Chapter 4 - The Clinic in IbadanThree days later.
A quiet, unassuming community clinic on the outskirts of Ibadan.
Amara sat on the edge of a narrow examination table, her hands resting gently over her stomach. The small ultrasound printout in her fingers felt heavier than lead.
Three.
Triplets.
She had spent the last two weeks crying until her eyes were dry, trying to figure out how she, a humble food seller with debt collectors at her heels and billionaire predators hunting her name, was going to raise three children alone.
Suddenly, the clinic door swung open.
Amara flinched, looking up expecting to see a nurse.
Instead, standing in the doorway, breathing heavily, soaked in dust and sweat, stood Daniel. He wasn't wearing his billionaire suit. He wore a simple faded shirt and worn sneakers—the exact clothes he had worn when she first handed him a plate of food.
Amara froze. Her heart hammered against her ribs.
“Amara…” Daniel breathed, taking a slow step forward.
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Amara stood up from the table, her eyes flashing with a mix of fierce pride and deep, agonizing pain. She crumpled the ultrasound printout in her fist.
“What are you doing here, Daniel?” she demanded, her voice shaking. “Did your grandmother send you to finish the job? To pay me off to stay away from your precious family name?”
