Part 1
The bread seller shoved the old man so hard that his walking stick rolled into the gutter and people around the bus stop only stared.
Kanyin Ajayi froze beside her dispatch bike, one hand still on the food box tied behind it. Her phone was ringing again. A customer in Lekki had already shouted that he would report her for being late, and the fuel in her tank was almost finished. But the old man on the ground was shaking as if hunger had taken the strength out of his bones.
—Please, my son is coming. Just give me 1 loaf. He will pay you when he arrives.
—Old man, leave my shop before you bring bad luck here.
The seller lifted his hand again, but Kanyin stepped between them.
—Touch him again and you will explain yourself at the police station.
—Is he your father?
—He is somebody’s father. That is enough.
The seller hissed.
—If you have money, buy for him. If not, move away.
Kanyin looked at the 2,000 naira she had hidden in her phone pouch for fuel. Her mother’s hospital debt still sat on her chest like a stone, and her aunt had been calling every day, threatening to throw out the last boxes of her mother’s clothes and photographs. Still, she took the money out.
—Give him 2 loaves and a sachet water.
The old man looked at her as if she had handed him gold.
—My daughter, what is your name?
—Kanyin.
—Kanyin. God will remember you when people forget you.
—Please sit in the shade, sir. Call your son again.
—My grandson. He is always late. Too much money, no time.
Kanyin smiled sadly.
—Then money has not taught him sense.
The old man laughed, then suddenly held her hand.
—You will make a good wife for him.
—Sir, I am trying to survive, not marry.
Her phone rang again. She jumped back on her bike and sped off, not knowing that 5 minutes later, 2 black SUVs would stop beside that same bread stand.
A tall man in a clean navy suit stepped out. At 29, Tobi Adesina was the private face behind Adesina Holdings, a company whose hotels, estates, and fashion investments reached across Nigeria. Most workers knew his name. Very few knew his face.
—Grandpa, I am sorry. The board meeting ran late.
The old man pointed the bread at him.
—You came late and allowed your wife to escape.
Tobi stared.
—My what?
—A girl with a good heart bought bread for me. She defended me when this goat pushed me.
The bread seller went pale when the security men turned toward him.
—Grandpa, you are not choosing my wife because she bought bread.
—That is better than choosing one of those women who only smiles when they see your surname.
That evening, Kanyin received a call from the old man, his voice weak and broken.
—My daughter, my chest is tight. I cannot breathe well.
She abandoned 2 deliveries, borrowed fuel from another rider, and followed the address he sent to a quiet street in Ikoyi. But when she entered the large sitting room, the old man was sitting comfortably, drinking tea.
—Papa, were you really sick?
—I wanted to know if you would come when you thought I had nothing to give.
Kanyin’s eyes filled with angry tears.
—That was cruel. I left work. People depend on those deliveries.
Tobi, standing near the window in plain clothes, watched her closely. She was furious, but she still checked the old man’s pulse.
The old man smiled.
—This is my grandson, Tobi. He is stubborn, handsome, and unmarried.
—Grandpa.
—And this is the wife I have chosen.
Kanyin stepped back.
—No. I cannot marry a stranger.
Her phone rang before anyone could speak. Aunt Bisi’s voice exploded through it.
—Bring my 2 million naira before tomorrow or I will burn your mother’s boxes. I am tired of keeping rubbish for an ungrateful girl.
Kanyin begged, but the call ended.
The old man’s face hardened.
—Marry my grandson. I will settle the debt today.
Tobi’s eyes turned cold.
—So that is the price?
Kanyin looked at him, humiliated.
—I will pay back every kobo. I only need to save what is left of my mother.
By sunset, an old family lawyer had driven them to a marriage registry. Kanyin signed with trembling fingers. Tobi signed like a man closing a bad business deal.
Outside, he handed her a copy of the certificate.
—This marriage is only for my grandfather.
—I know.
—Do not expect love.
—I expect nothing from a man who thinks poverty is the same as greed.
The next morning, Kanyin walked into the interview room at Omas Designs with her worn portfolio under her arm. Then she saw her old university rival, Cynthia Bello, smiling from the front table.
Cynthia lifted one of Kanyin’s drawings and gasped loudly.
