THE MISSING ANGEL

CHAPTER ONE BIDEMI Bidemi was the kind of woman people were lucky to have in their lives, but rarely knew how to appreciate. She was not the loudest person in the room. She did not need attention before she felt important. She was not the type who measured friendship by how many people knew her name or how many people surrounded her. Bidemi simply loved people. She loved them sincerely. Perhaps too sincerely. She believed that everyone deserved kindness until they proved otherwise. She believed that people could make mistakes and still deserve forgiveness. She believed that when someone said, "I need you," you did not ask how inconvenient it was before showing up. That belief had shaped her entire life. And one day, it would nearly destroy her. But Bidemi did not know that yet. At twenty-something, she still looked at life with a softness that experience had not completely taken away from her. There was something warm about her smile. Something peaceful in the way she spoke. Even when she was tired, she tried not to let the people around her notice. Her mother used to tell her, "Bidemi, you have a heart that is too big for this world." Bidemi would laugh whenever she heard it. "Is having a good heart a bad thing?" Her mother would shake her head. "No. But you must learn that not everyone who enters your heart deserves a permanent place there." Bidemi never understood those words. Not completely. She thought love could change people. She thought patience could repair broken relationships. She thought if she gave people enough reasons to stay, they would eventually understand how much she cared. She was wrong. But before life taught her that lesson, there was a time when Bidemi was simply happy. She had a small circle of friends whom she considered family. There was Tolu, the friend who called her whenever she had a problem. There was Mimi, who could spend hours talking to Bidemi about relationships, fashion, work, and everything happening in her life. And then there was Sandra, the friend who had known Bidemi for years. They laughed together. They went out together. They shared secrets. They made promises about the future. Bidemi believed their friendship would last forever. She never imagined that one day, these same people would become strangers. Then there was Daniel. The man she loved. Daniel was different from everyone else. At least, that was what Bidemi believed. When she first met him, she had not expected anything serious. It began with simple conversations. A few jokes. A few late-night calls. A few messages that made her smile whenever his name appeared on her phone. Then slowly, without realizing it, Bidemi fell in love. Daniel became part of her everyday life. He was the first person she wanted to tell good news. The person she called when she had a bad day. The person whose opinion mattered more than she wanted to admit. She loved him deeply. And because Bidemi loved deeply, she gave deeply. If Daniel needed help, she was there. If he was stressed, she listened. If he had a difficult day, she tried to make it better. When he had dreams, she encouraged him. She believed in him even during the moments when he doubted himself. Sometimes Daniel would look at her and say, "You are always there for me." Bidemi would smile. "Of course. That's what love is." She meant it. To Bidemi, love was not something you did only when it was convenient. Love was staying when things became difficult. Love was patience. Love was sacrifice. Love was choosing the same person again and again. She did not know that there was a difference between loving someone and losing yourself while loving them. Her life became a pattern. Wake up. Go to work. Take care of herself. Check on her friends. Call Daniel. Listen to someone's problem. Solve someone's problem. Comfort someone. Give someone advice. And at night, when everyone else had received the best part of her, Bidemi would finally lie in bed alone. Sometimes she was exhausted. Sometimes she wanted someone to ask how she was doing. Sometimes she wanted someone to say, "Bidemi, you don't have to be strong today. Let me take care of you." But nobody did. And she never complained. She had become so good at being strong that people forgot she could also break. One Saturday afternoon, Bidemi sat on the edge of her bed, scrolling through her phone. Three unread messages. One missed call. A message from Tolu: "B, please, I need your help." Another from Mimi: "Girl, are you free tonight? Something happened." And finally, Daniel: "Baby, can you send me some money? I'll explain later." Bidemi stared at the screen. She had plans that day. She had promised herself that she would stay home, rest, watch a movie, and finally have a little time for herself. But she looked at the messages again. She sighed. Then she replied to Tolu. "What happened?" She replied to Mimi. "Yes, I'm here. Tell me." Then she opened Daniel's message. "How much do you need?" She did not even think about herself. That was Bidemi. She always thought about everyone else first. An hour later, she was outside. Two hours later, she had solved Tolu's problem. Three hours later, she had spent most of her afternoon listening to Mimi cry about a relationship problem. And by evening, she was on her way to meet Daniel with the money he had requested. When she finally reached him, Daniel smiled. "Thank you, baby." Bidemi smiled back. "You're welcome." He kissed her forehead. And for a moment, everything felt perfect. She did not tell him that she had been tired all day. She did not tell him that she had spent her last free afternoon solving everyone else's problems. She did not tell him that she sometimes wished someone would care for her the way she cared for them. Instead, she simply smiled. Because Bidemi believed that love was about giving. And she had not yet learned the most painful lesson of her life: You can give someone everything you have and still discover that, to them, you were never their priority. That night, after Daniel dropped her off, Bidemi returned home. She changed her clothes and sat quietly beside her window. The city outside was alive with lights and movement. People were laughing. Cars were passing. Music was playing somewhere in the distance. But Bidemi was unusually quiet. She looked at her phone. No new messages. No one asking if she had gotten home safely. No one asking how her day had gone. She smiled sadly. "Maybe I'm just tired." She placed the phone beside her. Then she whispered to herself, "Tomorrow will be better." She believed it. She always believed tomorrow would be better. What she did not know was that tomorrow would begin a journey that would completely change her. A journey that would teach her that not everyone who calls you friend values your friendship. Not everyone who says I love you knows how to love you. And not everyone who receives your sacrifices deserves them. But for now, Bidemi closed her eyes. She still had faith in love. She still trusted her friends. She still believed in Daniel. And most importantly, she still believed that if she loved people enough, they would never leave her. She was about to discover how wrong