Once upon a time in a quiet town just outside the city, there lived a 13-year-old boy named Emma.

He was not like most boys his age. Emma was calm, quiet, and always thinking. He didn’t talk much, but when he did, it was something important. People said he was too serious for a child, but Emma didn’t mind.

His mind was always sharp. He noticed things others didn’t. He could tell when someone was pretending, even if they smiled and laughed like everything was fine.

Emma lived with his father, Mr. Oena, in a big house with tall gates and a garden full of roses. His father was a tall man in his early 40s, strong and handsome, always smelling of cologne and fresh suits. People respected Mr. Oena.

He owned a transport company and had worked hard to become rich after his wife, Emma’s mother, died six years ago. Since then, it had just been the two of them, father and son, living quietly, taking care of each other.

But everything changed the day Mr. Oena brought a woman home.

“Emma,” his father said one Saturday morning, standing proudly at the entrance with a lady beside him. “Meet Netchi.”

Emma stood from the living room couch slowly. His eyes moved from his father to the lady who was now smiling brightly.

She wore a red dress that hugged her body tightly, and her long eyelashes blinked too much, as if she was trying too hard to look innocent.

“Hi, sweet boy,” she said, reaching to touch his cheek.

Emma moved back slightly and gave a polite nod.

“She’s my fiancée,” his father added. “We’re getting married in three weeks.”

The room suddenly felt smaller. Emma didn’t smile. He looked at his father, then at the woman again. Something in his chest tightened.

“Nice to meet you,” Emma muttered.

But it wasn’t nice. Not even a little bit.

Later that evening, Emma sat on his bed, staring at the ceiling fan spinning slowly above him. The house felt different.

Netchi was in the kitchen laughing loudly with his dad. Her voice didn’t sound real. It was high and too cheerful, like she was forcing every sound out of her mouth.

He closed his eyes, remembering the way she looked at him. There was something behind her smile, something cold, like she didn’t really care who he was—like he was just an obstacle.

He picked up his tablet and began typing her name on social media, but nothing serious came up. Just some filtered photos and fake smiles.

No real information. No old friends commenting. No family. Just her.

“Why so hidden?” Emma whispered to himself.

He stood up, walked to the hallway, and leaned near the kitchen wall. He could hear them.

“I told you he’d warm up to you,” Mr. Oena said.

“He’s a sweet boy,” Netchi replied. “He just needs time.”

Emma rolled his eyes. That voice again. Sweet and fake, like syrup over something rotten.

The next day, they went out together for lunch. Emma sat quietly at the restaurant table, picking at his food while Netchi laughed at all his dad’s jokes.

“Oh, Oena, you’re too funny,” she giggled, placing her hand gently on his arm.

Emma looked up from his plate. Her eyes weren’t on his dad. They were on the gold wristwatch he wore. She stared at it just a little too long.

“Dad,” Emma said suddenly. “Can I talk to you?”

His father looked surprised. “Now?”

“Yes. Alone.”

They stepped outside the restaurant. Emma waited until they were far enough from the windows before he spoke.

“Why are you marrying her?” he asked.

His father sighed. “Emma, it’s been six years since your mother passed. I’ve been alone. You’ve been alone. And Netchi brings joy back into this house. Isn’t that what we want?”

Emma shook his head slowly. “No, Dad. That’s not what I want. I don’t trust her.”

“Emma, come on. She’s trying.”

“No, Dad. She’s pretending.”

Oena frowned. “You’re just being a child.”

“I’m not. I can feel it. Something is wrong with her.”

His father walked away, frustrated. “Go back inside, Emma. I don’t want to hear any more of this nonsense.”

For the next few days, Emma said little but watched closely. Every move Netchi made, he noticed.

How she walked around the house when she thought no one was watching.
How she checked his father’s bank statements when he left his phone unattended.
How she asked too many questions about the house papers and company ownership.

One night, Emma couldn’t sleep. He went downstairs for water. But as he walked past the guest room where Netchi was staying, he heard her voice.

She was on the phone. Her voice was low, but Emma heard enough.

“Once he drinks it, everything will be ours. Yes, I’ve already prepared it. Don’t fail me this time.”

Emma froze. He leaned closer.

“He’ll drink it at the wedding. That’s the only way. After that, it’s done.”

His hands began to shake. He stepped back quietly, heart racing. What was she planning? What was in the drink?

He tiptoed back to his room, shut the door softly, and sat on the bed with his eyes wide open.

The next morning, Emma sat across the breakfast table from her.

Netchi smiled sweetly. “You slept well?” she asked.

“Yes,” he answered, staring directly at her.

She blinked once, then looked away.

When his father came down, Emma tried again. “Dad, I need to talk to you, please.”

But Oena was already late for work. “We’ll talk later,” he said, kissing Netchi’s forehead.

Emma felt a deep sickness in his stomach. He had to do something. He had to stop her.

But how?

That evening, Emma went into his father’s room while nobody was around. He picked up his old phone and placed it behind a flower vase in the sitting room.

When Netchi usually talked on the phone, he made sure the voice recorder was on.

He waited.

Hours passed. Then finally, just after 10 p.m., she walked into the sitting room with her phone pressed to her ear.

“I told you I’m handling it,” she whispered. “He won’t even suspect. Once the wedding is done and he drinks it, the house, the cars, the money, everything is mine.

I said mine, not ours.”

Emma’s eyes widened upstairs. She had changed her words. She was lying to the person on the phone, too.

She was dangerous. Truly dangerous.

The next morning, Emma played the recording to himself. His hands were sweating. The voice was clear. She had said it again.

“Once the wedding is done and he drinks it…”

He looked at the calendar. The wedding was in five days.

Five days.

He had to stop it before it was too late. But if his father wouldn’t believe him, then he needed a plan. A bold plan.

He sat on the floor staring at the phone. One thing was now clear: he wasn’t just trying to protect his father from heartbreak.

He was trying to save his father’s life.

The night was quiet. Too quiet.

Emma sat on his bed, back resting against the wall, eyes fixed on the small voice recorder in his hand. He had played the audio five times already, and it still made his skin crawl.

“Once the wedding is done, and he drinks it, the house, the cars, the money, everything is mine.”

