But success attracts envy.
The other girls in the salon began to envy her. One afternoon, a wealthy woman came in quietly to have her hair done. She dressed simply, but her presence carried weight. After she left, Mayel found a wallet on the floor. Inside was more money than she had ever held at once.
Her colleagues stared.
“Keep it,” one whispered. “Nobody will know.”
Mayel shook her head.
“There is an address inside this wallet,” she said. “We will return it.”
Her colleagues laughed, but Mayel traced the address and returned the wallet herself. The woman was shocked, grateful, and blessed her deeply.
But when Mayel returned to the salon, her boss was furious.
“You embarrassed us!” she shouted. “You think you are better than everyone here?”
Her colleagues lied. They accused her of hiding the money first, and before she could properly defend herself, she was dismissed.
No settlement. No thank you. Nothing.
That same week, Linda returned to the village—pregnant, bitter, empty-handed.
And in Lagos, Mayel sat alone in a noisy park, her small bag beside her, her transport fare already paid, waiting for the bus that would take her back to the same village she had once prayed to escape.
The city had tested both sisters.
One failed because of greed.
One suffered because of integrity.
But the story was not over.
Because sometimes the lowest moment is only the beginning.
The park was noisy—conductors shouting, buses revving, people dragging bags across dusty ground. Mayel sat quietly on a wooden bench, her small bag beside her. Everything she owned was inside that bag. Her fare had already been paid. In less than an hour, she would be on her way back to the village, back to where she started.
She did not cry.