she was.CHAPTER ONE BIDEMI Bidemi was the kind of woman people were lucky to have in their lives, but rarely knew how to appreciate. She was not the loudest person in the room. She did not need attention before she felt important. She was not the type who measured friendship by how many people knew her name or how many people surrounded her. Bidemi simply loved people. She loved them sincerely. Perhaps too sincerely. She believed that everyone deserved kindness until they proved otherwise. She believed that people could make mistakes and still deserve forgiveness. She believed that when someone said, "I need you," you did not ask how inconvenient it was before showing up. That belief had shaped her entire life. And one day, it would nearly destroy her. But Bidemi did not know that yet. At twenty-something, she still looked at life with a softness that experience had not completely taken away from her. There was something warm about her smile. Something peaceful in the way she spoke. Even when she was tired, she tried not to let the people around her notice. Her mother used to tell her, "Bidemi, you have a heart that is too big for this world." Bidemi would laugh whenever she heard it. "Is having a good heart a bad thing?" Her mother would shake her head. "No. But you must learn that not everyone who enters your heart deserves a permanent place there." Bidemi never understood those words. Not completely. She thought love could change people. She thought patience could repair broken relationships. She thought if she gave people enough reasons to stay, they would eventually understand how much she cared. She was wrong. But before life taught her that lesson, there was a time when Bidemi was simply happy. She had a small circle of friends whom she considered family. There was Tolu, the friend who called her whenever she had a problem. There was Mimi, who could spend hours talking to Bidemi about relationships, fashion, work, and everything happening in her life. And then there was Sandra, the friend who had known Bidemi for years. They laughed together. They went out together. They shared secrets. They made promises about the future. Bidemi believed their friendship would last forever. She never imagined that one day, these same people would become strangers. Then there was Daniel. The man she loved. Daniel was different from everyone else. At least, that was what Bidemi believed. When she first met him, she had not expected anything serious. It began with simple conversations. A few jokes. A few late-night calls. A few messages that made her smile whenever his name appeared on her phone. Then slowly, without realizing it, Bidemi fell in love. Daniel became part of her everyday life. He was the first person she wanted to tell good news. The person she called when she had a bad day. The person whose opinion mattered more than she wanted to admit. She loved him deeply. And because Bidemi loved deeply, she gave deeply. If Daniel needed help, she was there. If he was stressed, she listened. If he had a difficult day, she tried to make it better. When he had dreams, she encouraged him. She believed in him even during the moments when he doubted himself. Sometimes Daniel would look at her and say, "You are always there for me." Bidemi would smile. "Of course. That's what love is." She meant it. To Bidemi, love was not something you did only when it was convenient. Love was staying when things became difficult. Love was patience. Love was sacrifice. Love was choosing the same person again and again. She did not know that there was a difference between loving someone and losing yourself while loving them. Her life became a pattern. Wake up. Go to work. Take care of herself. Check on her friends. Call Daniel. Listen to someone's problem. Solve someone's problem. Comfort someone. Give someone advice. And at night, when everyone else had received the best part of her, Bidemi would finally lie in bed alone. Sometimes she was exhausted. Sometimes she wanted someone to ask how she was doing. Sometimes she wanted someone to say, "Bidemi, you don't have to be strong today. Let me take care of you." But nobody did. And she never complained. She had become so good at being strong that people forgot she could also break. One Saturday afternoon, Bidemi sat on the edge of her bed, scrolling through her phone. Three unread messages. One missed call. A message from Tolu: "B, please, I need your help." Another from Mimi: "Girl, are you free tonight? Something happened." And finally, Daniel: "Baby, can you send me some money? I'll explain later." Bidemi stared at the screen. She had plans that day. She had promised herself that she would stay home, rest, watch a movie, and finally have a little time for herself. But she looked at the messages again. She sighed. Then she replied to Tolu. "What happened?" She replied to Mimi. "Yes, I'm here. Tell me." Then she opened Daniel's message. "How much do you need?" She did not even think about herself. That was Bidemi. She always thought about everyone else first. An hour later, she was outside. Two hours later, she had solved Tolu's problem. Three hours later, she had spent most of her afternoon listening to Mimi cry about a relationship problem. And by evening, she was on her way to meet Daniel with the money he had requested. When she finally reached him, Daniel smiled. "Thank you, baby." Bidemi smiled back. "You're welcome." He kissed her forehead. And for a moment, everything felt perfect. She did not tell him that she had been tired all day. She did not tell him that she had spent her last free afternoon solving everyone else's problems. She did not tell him that she sometimes wished someone would care for her the way she cared for them. Instead, she simply smiled. Because Bidemi believed that love was about giving. And she had not yet learned the most painful lesson of her life: You can give someone everything you have and still discover that, to them, you were never their priority. That night, after Daniel dropped her off, Bidemi returned home. She changed her clothes and sat quietly beside her window. The city outside was alive with lights and movement. People were laughing. Cars were passing. Music was playing somewhere in the distance. But Bidemi was unusually quiet. She looked at her phone. No new messages. No one asking if she had gotten home safely. No one asking how her day had gone. She smiled sadly. "Maybe I'm just tired." She placed the phone beside her. Then she whispered to herself, "Tomorrow will be better." She believed it. She always believed tomorrow would be better. What she did not know was that tomorrow would begin a journey that would completely change her. A journey that would teach her that not everyone who calls you friend values your friendship. Not everyone who says I love you knows how to love you. And not everyone who receives your sacrifices deserves them. But for now, Bidemi closed her eyes. She still had faith in love. She still trusted her friends. She still believed in Daniel. And most importantly, she still believed that if she loved people enough, they would never leave her. She was about to discover how wrong she was.