding, and the joy of watching Amaka blossom.

 Just 3 months before Amaka’s graduation, they got married quietly without fanfare. Now Amanda Williams stood proudly beside her husband, no longer the coughing woman who once lived in a rotting odi flat, but the director of strategy and planning at Williams oil and gas. Later that evening, a marker sat on a bench in the mansion garden, the same spot she used to sweep years ago.

 The stars blinked overhead. Jerry joined her, sitting quietly beside her, wrapping his arm around her shoulder. “Still doesn’t feel real?” he asked. She chuckled softly. It’s like I’m watching someone else’s life. He leaned in. Except this time you wrote it. She smiled. Do you ever wonder what would have happened if I hadn’t taken that job as a maid? Jerry nodded.

 Then the truth would have died with your boss and you wouldn’t have become who you are. She leaned against his chest. There was silence. Then the cry of two babies echoed from inside the mansion. Their sons, twins, born just a few weeks earlier.

 Chief Williams had insisted they name one of them George after his late son, the other, a marker named Benjamin, after her father. She stood and looked back at the house. I think I’m ready for what’s next, she whispered. What’s that? Jerry asked. To give others the same chance I was given, she said. I want to build clinics in Ashei. I want little girls like I was to believe they can dream. I want them to know truth is powerful.

 that being a maid doesn’t mean you’re powerless. Jerry grinned. You’re going to change the world. No, she said, her eyes twinkling. I’m just going to start with where I came from. And as they walked hand in hand into the glowing lights of the mansion, the laughter of their twins behind them, and the cheers of celebration still ringing in the night sky, it was clear Amarka had not just rewritten her story.

 She had rewritten everyone’s expectations of what a maid, an orphan girl from the slum, a survivor of injustice could become and the world would never forget her. What is your view about this story? Where are you watching from? If you enjoy this story, comment, share and subscribe to our channel for more interesting stories.