Her voice was clear, cold, calm, like someone who had no fear in her heart, like someone used to getting her way.

Emma’s hands tightened around the phone. He wasn’t imagining it.

Netchi wasn’t just pretending to love his dad. She was planning something dangerous. Something deadly.

He looked at the calendar again. Four days to the wedding. Four days left to stop something terrible.

The next morning, Emma didn’t go downstairs immediately. He stayed in his room thinking hard.

What if I play the audio for Dad? Will he believe me now?

He wanted to try. He really did.

But he remembered how quickly his father dismissed him before.

What if he still thinks I’m jealous? What if he says I edited the voice? What if she lies and cries and says I made everything up?

Emma rubbed his forehead. He needed more.

He needed to catch her saying something worse. Something even a fool couldn’t deny.

So he left the recorder in the same place, hidden behind the vase in the sitting room.

Later that evening, Emma waited. He didn’t say much during dinner. His father and Netchi were laughing at something she saw on her phone.

“Baby, look at this dog in sunglasses.” She giggled, shoving the screen in Oena’s face.

His dad laughed loud and happy. “That’s crazy.”

Emma’s face didn’t move. He just stared at her hands. Perfectly done nails, bright pink.

She touched everything. His dad’s glass, his arm, the spoon. So comfortable, so confident.

A woman who plans evil doesn’t look afraid at all, Emma thought. That’s what scared him the most.

That night around 11 p.m., he heard her footsteps in the hallway.

He waited in the dark, his door slightly open.

She went into the sitting room, sat down. Then the voice started.

“I said I’ve handled it, haven’t I? Why are you disturbing me again?” She snapped into the phone.

Her voice wasn’t soft this time. She sounded irritated.

A long pause.

Emma leaned forward, heart beating fast.

“Listen, I told you he trusts me like a fool. After the wedding, we give him the drink. Then it’s over.”

More silence, then her voice again. Louder this time.

“You’ll get your cut. But don’t think we’re sharing equally. I’m the one marrying him, not you.”

Emma’s mouth dropped open slightly. She was planning to betray the person on the phone, too.

“So don’t call me again at night. You’ll ruin everything. Let me handle this.”

He heard the call end. Her slippers shuffled across the tiled floor as she left the room.

Emma quietly closed his door and lay down, but sleep didn’t come. That recording was the proof he needed.

The next morning, he woke up earlier than usual.

He rushed to the sitting room, grabbed the phone, and ran back to his room to listen.

There it was. All of it. Even clearer than the first one.

“I’m the one marrying him, not you.”

He breathed hard. His hands were shaking.

This woman was evil. She was planning something very bad, and nobody knew except him.

He wanted to go downstairs and scream the truth.

But then he paused. No. Not yet.

She’s smart. If I say anything now, she’ll deny everything and act innocent. She might even say, “I’m just a stubborn child who doesn’t want a new mom.”

He had to be patient.

The wedding was getting closer. The more confident she became, the more careless she would be.

That afternoon, his dad called him into the study.

“Emma,” Mr. Oena said, folding his arms. “I feel like you’ve been avoiding Netchi. What’s going on?”

Emma stood still. His heart beat faster.

“She’s been trying to be nice to you,” his father continued. “But you’re always quiet. Cold. You barely even greet her.”

Emma looked up. “Can I ask you a question, Dad?”

Oena frowned a bit. “Go ahead.”

“If Mom was still alive, do you think she would like Netchi?”

There was a long pause. Oena leaned back slowly in his chair.

“Emma, your mom has been gone for years. She would want me to be happy.”

“But happy or safe?” Emma said softly.

Oena sat forward. “What do you mean?”

Emma’s mouth opened. He wanted to say it. He wanted to shout everything.

But he stopped himself.

“Nothing,” he said. “It’s fine.”

Oena sighed. “Emma, I know this isn’t easy for you, but I want us to be a family again. Don’t fight it.”

Emma nodded and left the room, but the tears were already in his eyes.

The next day was Sunday. Church was full. They all sat together.

Netchi held Oena’s hand tightly the whole time, smiling like the perfect bride.

After the service, people gathered around them.

“Congratulations again, sir. She’s so beautiful. You’re a lucky man.”

Oena smiled proudly. “Thank you. We can’t wait.”

Netchi turned to Emma. “Are you excited, sweetie? We’re going to be one big happy family.”

Emma stared at her, face blank.

She leaned closer. “You’re quiet again.”

He looked her dead in the eyes. “So are snakes before they bite.”

She blinked. “What?”

Oena turned. “What did you say, Emma?”

“Nothing,” Emma said, walking away.

That evening, Netchi knocked on his room door.

Emma opened it slowly. She smiled. “Can I come in?”

He didn’t answer but stepped aside.

She walked in and looked around. “Nice room. Very neat.”

Emma stood, arms folded.

She turned to him. “I know you don’t like me, but I’m not trying to replace your mom.”

Silence.

“I just want your dad to be happy, and I want us to be close.”

Emma tilted his head. “Really?”

“Yes.”

“Then tell me the truth.”

She looked confused. “Truth?”

“Who were you talking to on the phone last night?”

Netchi’s smile faded. “I wasn’t talking to anyone,” she said.

“You said, ‘After he drinks it, everything is mine.’ What drink?”

She laughed suddenly. Loud. Fake.

“Emma, are you spying on me?”

“I heard you.”

She moved closer. “Look, I get it. You’re a child. Your mind is full of movies and stories, but you’re wrong about me.”

“Am I?”

She touched his shoulder. “I forgive you, but don’t say such things again, okay? It can hurt people.”

Then she turned and walked out.

Emma stood still. His heart was pounding. She wasn’t scared. She wasn’t shaken. She was dangerous.

Two days to the wedding.

Emma sat on the floor of his room, playing the recordings over and over. The voice was clear. The message was deadly.

He picked up his dad’s laptop and copied both recordings onto it. Then he emailed them to himself for backup.

“She can delete the phone, but she can’t delete the truth,” he thought.

He went to bed that night with a plan. If she dares give Dad any drink on that day, I’ll stop the wedding myself.

Even if it means everyone laughs at me. Even if nobody believes me. Even if they drag me out in front of the crowd.

