The first hospital was the one near Favour’s office.
Kennedy and Papa walked through the busy corridor, past nurses pushing trolleys and patients sitting on benches. The receptionist looked tired before they even spoke.
“We’re looking for a young woman,” Papa said. “Favour Okoro. Twenty-four. She went missing two days ago.”
The woman typed something into the computer. “No patient by that name admitted in the last seventy-two hours.”
“Can you check the emergency records?” Kennedy asked.
She sighed and scrolled. “Nothing. Sorry.”
They tried the next hospital. Same answer. Then another. By the fourth one, Papa’s shoulders had dropped.
Outside the last hospital, under the harsh afternoon sun, Kennedy kicked a stone across the dusty car park.
“This is useless,” he muttered.
Papa wiped his face with a handkerchief. “We keep looking. That’s all we can do.”
“Looking where? She’s not in any hospital. The police have nothing. Her phone is dead. What next?”
Papa didn’t answer. He just started walking back to the car.
—
At home, Mama was sitting in Favour’s room again.
Auntie Grace had come over with food. She stood in the doorway, arms folded.
“You need to eat something,” she told Mama. “Sitting here like this won’t bring her back.”
Mama didn’t look up. She was folding Favour’s clothes, one by one, as if the girl would walk in any minute and need them.
“I cooked jollof,” Auntie Grace continued. “At least take a little.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“You haven’t eaten since yesterday morning.”
Mama’s hands stopped. “How do you expect me to eat when my child is missing?”
Auntie Grace softened. “I’m not saying forget her. I’m saying you need strength. For when she comes back.”
Mama finally looked at her. “And if she doesn’t come back?”
The question hung in the air. Auntie Grace had no answer.
—
That evening Kennedy sat on the front steps again, phone pressed to his ear.
“Cynthia, please. Think carefully. Did she say anything strange the last time you spoke?”
Cynthia’s voice came through, shaky. “Kennedy, I’ve told you everything. We just talked about work. She was normal. Laughing. She even said she wanted us to go shopping on Saturday.”
“Nothing about meeting someone? Or going somewhere after work?”
“No. Nothing.”
He ended the call and stared at the dark street.
Papa came out and sat beside him. For a while they said nothing.
Then Papa spoke quietly. “Your mother is breaking.”
Kennedy nodded. “I know.”
“She barely sleeps. Barely talks. I don’t know how long she can carry this.”
Kennedy rubbed his face. “What if the police never find her?”
Papa looked at him. “Don’t say that.”
“Someone has to say it. It’s been three days. People don’t just vanish.”
“She’s not vanished. She’s somewhere. We will find her.”
Kennedy wanted to believe him. He really did. But the longer the silence stretched, the harder it became.
—
Later that night, after Papa had gone inside, Kennedy walked down Adeola Street alone.
He stopped at the bus stop Favour usually used. He asked the few people still standing there if they had seen a young woman in a white blouse three mornings ago.
Most shook their heads. One woman squinted at him.
“Plenty of young women use this stop every day. How am I supposed to remember one?”
Kennedy showed her the photo on his phone.
She looked for a long second, then shook her head again. “Sorry. I don’t know her.”
He walked further. Past the junction. Past the small shop where Favour sometimes bought pure water. The shopkeeper remembered her face but said she hadn’t come that morning.
By the time Kennedy returned home, the house was dark except for the light in Favour’s room.
Mama was still there, sitting on the bed, the folded clothes stacked neatly beside her.
She didn’t look up when he stood in the doorway.
“Any news?” she asked softly.
“No, Mummy.”
She nodded once, as if she already knew the answer, and went back to smoothing the scarf in her hands.
Kennedy turned away. His chest felt tight.
Outside, the street was quiet. No footsteps. No laughter. No Favour coming home late with excuses about traffic.
Just empty roads, and a family starting to fracture under the weight of not knowing.
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