The Loyalty Game

The sitting room was quiet, almost reverent, as the sunlight spilled through lace curtains. The mood within the Iroko estate had shifted since Mama's interview. Though the public now regarded her with renewed compassion, the family remained unsettled. Beneath the peace, there lingered tension.

In the heart of it stood Titi Ayeni—no longer just "the caregiver," but now a pillar in the Iroko household. She had earned trust, faced betrayal, and survived a gauntlet designed to test her soul.

But there was one more boundary left to cross.

And this time, she would set the terms.

A Closed-Door Meeting

Governor Tunde Iroko sat behind his desk, tired but still powerful. Kenny stood by the window, arms folded, watching the breeze move the curtains.

Titi entered alone.

"No assistant?" the Governor asked.

"I'm not here as staff," she said gently. "I'm here as a partner in your mother's care. And as someone who has kept her side through every storm."

Kenny turned. "What's this about?"

She walked to the table and placed a brown envelope in front of the Governor.

"This is my condition for continuing," she said.

Tunde raised a brow. "You want a raise? A bonus? You've already earned more than most would in a year."

Titi's voice remained calm. "I'm not asking for money. I'm asking for change."

The Contents

Inside the envelope were two documents:

A proposal for a state-backed emotional wellness initiative for caregivers—training, counseling access, and mental health insurance for both private and public caregivers.

A signed but undated resignation letter from Titi, with a personal note attached.

Governor Iroko read the letter silently. His fingers trembled just slightly at the closing line:

"If this house values legacy, then let legacy begin with compassion—one that serves others, not just itself."

The Room Holds Its Breath

For a moment, no one spoke. Then Kenny stepped forward.

"You'd walk away? After all this?"

Titi turned to him, her eyes soft. "If I stay, it must be with purpose. If not, then I leave with peace, knowing I kept my integrity."

Governor Iroko leaned back in his chair, the weight of everything bearing down on him.

"You're more dangerous than a politician," he muttered with something between frustration and admiration.

"Only to broken systems," she replied.

A Decision

The Governor didn't answer immediately. He reached for his pen and circled the first page of the proposal.

"I'll take this to the council next week," he said. "If it fails, we'll fund it privately."

Titi nodded. "Then I stay."

Aftermath

Word spread quietly among the household staff: Titi had refused more money, more influence. She had asked for better treatment for everyone else.

To many, it was unthinkable.

To some, it was revolutionary.

To Mama Iroko, when told later by her son, it was simple.

"She's the daughter I didn't birth," she said softly.

Quiet Victories

That night, Titi sat by Mama's bedside, helping her write in her gratitude journal—a nightly routine they had begun since her recovery.

"What should I write today, my daughter?" Mama asked, smiling.

Titi smiled back. "Write this: 'Even in power, the heart can lead.'"