I’ll do it.

The night before the wedding was quiet. Too quiet.

Emma stayed awake, lying still in the dark. He thought about his mom. Her voice, her smile, how she used to tuck him in.

He whispered, “Mom, please help me. I’m scared, but I can’t let them hurt Dad.”

He closed his eyes, heart heavy but determined.

The next day, his father would be standing in front of the world, ready to drink a poison disguised as love.

But Emma would be ready, too.

And this time, he wasn’t going to whisper. He was going to speak loud enough for everyone to hear.

Emma didn’t sleep that night. He lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, listening to the ticking of the wall clock.

It was loud. Too loud.

Everything in the house felt strange. Too quiet. Too calm. Like the silence before something terrible.

His room was dark, but his mind was wide awake. Tomorrow was the wedding. Tomorrow, Netchi would stand beside his father, holding his hand, smiling for the crowd.

She would act like she loved him. She would laugh. She would dance.

And at some point, she would hand him a drink.

That drink.

Emma shut his eyes tightly. He could still hear her voice on the recording—the cold way she said it:

“After he drinks it, everything will be mine.”

She wasn’t joking. She wasn’t playing. She meant it.

When the sun finally came up, Emma was already out of bed.

He brushed his teeth slowly, trying to think. His heart was heavy, but his mind was sharp.

There had to be more. Something he could show that would make people believe him without doubt.

He couldn’t just rely on the recordings alone. What if someone said he edited it?

He needed to catch her red-handed. Or find something physical, something nobody could deny.

As he rinsed his mouth, he heard footsteps in the hallway. Then he heard her voice.

“O, don’t forget the event planner is arriving by 10:00 a.m. And we need to check the wine list, too. The special one I told you about.”

Emma’s heart skipped. Special wine. So it was true.

He leaned closer to the bathroom door.

“Babe,” she continued sweetly. “I’ll handle the drinks. Just leave that part to me. Okay? You just relax and look handsome tomorrow.”

Oena laughed. “I trust you, my love.”

Emma felt like vomiting.

He stepped out of the bathroom just as Netchi walked past. She smiled at him, holding a list in her hand.

“Good morning, sweetie. Are you excited? Tomorrow is the big day.”

Emma looked at her. “Where’s the wine?”

She stopped. “Sorry?”

“The wine for tomorrow. Where are you keeping it?”

She blinked. “Oh, that? It’s being delivered today. Why?”

He shrugged. “Just curious.”

She laughed lightly. “Well, don’t worry. You’ll taste it tomorrow.”

She walked off.

Emma watched her go. He didn’t trust that smile. He didn’t trust anything about her.

By noon, the house was full of movement.

The event planner came. The decorators arrived. And two men delivered boxes of drinks to the backyard storage.

Emma stayed quiet, watching. He followed one of the delivery men.

“Please, sir,” he said. “Where did this wine come from?”

The man looked at him. “Ah, it’s madam that ordered it. She said it’s a private brand, imported.”

Emma looked down at the label on the box. It had no brand name, just a small sticker with the word Love’s Toast.

He had never heard of that before.

He took a photo of it with his tablet. Then he waited until the men walked away. Slowly, he opened one of the boxes.

Inside were ten bottles, clear, clean, wrapped in pink paper. He lifted one out carefully and looked at the seal.

It didn’t look like normal wine. No brand, no expiry date, no alcohol percentage. Just plain. Too plain.

He took one bottle and hid it inside his backpack.

Later that evening, while everyone else was busy with preparations, Emma sneaked out to a pharmacy near their estate.

He entered and walked straight to the counter. The pharmacist looked surprised to see a young boy walking in alone with a bottle in hand.

“Good afternoon,” Emma said.

“Good afternoon. How may I help you?”

“Please, can you test something for me? I think it’s dangerous.”

The man looked confused. “What?”

“This drink. I think it’s poisoned.”

The pharmacist stared at him. “Where did you get it?”

“My dad’s fiancée ordered it for their wedding, but I heard her saying bad things about it.”

The pharmacist’s face grew serious. He took the bottle, opened it slowly, and sniffed it. Then he poured a small sample into a test strip tray.

After a few minutes, the strip turned deep orange.

The pharmacist gasped. “This… this is not wine,” he said slowly.

“What is it?” Emma asked, voice shaking.

“I’m not fully sure, but there’s something bitter inside, like a strong chemical. This isn’t normal.”

Emma’s heart dropped. “So it’s poisoned.”

“I can’t say for sure, but it’s definitely not safe for drinking. Who is the woman giving this out?”

“She’s marrying my dad tomorrow.”

The pharmacist stared at him. “You need to show this to your father.”

Emma nodded slowly. “He won’t believe me. He thinks I just don’t like her.”

The man sighed. “You’re a brave boy. Be careful.”

“I will,” Emma said.

He took the bottle and walked out.

Back home, nobody noticed he was gone. Everyone was too busy decorating the compound.

He slipped into his room, placed the bottle carefully in his drawer, and locked it. Then he picked up the phone and played the recording again.

“After he drinks it, everything is mine.”

He connected it to his dad’s laptop and set it up with the photo of the bottle and the test strip image.

Then he opened a folder and named it Truth About Netchi.

He uploaded all the files into it and saved it to a flash drive.

“If anything happens, I’ll just play this,” he thought.

That night, they had dinner together in the living room. The table was full—pepper soup, jollof rice, plantain, fried chicken.

Netchi sat beside Oena, feeding him pieces of fish and laughing like a child.

Emma sat across from them, watching every move, every gesture. She didn’t know what he had done. She didn’t know he had proof.

“Emma,” his dad said. “You’re not eating much.”

“I’m fine.”

“Are you nervous about tomorrow?”

Emma looked at him. “Are you?”

Oena chuckled. “Why should I be?”

“No reason,” Emma replied.

Netchi smiled sweetly. “I got a surprise for you both tomorrow. You’ll love it.”

“I’m sure we will,” Oena said.

Emma kept his eyes on her. “I hope it doesn’t come in a glass.”

She paused just for a second, then smiled again. “Funny boy.”

But Emma saw it. That pause.

She knew. She knew he was watching her.

