The Loyalty Game

The room was still when Titi entered Mama Iroko's study.

It wasn't a grand space like the governor's office or the estate's formal library. This was a private corner, untouched by protocol — a small writing desk, shelves of aging journals, a cracked leather armchair, and the lingering scent of camphor and lavender oil.

Titi hadn't been called here in weeks. But this morning, a folded note was delivered to her door in a plain white envelope. Inside were just six words in Mama's elegant script:

"Meet me where I write truth."

The Final Request

Mama Iroko sat at the desk, wrapped in a soft shawl, her back straighter than usual.

"You're early," she said, without looking up.

"You trained me well," Titi replied, smiling.

Mama motioned for her to sit, then pulled out a slim wooden box from the drawer — one that hadn't seen daylight in years.

Inside: a faded letter, its edges curled by time. Its seal, still unbroken, bore the old family crest.

"This," Mama said, "was written by my husband before he passed. He left it for me, but I never had the courage to open it."

Titi watched her carefully.

Mama continued. "I'm giving it to you instead."

The Burden of Words

Titi hesitated. "Are you sure? This might've been for you."

Mama smiled, tears in her eyes. "Maybe it was for the woman I hoped to become. But I think it was meant for the one who helped me become her."

She handed the letter over with steady fingers. "Read it. Out loud."

Titi broke the wax seal gently and unfolded the parchment.

"My dearest,

If you're reading this, then the world has likely become quieter without me in it. But I trust your spirit still carries fire.

Our family is built on more than name. It's built on who carries it when the name is too heavy. I hope you have found someone—not born of us, but bound to us—who will carry it next.

And if you have, give them your blessing. They are the one."

—A.O. Iroko

A Moment Shared in Silence

Titi lowered the letter slowly. Her voice had barely held steady through the reading, but her heart was thundering in her chest.

Mama wiped her cheek. "He saw you. Before either of us did."

They sat there, generations apart, yet tethered by a single message of trust passed across time.

A Simple Act

Mama reached across the table, took Titi's hand, and slid something into her palm — the beaded bracelet she had once shown her son.

"He gave me his word. I'm giving you mine."

Titi's eyes burned. "Mama, I don't know if I can ever"

"You already have," she said softly. "You didn't just care for my body. You tended to my soul."

Closure

That night, Titi placed the letter in a frame and set it on the mantel above the estate's quiet fireplace. She didn't tell Kenny right away. Some blessings are too sacred to be shared before they've settled.

And somewhere, in the hush between memory and morning, a final truth took root:

Loyalty was not a game.

It was a legacy.