The following day, Tracy woke up and faced the truth she did not want to admit.
Ten million naira was already almost finished.
She had spent like someone trying to prove something to the whole world. Shopping, clubbing, drinks, hotel, hair, nails, phone, giving strangers money just to hear them call her madam.
When she checked her bag and counted what remained, fear and greed tightened around her heart.
Instead of learning, she only wanted more.
“It’s not enough,” she muttered. “I need more.”
She brought out the white pot, smiled sweetly at it like it was her boyfriend, touched it three times, and said, “Oh, sweet pot, please give me more money. Plenty money.”
She waited, already smiling, imagining herself buying a car and renting a big apartment.
But this time, the room became strangely cold.
The pot shook slightly—
then vanished before her eyes like smoke.
Tracy’s smile died immediately.
“Ah! My pot!”
Before she could move, the air in the room changed and two masquerades suddenly appeared, as if they had come out of the ground. Their bodies were covered, their faces hidden, and their presence filled the room with fear.
Tracy’s legs went weak. She tried to run, but her body refused to obey.
The masquerades moved fast and began to beat her—not in some bloody way, but with heavy blows that made her cry and beg.
“Help! Help me!”
Nobody came. The walls swallowed her voice.
As she cried and begged, one masquerade spoke with a deep angry voice that sounded like thunder inside a drum.
“Greedy human. Wicked soul. You stole what is not yours. You used friendship as a trap. Now listen carefully. Go to the village now. Go and apologize to your friend. Go and return what you stole.”
Tracy was shaking violently, crying until her face was soaked. “Please! Please don’t kill me. I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! Forgive me! I will go back. I will apologize. I will do anything!”
The masquerade stepped closer and warned her, “If you delay, your suffering will be worse. The gift you stole will never bless you. It will only destroy you.”
Tracy nodded quickly, crying like a child. “I will go now. I promise.”
The masquerades disappeared the same way they came, leaving Tracy alone on the floor, trembling, bruised, and terrified.
For the first time since she stole the pot, Tracy understood one hard truth:
Some shortcuts lead straight into punishment.
Meanwhile, Joy was in the village sitting on her mattress in her small room, quiet and broken. Her eyes were swollen from crying, and her chest felt heavy like someone had poured sand inside it.
She kept blaming herself. Why did I trust her? Why did I drink that thing? Why didn’t I listen to my spirit?
She stood up slowly, wiped her face, then turned—
and froze.
On her small wooden table, right there in front of her, was the white native pot.
Joy stared at it as if she were dreaming. She moved closer slowly, touched it lightly, then pulled her hand back again as if it might disappear.
“No… how?”
Her eyes filled with tears again, but this time they were tears of shock and relief.
As she kept staring at the pot, the air in the room changed gently and a voice came—soft but clear, as if it were inside her ears and also inside her heart.
“My child, be careful with Tracy. She is on her way to your house. Forgive her, but stay away from her. Do not be close to her again.”
Joy’s whole body shook. “Who… who is speaking?” she whispered.
But the voice did not answer that question. It only repeated:
“Forgive her, but stay away.”
Then the room became normal again.
A few minutes later, there was a fast, urgent knock at the door.
Joy’s heart tightened. She walked to the door and opened it slowly.
Tracy was standing there.
But she did not look like the Tracy who had left the village in pride. Her eyes were red. Her face was swollen from crying. Her body looked weak, as if she had been through something terrible.
The moment she saw Joy, she fell to her knees.
“Joy, please forgive me. I’m sorry.”
Her voice shook and tears ran down her face.
“I was blind. I was blinded by greed. I don’t know what came over me. Please, my friend, forgive me.”
Joy stood still, watching her quietly. Her heart was hurt, but the voice she had heard earlier was still fresh in her mind.
Tracy crawled closer, still crying. “I swear I’m sorry. I did a terrible thing. I don’t deserve you. Please don’t hate me. Please forgive me.”
Joy’s eyes were calm but firm.
“Tracy, I forgive you.”
Tracy’s face lifted with hope. “You do?”
Joy nodded. “Yes, I forgive you.”
Then she added the words that cut deeper than shouting:
“But we can never be friends again.”
Tracy’s mouth opened in shock. “Joy, please!”
Joy shook her head. “No. I wish you good luck. I pray you change. I pray you become a better person. But you can’t be close to me again. You betrayed me. You used me. I can’t pretend it didn’t happen.”
Tracy started crying harder. “Joy, please, I beg you. We’ve been friends since childhood.”
“That is why it hurts,” Joy replied. “But my decision is final.”
Tracy tried to hold Joy’s hand, but Joy stepped back gently.
“Go, Tracy. Please go.”
Tracy’s shoulders shook as she cried. She wanted to talk more, to beg more, to force Joy’s heart to soften. But Joy did not move. She did not insult her. She just stood there, strong and quiet, like a door that would never open again.
At last Tracy stood up slowly, wiped her face, and nodded like someone accepting punishment. She looked at Joy one last time, full of regret, then turned and walked away from the compound, sad and empty.
Joy watched her go. Tears entered her eyes again, but she did not call her back.
Because forgiveness does not always mean access.
And some friendships must end to protect a good heart.
Joy continued her life quietly in the village, using the white pot only to help people who truly needed help. She paid school fees for children who were about to drop out. She helped sick people buy medicine. She supported widows and old people with food and rent. She never showed off. She never made noise. She remembered the warning and kept her heart clean.
One day, news spread through the village that the prince had returned home from overseas. He had heard stories about a young woman in the village who helped people without pride, who changed lives quietly. Curious, the prince asked to meet her.
When Joy was told, she was shocked and scared. But from the first day they met, something gentle happened between them. There was no pride, no force—only peace. They talked like two people who had known each other for a long time.
The prince admired her kindness and wisdom. Joy admired his humility and calm spirit.
From that first meeting, love grew naturally between them.
Just days into their friendship, the prince spoke clearly.
“Joy, I have seen many women, but I have never seen a heart like yours. Will you marry me?”
Joy’s eyes filled with tears—not tears of fear, but of gratitude.
She nodded with a smile. “Yes. I will marry you.”
But far away, Tracy heard the news.
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