After dinner, Emma went back to his room and sat in the dark. He felt a mix of fear and anger.

What if she finds the bottle? What if she destroys the flash drive? What if… what if I’m too late?

He shook his head. “No. I can’t be late. Not this time.”

Tomorrow was the wedding. Tomorrow, everything would come out.

And if no one else would speak, he would.

The wedding morning arrived like thunder.

Loud music blasted from rented speakers. Drums beat in the compound. Guests were already arriving in their shiny cars.

Decorations hung everywhere. White ribbons, yellow flowers, and balloons that danced with the wind.

Emma stood by the window in his room, looking outside. His heart was heavy, his eyes sharp. Everything looked beautiful. Everyone looked happy.

But Emma knew the truth hiding behind the smiles. This wasn’t just a wedding. It was a trap. A dangerous one.

And if nobody did anything, his father would walk right into it—and maybe never walk out.

He got dressed slowly. Black trousers, white shirt, neatly ironed. As he buttoned his shirt, his fingers trembled.

He tried to calm down, but his chest felt tight.

He looked at the flash drive on the table. It had the recordings, the wine test results, and the photo of the strange bottle.

He tucked it into his pocket. Then he looked at the bottle he had hidden. It was still there, untouched.

He carried it carefully and placed it inside a small paper bag, sealed it, and zipped it into his backpack.

Today, he wasn’t just attending a wedding. He was walking into a battlefield.

“Emma, come downstairs. It’s time for family pictures.”

Someone shouted. It was one of the photographers.

He zipped his bag and left the room.

As he came down the stairs, his eyes met Netchi’s. She was standing near the doorway in a white and gold dress.

Her makeup was perfect. Her lips curved into a smile.

“Don’t you look handsome?” she said.

Emma didn’t answer. He looked away and joined his dad, who was already taking pictures with guests.

Oena looked excited. His brown agbada shone in the sunlight. He held Emma by the shoulder.

“Smile for the camera, son,” he said.

Emma forced a small smile, but inside he was shaking.

Soon the compound filled with guests. Laughter, chatter, and the sounds of music filled the air.

Women wore gele. Men clapped and danced. Children ran around with balloons.

Everyone was happy. Everyone except Emma.

He kept looking around—watching her, watching the drinks table, watching every small movement.

At the far end of the compound, a long canopy had been set up with chairs lined in rows. In front, a small stage stood with two white chairs, one for the groom, one for the bride.

The officiating minister stood by, flipping through his book. Ushers helped guests find seats. It was all ready.

The wedding was about to begin.

Then came the moment. The MC grabbed the microphone.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome the bride and groom!”

Cheers and applause filled the air.

Oena and Netchi walked in hand in hand, waving at the crowd. Phones rose in the air. Cameras flashed.

They walked slowly to the front, smiling.

Emma followed behind them quietly, his hands inside his pockets, gripping the flash drive tightly.

The crowd settled as the minister took the mic.

“We are gathered here today to witness the joining of this man, Oena, and this woman in holy matrimony.”

Applause again.

The minister continued speaking, but Emma wasn’t listening. His eyes were on the drinks table.

On one side of the stage, a tall waiter opened a silver tray and placed two wine glasses gently. One had red wine. The other looked lighter.

Netchi turned and looked at the glasses. Then she whispered something to the waiter. He nodded and walked off.

Emma’s eyes followed the glass. Something was off.

The minister spoke on. “If there is anyone here who has any reason why these two should not be joined, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

Silence.

Everyone looked around, smiling. No one moved.

Emma’s heart beat fast. He opened his mouth slightly, then closed it again. Not yet. He wasn’t ready.

He looked at his father’s face. Happy. He looked at Netchi, smiling. Smiling, but her hand was moving toward the drinks.

Emma’s eyes narrowed.

The ceremony continued. The minister asked them to exchange vows.

Oena spoke first, smiling at her. “I promise to love you, care for you, and protect you as long as I live.”

People clapped.

Then Netchi spoke. “I promise to stand by you, and make your home my home. Your joy my joy, your pain my pain.”

Tears filled some women’s eyes.

“She’s so sweet,” someone whispered in the crowd.

But Emma’s ears were blocked. He wasn’t hearing sweetness. He was hearing lies.

Finally, the minister said, “Before we proceed to rings, the bride has asked to perform a special unity toast with the groom, a symbol of love between them.”

Emma’s head snapped up.

“No.”

It was happening.

He stood up slowly from his seat at the side.

Netchi picked up the lighter drink from the tray and held it with both hands.

“This drink,” she said softly, “represents our love. It’s sweet, gentle, and powerful. I want to share it with the man who stole my heart.”

She smiled at Oena and handed him the glass.

The crowd cheered.

Emma stepped forward slowly.

Oena raised the glass. His lips were almost touching it.

And then—

“Dad, stop!”

Silence.

All heads turned. Gasps filled the air.

Emma walked quickly up the stage, eyes wide, heart racing.

“Don’t drink it, Dad. Please. That wine is poisoned.”

Everyone stared. Whispers rose.

Oena looked confused. “Emma, what are you saying?”

Netchi froze. The smile dropped from her face.

Emma turned to the crowd. “I said, the wine is poisoned. She’s trying to kill him.”

People began to murmur. The MC looked shocked. The minister stepped back.

Netchi laughed nervously. “What? Emma, that’s not funny.”

“I’m not joking,” Emma shouted. “I have proof.”

He pulled the flash drive from his pocket and raised it.

“I recorded her calls. I tested that wine. She said, ‘Once he drinks it, everything will be mine.’ She said it herself.”

“Emma, stop this madness,” Oena said. “This is a wedding, not a movie.”

But Emma was shaking now. He pulled the paper bag from his backpack and held up the wine bottle.

“This is what she brought. It’s not normal wine. I had it tested. There’s a chemical in it.”

He looked at his dad, eyes full of tears. “Please, Dad. Please believe me.”

The crowd was no longer laughing. Some people stood from their seats.

A woman shouted, “Let him play the audio!”

“Yes, let’s hear it!”

Emma gave the flash drive to the MC, who quickly plugged it into the speaker system.

Everyone waited. Then her voice filled the air.

