Image source: Meta AI
Emeka had been working at the small boutique for almost a year. The shop sat along a busy street, squeezed between a barber shop and a phone repair stall. Every morning, he would sweep the front, arrange the clothes, and wait for customers with a forced smile.
His boss, Madam Ifunanya, trusted him. For the past few months, his madam has trusted him, she allows him to run the shop even in her absence. This trust was not achieved on a platter of gold. Madam had earlier tempted Emeka with money on several occasions to see if he could steal, but on each occasion, he passed those trials.
“Emeka, you’re like my own son,” she used to say. And every time she said it, something inside him would shift… just a little.
But trust doesn’t pay bills.
At home, things were tight. His younger sister had been sent home from school because of unpaid fees. His mother’s small food business wasn’t bringing in enough anymore. Every night, Emeka would lie on his mat, staring at the ceiling, thinking of money he didn’t have.
That’s when the thought first came.
It didn’t come as something loud or evil. It was quiet.
Just small… she won’t notice.
The first time he took money, it was ₦2,000 from the drawer.
His hands shook so badly that he almost dropped it. He kept looking over his shoulder, even though he was alone. His heart pounded like someone was chasing him.
But nothing happened.
The next day, Madam Ifunanya didn’t say anything.
So he did it again.
And again.
After some time, it became easier. Too easy.
One evening, as the sun was setting and the street noise was fading, Madam Ifunanya called him.
“Emeka… come.”
Her tone was different.
Not angry. Not soft either. Just… serious.
He walked slowly to the counter. “Yes, ma'am.”
She looked at him for a few seconds before speaking.
“Money has been missing.”
His chest tightened, but his face stayed still.
“I don’t understand, ma,” he said quickly.
She nodded slowly. “You don’t understand?”
“No, ma. Maybe… maybe customers”
“Emeka.”
She cut him off. Quietly.
“I installed a camera last week.”
Silence.
The air suddenly felt heavy.
Emeka blinked. “Camera?”
She turned on her phone and played a video.
There he was.
Him.
Opening the drawer. Looking around. Taking the money.
No excuse. No escape.
For a moment, he said nothing. His mouth opened slightly, but no words came out.
He froze for a moment. He hoped the ground would open and swallow him up. However, none happened.
Then, as if his body was acting on its own, he spoke.
“Madam… It’s not what you think”
But even he knew how useless that sounded.
She just kept looking at him. Not shouting. Not insulting him.
That was worse.
“I trusted you,” she said quietly.
That sentence hit harder than anything else.
Emeka’s shoulders dropped.
Everything he had been holding inside—fear, guilt, shame—just came crashing down.
“I’m sorry…” he whispered.
His eyes burned, but he tried not to cry.
“I needed the money… my sister… they sent her home…”
His voice broke.
But it was too late.
Madam Ifunanya sighed deeply.
“You should have told me.”
He nodded slowly, unable to look at her.
“I know, ma.”
“You didn’t just steal,” she continued. “You lied. Even when I gave you the chance to speak.”
That one hurt the most.
Because it was true.
That day, Emeka lost his job.
But more than that, he lost something harder to get back.
Trust.
As he walked home that evening, the busy street felt quieter than usual. The same people, the same noise… but everything felt different.
He had wanted to solve a problem.
Instead, he created a bigger one.
And deep down, he knew
It all started the moment he chose to lie.
