Exactly two years had passed since tranquility became my constant companion—a period defined by peace, love, personal growth, and the meticulous mastery of the art of celibacy. Amidst the serenity, I often pondered how Andrew was coping with our unspoken celibacy agreement. Although we had discussed it only once, his unwavering commitment remained evident. Our rare moments of intimacy—those passionate yet chaste kissing escapades—confirmed his alignment with the concept. Meanwhile, my business flourished, paralleled by a steadily increasing bank balance. This newfound financial stability allowed me the luxury of indulging in a few well-deserved treats for myself.
As always, Andrew's ventures took him across borders, leaving me with the perfect opportunity to embark on a solo sojourn to Mombasa. This journey held a dual purpose: a quiet getaway to relish my own company and a quest to explore potential real estate investments. The allure of property ownership had captured my heart since childhood, and the coastal region resonated deeply within me.
Diani was my chosen haven. Even under the relentless sun, I reveled in the warmth of the coastal breeze, strolling leisurely in shorts and sandals. The melodies of the local residents' accents created a tapestry of culture and atmosphere that I couldn't resist. It was here, against the backdrop of ever-present sunshine, that I envisioned spending my retirement days. After an exhaustive house-hunting mission, success finally smiled upon me—I secured a fully furnished two-bedroom apartment, each room boasting an ensuite bathroom, an enchanting ocean view, and proximity to essential amenities. The deal was sealed, and as I explored every corner of my newfound haven, my heart raced with exhilaration, and tears of joy flowed freely. I had accomplished what I once believed was unattainable. Through years of yearning and fervent prayers, God had proven Himself faithful once again. What had once appeared distant and unreachable was now a reality, a testament to divine grace.
Sharing the news with Andrew, his genuine elation was undeniable. His pride in my achievement radiated through his words. As expected, he extended his hand in assistance for any additional needs I might have. And naturally, I had something in mind—a plan to infuse the space with my personal touch. Despite the allure of the already furnished space, my vision for my first home was distinct, driven by a desire to make it truly feel like mine.
The tranquility of the night was shattered by the persistent buzz of my phone. It was 3 a.m., an ungodly hour for a call from an unknown number. "Trudy." The single word that broke the silence sent shockwaves through my veins, my heart pounding with an intensity that seemed to herald an impending heart attack. The room was consumed by disbelief, and I found myself paralyzed—a sensation I hadn't experienced in quite some time. Sleep eluded me as I wrestled with the haunting darkness that gripped my mind, leaving me to grapple with a deluge of thoughts and emotions.