“After he drinks it, everything will be ours. Yes, I’ve already prepared it. Don’t fail me this time.”

Another clip played.

“I’m the one marrying him, not you. Don’t call me again at night. You’ll ruin everything.”

The place went silent. Dead silent.

Then the whispers started again.

“She really said that.”
“She planned it.”
“She was working with someone.”

People turned to look at Netchi. She was shaking.

Then suddenly she dropped the glass and stepped back.

Oena stared at her. “Netchi, is this true?”

She opened her mouth, closed it, then tried to smile. “Baby, I can explain.”

Emma stepped in front of his dad. “No, Dad. She can’t explain anything. She almost killed you.”

Oena looked pale. He lowered himself slowly into the chair. The minister moved away from the stage.

Netchi began to walk backward. Then she ran.

“Stop her!” someone yelled.

But she was already pushing through the guests.

A man in a brown cap blocked her path. She slapped him and kept running. Another man grabbed her by the arm.

“Leave me!” she screamed.

“Call the police!” a guest shouted. “This is a criminal!”

Oena stood up again, his hands trembling. “Somebody please call the police.”

Emma stood by his father. He didn’t move. He didn’t speak. But his chest was rising and falling fast.

Minutes later, sirens wailed in the distance. Two police cars drove in and parked outside the compound.

The officers came in and handcuffed Netchi, who was now crying and shouting.

“He forced me to do it. It wasn’t my idea. I swear.”

The officer asked, “Who’s he?”

She went quiet.

The officer turned to Oena. “Sir, do you want to press charges?”

Oena looked at her. Then he looked at Emma. He nodded slowly. “Yes. Take her away.”

As the police dragged her into the van, the guests stood in stunned silence.

The wedding was over. But more than that, a life had been saved.

Because of a 13-year-old boy. Because he didn’t keep quiet. Because he refused to look away.

Oena sat down slowly, burying his face in his hands.

Emma stood beside him, unsure what to say.

Then Oena lifted his head and looked at his son. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I should have listened to you.”

Emma’s eyes filled with tears. “I didn’t want to ruin your day, Dad. I just wanted to save it.”

Oena pulled him into a hug. “You saved my life, son. That’s all that matters.”

Emma sat beside his father in the now-empty wedding tent.

The flowers were still on the tables. The stage lights were still on. The chairs were still arranged in rows.

But the music had stopped. The guests had left. The joy was gone.

Silence filled the air like thick smoke.

Oena hadn’t spoken much since the police drove off with Netchi in handcuffs. His eyes were red. His mouth stayed shut. His shoulders looked heavier than before.

Emma sat quietly, his hands folded on his lap. He didn’t feel like a hero. He felt like someone who had just destroyed his father’s heart.

But he knew deep inside he had no choice.

A few officers were still at the house. They were in the living room asking questions, taking photos, and writing things down.

One of them had taken the strange wine bottle for testing. Another officer collected Emma’s flash drive.

The lead officer, a tall, dark-skinned man with a calm voice, stepped out of the house and approached the stage. His name tag read: Inspector Bako.

He looked at Oena. “Sir, I know this is hard, but can we speak for a moment?”

Oena nodded slowly. “Yes.”

Emma stood up, too. “I want to be there.”

Inspector Bako looked at him, then gave a small nod. “You should.”

They moved to the side of the compound where it was quieter. The noise from the streets had faded. The birds were chirping again.

Inspector Bako cleared his throat. “First of all, I want to say well done, young man. What you did today—it took courage.”

Emma said nothing. He just looked at the man with tired eyes.

Oena spoke softly. “I didn’t know. I didn’t see anything. I thought she loved me.”

Inspector Bako opened a notebook. “We’re reviewing the recordings now. We also checked the bottle your son brought. I already sent it for urgent testing, but our quick strip test showed traces of a harmful sedative. One that, if mixed with alcohol, can knock someone out for hours. In higher doses, it could cause a coma or death.”

Oena blinked. “She was really going to—”

Inspector Bako looked him in the eye. “Yes. That drink was meant to hurt you, possibly kill you.”

Silence again.

Oena swallowed hard and placed both hands on his knees. “But why? Why would she do this to me?”

Emma stepped forward. “She said it in the recording, Dad. She wanted everything. The house, the company, the money.”

“I loved her,” Oena said quietly. “I was going to marry her in front of everyone.”

“And she almost killed you,” Emma said. “You could have died today, Dad.”

Oena dropped his head. After a long pause, Inspector Bako asked, “Sir, didn’t Netchi ever talk about someone named Chucks?”

Oena looked up slowly. “Chucks?”

“Yes. In the recordings, she was speaking to someone on the phone. She mentioned his name.”

Oena shook his head. “No. I don’t know any Chucks. She never told me about someone like that.”

Emma stepped in. “She told him not to call her at night. She said they would share everything. But later, she said she wasn’t sharing.”

Inspector Bako nodded. “Yes. And that tells us something important. She wasn’t working alone.”

Oena frowned. “You mean there’s another person behind this?”

“We believe so,” Bako said. “Maybe someone who helped her plan it. Someone who gave her the chemical or helped her fake the drink labels.”

Emma looked at his father. “That’s why I wanted you to listen before. I knew she was hiding something.”

Oena touched Emma’s arm. “You were right. I’m sorry. I didn’t believe you.”

Just then, one of the junior officers walked up to Inspector Bako and whispered something in his ear.

Bako nodded and turned back to them. “We found something else.”

“What is it?” Oena asked.

The officer handed over a small black phone inside a plastic bag.

“We recovered this from Netchi’s purse after her arrest. It’s not the phone she usually used. It’s a second phone. A burner phone.”

Oena’s eyes widened. “She had another phone?”

“Yes. And it had messages from a man named Chucks. They’ve been speaking for weeks. Most of the messages were deleted, but we recovered a few.”

Emma leaned forward. “What did the messages say?”

Bako flipped his notebook open and read:

Make sure he drinks it in front of people so it doesn’t look like your fault.

Another one said: Don’t forget the documents. You need to get the papers signed before the toast.

Oena blinked. “Documents? What documents?”

Emma’s eyes narrowed. “Did she give you anything to sign today?”

Oena thought for a moment. “She asked me to sign something yesterday. She said it was just for the wedding registry.”

