19/10/2025
How A 24-Year-Old Nurse Fulfilled A 85-Year-Old Billionaire’s Last Wish Before His Death
Episode 2
Stella stood frozen beside his bed, the black leather bag clutched tightly in her trembling hands. The weight of Alhaji Iddris’s secret pressed heavily on her heart. She wasn’t just holding an old man’s belongings—she was holding the key to a past buried beneath wealth, betrayal, and lost love. “Please, Stella,” he said weakly, his voice fading like a candle flame. “Promise me you’ll find them.” Stella swallowed hard, her eyes glistening. “I promise, sir.” He nodded slowly, closing his eyes in relief. “Then I can rest knowing someone pure will see this through.” That night, Stella couldn’t sleep. The rain drummed against her window as she sat on her bed, staring at the photograph of the woman and child. The woman’s smile was soft, full of life, and the baby—perhaps a year old—had the same piercing eyes as the dying man she’d just left in the ICU. How could such a powerful man lose the people he loved most? she wondered.
At dawn, Stella rose quietly, packing the photograph, key, and envelope into her handbag. She told Matron Ago she needed to take a day’s leave, claiming she had a family emergency. By noon, she was seated in a rickety bus heading toward Cuda Village—a small rural town on the outskirts of Kaduna. The journey was long and dusty, the road dotted with hawkers and fields stretching endlessly into the horizon. As she neared the village, she replayed the old man’s words in her mind: “Not all treasures are gold. Some are people.”
When she arrived, the bus dropped her at a narrow junction where time seemed to stand still. The air smelled of earth and palm oil, and the villagers stared curiously at her polished nurse uniform and city shoes. Stella approached an elderly man selling kola nuts under a mango tree. “Please, sir,” she began politely, “I’m looking for a woman named Mariam. She lived here long ago.” The man’s eyes narrowed as he scratched his gray beard. “Mariam…” he repeated slowly. “Ah, you mean the woman who lived in the white bungalow by the stream? It’s been empty for many years.” Her heart skipped. “Is she dead?” she asked nervously. The man sighed. “No one knows. One day she and her daughter left, and no one saw them again. Some say they moved to Lagos. Others say they passed on. Only God knows.”
Stella thanked him and followed the dusty path to the bungalow. The sight that met her sent chills through her. The white paint had peeled off, ivy grew across the walls, and the metal gate creaked as she pushed it open. She reached for the silver key, inserted it into the rusty padlock—it turned perfectly, as if it had been waiting just for her. Inside, the air was heavy and still. Cobwebs hung from the ceiling, dust coated everything in sight. Yet, something about the room felt… sacred. On a wooden table lay a faded photograph of a young girl in a school uniform. The same eyes. The same resemblance. Stella’s heart tightened. She stepped closer and saw a small box tucked beneath the table, engraved with the initials “M & I.”
Her hands trembled as she opened it. Inside were a few old letters wrapped in a cloth and a golden bracelet with the name AISHA carved neatly on it. Stella gasped. That was her—Alhaji’s missing daughter. She unfolded one of the letters carefully. The ink was smudged, but the words were clear:
“Iddris, our daughter is growing fast. She has your stubbornness. I don’t need your money; I just wish you’d come see her smile. I named her Aisha. Maybe one day she’ll find you, or maybe she’ll forgive you even if I can’t.”
Tears filled Stella’s eyes. She read another letter dated just a few years ago:
> “Aisha is now a teacher in Lagos. She still asks about you. I told her her father was brave but lost his way. If only I could show her who you were before greed changed you.”
The letters ended there. Stella knew what she had to do. Aisha was alive, and she deserved to know the truth. She packed the bracelet, letters, and photo carefully and left the house. As she boarded the next bus heading back to Abuja, her phone buzzed. It was Matron Ago. “Stella, where are you? The Chief isn’t doing well. The family is here, fighting already.”
Her heart sank. She arrived at the hospital hours later, her clothes dusty and eyes swollen. The lobby was in chaos—lawyers, security men, and angry relatives shouting at one another. She pushed past them into the ICU. Chief Iddris was lying weakly, oxygen mask on his face, his eyes half-open. Stella rushed to his side. “Sir… I found her,” she whispered. “Her name is Aisha. She’s alive. She’s a teacher in Lagos.”
A faint smile crept across his wrinkled face. A tear rolled down his cheek. “Thank you,” he whispered. “Thank you, Stella.” His trembling hand found hers and squeezed weakly before falling still. The monitor beeped once, then went silent. The room froze. Malik cursed under his breath, pulling out his phone while the other family members turned away.
But Stella stood there, numb, holding the old man’s hand as a strange peace settled over the room. She wasn’t just his nurse anymore—she was the keeper of his redemption. As she wiped her tears, she felt something deep within her shift. He had died, but his last wish still lived. A promise still needed to be fulfilled.
She looked down at the envelope again. Inside, beneath the property papers, was one more sealed note addressed in shaky handwriting:
“To my daughter, Aisha. If this reaches you, know that I never stopped loving you. Forgive me. — Your father.”
Stella’s eyes widened. It wasn’t over. She had to find Aisha, deliver this note, and tell her the truth. The truth that money had hidden for decades, but love had kept alive.
To be continued.....
