Maria sat on the edge of the bed, the old Nokia phone in her hand. No SIM card yet, but it felt heavier than gold.
She stared at it for a long time.
Her aunt, Mama Ronke, entered quietly. "You've not eaten."
"I'm not hungry," Maria whispered.
Mama Ronke sat beside her. "I may be old, but I know a woman torn between running and returning when I see one."
Maria didn't speak.
"He's Junior's father, abi?"
Maria nodded. "Yes. But he's also the reason we had to run."
Mama Ronke touched her hand. "Still, the boy asks of him in his sleep. He calls him 'daddy' even when he dreams."
Maria swallowed hard.
That night, after Junior had drifted off, Maria walked into the compound alone.
She inserted the SIM card.
One bar of signal.
She opened her messages.
No texts.
No missed calls.
But she opened a blank message anyway, and typed just three words.
"He's doing fine."
She hit send.
To Alexander.
Far away in Lagos, Alexander's phone buzzed once in the middle of a silent meeting.
He looked down and stared.
Then he smiled.
Just a little.
But it was enough.