Inspector Bako looked serious. “We’ll need to check what you signed, sir. It may not have been a registry. It could have been a property transfer or company ownership.”

Oena looked stunned. “You think she tried to steal from me before killing me?”

“She didn’t come into your life for love, sir,” Bako said calmly. “She came for what you had.”

They all stood there quiet again. Then Emma spoke.

“What happens now?”

Bako folded his notebook. “We’re putting out a trace on Chucks. If she talks, we’ll know who he is. But we’re also checking camera footage, phone data, and anything else we can find.”

Emma asked, “What if she doesn’t talk?”

“She will,” Bako said. “People like that break down when they realize they’re alone.”

Oena sighed deeply. “I just… I still can’t believe this happened.”

Emma touched his father’s hand. “It’s over now.”

Oena looked at his son. “Because of you.”

The police cell was cold and quiet.

Netchi sat alone on the wooden bench, hands chained loosely in front of her.

Her makeup was gone. Her hair, once neatly styled for the wedding, now looked rough and scattered. The gold earrings she wore had been taken away.

She didn’t look like the bride from yesterday. She looked like someone who had been caught—and she knew it.

The sound of footsteps echoed down the corridor.

Her body tensed. Then she heard the door open.

Inspector Bako stepped in with a calm face and a brown folder under his arm. He closed the door behind him and pulled a plastic chair across from her.

Netchi didn’t look up.

“Good morning,” he said.

Still, she didn’t respond.

“I see you’re not in the mood for small talk,” he said quietly, placing the folder on the table between them. “That’s fine. We’re not here for games.”

She finally looked up. Her eyes were red and tired.

“What do you want?”

“The truth,” Bako replied. “And you’re going to give it to me today.”

Back at the house, Emma and Oena sat in the kitchen. The smell of boiling tea filled the air, but neither of them was drinking.

Oena held the newspaper in his hand. The headline read:

WEDDING POISON PLOT – BRIDE CAUGHT TRYING TO KILL BILLIONAIRE GROOM

The photo showed Emma standing in front of the crowd, one hand in the air, stopping the wedding.

Emma looked at it and sighed. “I still can’t believe all those people were clapping and smiling for her. Even me. I almost believed it was going to be a perfect day.”

Oena folded the paper and dropped it on the table. “I was blind. Completely blind.”

“You trusted her,” Emma said. “That’s not a crime.”

Oena nodded. “Still, it hurts.”

Then the doorbell rang. They both turned.

Oena stood up and went to open it. Inspector Bako stepped in, looking tired but focused.

“We’ve started questioning her,” he said, walking into the sitting room.

“Did she talk?” Oena asked quickly.

“She did,” Bako said. “But not everything yet.”

Emma entered the room. “So she admitted it?”

Bako nodded. “Yes. She admitted the wine was poisoned. She said she got it from someone named Chucks.”

Oena sat down. “Did she say who Chucks is?”

“She says he’s her ex-boyfriend. But we think he’s more than that.”

“More?” Emma asked.

Bako looked serious. “There’s a chance they’re married. We found a photo of them together from two years ago. It looked like a traditional wedding photo.”

Oena’s mouth fell open. “So she was already married?”

“Possibly,” Bako said. “She denies it. Says they were just business partners. But we’re checking the marriage registry.”

Emma clenched his fists. “She lied about everything.”

Oena nodded slowly. “Every single thing.”

Back in the police station, Bako returned to the questioning room. This time he brought a printed photo and slid it across the table.

It was the same traditional wedding photo—Chucks in a red cap and wrapper, Netchi by his side in full attire.

They were smiling like people deeply in love.

Netchi stared at it for a while.

“Who’s this?” Bako asked.

She remained silent.

“I’m only asking for the record. We already know.”

Her lips tightened. “That was a long time ago.”

“Were you married?”

She looked down. “Yes.”

Bako wrote in his notebook. “Did you tell Oena?”

“No.”

“Why?”

She looked up slowly. “Because that marriage was a mistake.”

“And poisoning Oena was your correction?”

Her voice shook. “It wasn’t meant to go that far.”

“Then how far was it meant to go?”

She had no answer.

Meanwhile, in Emma’s room, he sat by his laptop, headphones on, watching the security footage the police had shared with him.

He saw the moment Netchi slipped the strange bottle to the waiter.

He paused the video, zoomed in—her hand, her face, her smile.

“She really did it,” he whispered.

He looked up and saw his reflection in the dark screen. His heart ached, his throat tightened.

He had caught her. He had saved his father.

But he didn’t feel happy. He felt sad. Sad that something so evil had walked freely into their lives.

Later that evening, Inspector Bako returned to give them the latest update.

“She finally told us more,” he said. “They planned it for months.”

Oena sat forward. “What exactly did they plan?”

“They wanted you to fall in love with her. Then during the wedding, she would give you the drugged wine. Chucks would come in later pretending to be a concerned friend.”

“What would happen there?” Emma asked.

“They planned to make you disappear. Once you were unconscious, Chucks would handle the rest—forged death documents, transferred property, disappeared money.”

Oena’s hands were shaking. “All from one wedding.”

“They thought you’d never see it coming,” Emma whispered.

“No,” Bako said. “They didn’t.”

The next day, Netchi finally broke down in the interrogation room.

She cried, begged, shouted, and even tried to lie again, but nothing worked.

When Bako placed the bottle, the wedding footage, the messages, and the recordings in front of her one by one, she slumped in her seat.

She folded her arms and whispered, “He promised me we’d leave this country. He said we’d take everything and disappear.”

“Who?” Bako asked.

“Chucks.”

“Did you love him?”

She wiped her face. “I thought I did.”

“Do you think he loved you?”

She looked away.

Bako continued. “He used you. And now he’s nowhere to be found.”

She sniffed.

“Where is he?”

“We don’t know yet. But we’ll find him.”

Back at the house, Oena opened a drawer in his room. Inside were the wedding rings still in their box.

He picked up one, looked at it for a long time, then placed it back.

Emma stood at the door. “Are you okay?” he asked.

Oena turned slowly. “I don’t know.”

“It’s okay not to be okay, Dad.”

Oena walked to him. “I feel stupid.”

“You’re not,” Emma said.

“I let her into our lives.”

“You didn’t know.”

Oena looked at his son. “But you did. You knew something was wrong. You didn’t let her blind you.”

Emma gave a small smile. “I just watched what others ignored.”

Oena pulled him into a hug. “You’re my hero.”

That night, the news showed footage of Netchi being led out of the station in handcuffs.

Her face was down. She didn’t speak.

The reporter said:

“The investigation continues as police search for her accomplice, Chukwudi Okoro. He is believed to be the mastermind behind the plot to murder and defraud Mr. Oena, a successful businessman.”

Emma and Oena watched together.

“She thought she could win,” Emma said.

Oena nodded. “But the truth won instead.”

The next morning started quietly. Birds chirped outside the window. The sun rose gently over the house, and the world around seemed calm.

But inside the house, Emma knew the storm was still blowing.

He stood at the kitchen sink, rinsing his cup after tea. He hadn’t spoken much since last night. His eyes looked tired, his thoughts running deep.

Behind him, his father walked into the kitchen holding his phone.

“Emma,” Oena said softly. “Inspector Bako just called.”

Emma turned slowly. “Did they find Chucks?”

Oena nodded once. “They traced a location. They think he’s hiding somewhere in Enugu. He’s been using different phone lines. But he made a mistake—he used one of his old SIM cards to book a hotel.”

Emma’s heart started beating faster. “So, what are they going to do?”

Oena sat at the table. “Bako and a small team are heading there now. He said they’ll try to catch him today.”

Emma dropped the cup carefully on the rack. “I hope they catch him. He doesn’t deserve to be free after everything he planned.”

Oena stared at his son, his face soft. “You’re stronger than I thought.”

“I just don’t want him to do it to another family,” Emma said.

“Me too,” Oena replied. “And this time, I’ll be watching closely.”

Far away in a small guest house in Enugu, Chucks sat at a plastic table, flipping through his phone.

His eyes scanned the news headlines:

Wedding Day Poison Plot Shocks Nation
Groom Survives Attempted Murder by Fiancée
Young Son Exposes Evil Scheme

He cursed under his breath and tossed the phone on the bed.

He paced the room angrily. “She ruined everything,” he muttered. “She let a child beat her.”

He looked out the window, paranoid. Every car that passed made him jump. Every sound made his hands twitch.

He didn’t trust anyone anymore. Not even the receptionist downstairs.

He had one bag. Inside it was some cash, two fake ID cards, and a cheap passport he was planning to use to leave the country.

But now, he wasn’t so sure he would make it out.

Back at the station, Inspector Bako moved fast. He and two officers were already on the road.

They had traced the hotel booking to Chucks using one of his old SIMs. He had used a different name, but the face captured by the security camera was a match.

“We’ll go in quiet,” Bako said to the team in the van. “No noise. No warning. He’s smart. One wrong move and he disappears.”

The officers nodded.

Back in the holding cell, Netchi sat alone, hugging her knees. She hadn’t eaten much. Her face looked blank. Her hands trembled lightly.

She hadn’t heard from Chucks in days.

The last thing he said to her in a voice message was: “Stay quiet. Don’t say anything. I’ll handle everything.”

But she knew now he had no plan to handle anything.

He had left her behind.

At exactly 12:43 p.m., the police van arrived in front of the guest house.

Inspector Bako stepped out, sunglasses covering his sharp eyes. He motioned for the officers to split—one to the back, the other to the side.

He entered the front desk. “Good afternoon,” he said calmly to the receptionist.

The young lady looked up. “Good afternoon, sir.”

“We’re looking for someone. He checked in three days ago. Room 16. What name did he use?”

The receptionist blinked. “M… I think it was Mr. Uch.”

“Has he come out today?”

“No, not since morning. Just ordered water once.”

Bako nodded. “Good. Stay calm. We’ll handle it.”

He gave the silent signal.

The two officers climbed the stairs quickly and quietly. Bako followed.

Outside room 16.

They stood for a second. Then he knocked.

“Room service.”

No answer.

He knocked again. “Sir, your food is here.”

Still no answer.

Then footsteps. A slow approach.

Click. The sound of a lock turning.

As the door cracked open, Bako pushed hard.

The door slammed wide.

“Police! Don’t move!”

Chucks jumped back in shock, hands half raised. “What? What’s going on?”

“Hands on your head, now!”

Chucks backed away slowly, breathing hard. “I didn’t do anything.”

“You’re under arrest for attempted murder, fraud, and conspiracy,” Bako said, walking in.

He motioned, and the officers grabbed Chucks’s arms and cuffed him.

“You have the right to remain silent,” Bako added. “And if you run that mouth again, I’ll add resisting arrest.”

Chucks gritted his teeth. “I want a lawyer.”

“You’ll need more than a lawyer,” Bako replied. “You’ll need a miracle.”

Later that night, Oena’s phone rang again. He picked it up quickly.

“Hello?”

“Oena,” Bako’s voice came through. “We got him.”

Oena stood up from the couch. “You caught him?”

“Yes. He was hiding in a hotel room in Enugu. Tried to lie at first, but we have the messages, the photos—and now we have him.”

Oena turned to Emma, who was already looking up.

“He’s caught,” Oena said with a smile.

Emma breathed deeply. “Good.”

Bako added, “We’re bringing him in. I’ll call you tomorrow when we begin the official charges.”

“Thank you, Inspector. For everything.”

Bako replied, “Don’t thank me. Thank your son.”

At the station the next morning, Chucks sat in the same chair Netchi had used days before.

His hands were cuffed. His face was full of anger.

Across from him sat Inspector Bako.

“Let me guess,” Bako said. “You didn’t plan anything. She acted alone. Right?”

Chucks said nothing.

“We have the messages, Chucks. The calls, the plan, the bottle.”

Chucks rolled his eyes. “She was the one with him, not me.”

“You gave her the drug,” Bako replied. “You told her what to say, what to do. You guided her through every step.”

“She wanted it too,” Chucks snapped. “She was tired of poor life. She wanted money.”

“And you promised her everything.”

Chucks stayed quiet.

“You said you’d marry her after,” Bako said. “You said you’d leave the country together.”

“She believed I would,” Chucks muttered.

“But you were going to leave her behind, weren’t you?”

He didn’t answer.

Bako stood and walked to the door. Before leaving, he said, “The boy ruined your plan. And you know what? He was only thirteen. That must really hurt.”

Then he walked out.

Back home, Emma opened his journal. He flipped to a clean page. At the top he wrote:

What I Learned From Almost Losing My Dad

Beneath it, in small letters:

    Watch people carefully. Their smile can lie.

    Speak up even when no one listens.

    Love is not always loud. Sometimes it’s just protection.

He paused. Then he wrote number four:

    Always trust your gut. Even if it makes you the enemy.

Oena walked in just then. He saw the journal. “You writing again?”

“Just writing how I feel,” Emma said.

Oena sat beside him. “I’ve been thinking too.”

“About what?”

“About what comes next.”

Emma looked at him. “What does come next?”

“I don’t know,” Oena said softly. “But I know one thing. I don’t want to live like I used to—blind, rushed, afraid of being alone.”

“You’re not alone, Dad.”

Oena looked at him. “I know. I have you.”

That evening, the news came in:

POLICE ARREST CHUCKS, THE MAN BEHIND WEDDING DAY POISON PLOT

Emma and Oena sat side by side as the news played on TV. The footage showed Chucks being led in handcuffs into the station.

The reporter said:

“Authorities say both suspects will face full prosecution. Investigations show this was a well-planned scheme involving fraud, fake documents, and an attempted murder that was only stopped by a brave 13-year-old boy.”

Emma looked at the screen quietly. Then he looked at his father.

Oena placed his hand over his son’s and smiled.

And for the first time in days, Emma smiled back.

The courtroom was full—not just with people, but with whispers, with tension, and with eyes that had read the headlines for weeks.

Some people came because they were curious. Others came because they wanted to see the boy who stopped a wedding.

Emma sat quietly beside his father on the second bench. He wore a clean white shirt and black trousers. His hands were locked together in his lap.

Oena wore a dark suit. His face was calm, but his eyes stayed fixed on the front—on the two seats where the accused would sit.

At the far end of the court, the large wooden doors opened. The guards brought them in: Netchi and Chucks.

Netchi looked smaller than before. Her skin was pale. Her lips were dry. The dress she wore was plain and wrinkled. No makeup, no earrings. Just handcuffs and shame.

Chucks walked stiffly. His face was harder, full of pride and anger, but his eyes darted around nervously.

They both sat down in the accused dock.

Then the judge walked in.

“All rise.”

Everyone stood. Then sat again as the trial began.

The first person to speak was Inspector Bako. He stepped into the witness box, took his oath, and told the court everything—from the recordings, to the poison in the wine, to the messages on the secret phone.

He spoke clearly and calmly.

“Without Emma, this would have ended differently,” Bako said. “That boy didn’t just save his father. He helped stop a planned murder.”

Gasps rose across the room.

The judge nodded slowly. “Thank you, inspector. You may step down.”

Next, the court clerk called, “Oena Okonquo.”

Oena stood, walked to the witness box, and placed his hand on the Bible.

“Do you swear to tell the truth?”

“I do.”

Then he faced the courtroom. He looked straight at Netchi.

“I loved her,” he began. “I believed every word she said. I trusted her with my home, my heart, and my son.”

Emma looked down slowly.

“But she didn’t come for love,” Oena continued. “She came for my wealth and almost cost me my life.”

His voice shook. “I signed papers I didn’t read, drank wine I didn’t pour, and walked into a wedding I wasn’t meant to survive.”

People whispered again.

Then he said something stronger.

“If not for my son, I would be dead.”

The courtroom fell silent.

Oena stepped down and returned to his seat beside Emma. He placed his hand over his son’s.

Then the judge looked across the room. “Is the boy present?”

Heads turned.

Emma looked up.

The judge spoke gently. “Come forward.”

Oena squeezed his shoulder. “You can do this.”

Emma stood up slowly, walked to the front. His legs felt heavy, his chest tight, but he kept walking.

He entered the witness box.

The judge looked at him. “What’s your name, son?”

“Emma Okonquo.”

“How old are you?”

“Thirteen.”

“Do you understand why you’re here?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Tell us what happened, in your own words.”

Emma took a deep breath. His voice shook a little.

“I didn’t like her from the first day. I felt something strange. She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes.”

He looked at Netchi. She looked away.

“I tried to tell my dad, but he didn’t listen. He thought I was being difficult. So I watched. I listened. And one night I heard her talking on the phone, saying, Once he drinks it, everything will be ours.”

Gasps again.

“I hid a phone. I recorded her. I tested the wine. I saved it. I made copies. I didn’t want to ruin the wedding, but when she gave him that glass, I knew I had to do something.”

The judge leaned forward. “And you stopped the wedding?”

“Yes, sir.”

The judge stared at him for a long moment. Then he smiled.

“You’re a brave boy, Emma.”

Emma nodded slowly and stepped down.

The final part of the trial came.

The judge looked at the accused. “Netchi Adai, do you have anything to say?”

She stood slowly. Her voice was barely a whisper. “I’m sorry.”

The judge frowned. “Is that all?”

She nodded.

“Did you love him?”

She looked down. “I thought I did. But I loved what he had more.”

Gasps again.

The judge turned to Chucks. “Chukwudi Okoro. Any final words?”

Chucks stood, chin high.

“I don’t regret wanting a better life. I only regret trusting her.”

Everyone reacted.

Netchi turned sharply. “You liar. You planned everything.”

They both started arguing. The guards held them back.

The judge banged the gavel. “Silence!”

After a long pause, the judge looked around the courtroom.

“This was not just a case of fraud. It was an evil plan born out of greed. A man almost lost his life. A boy almost lost his father. And two adults almost got away with it.”

He turned to the accused.

“You will both face the full punishment of the law.”

He paused.

“I sentence Netchi Adai to twenty-five years in prison for attempted murder, conspiracy, and fraud.”

Netchi burst into tears.

The judge turned to Chucks.

“I sentence Chukwudi Okoro to thirty years in prison for masterminding the plot, supplying the poison, and fraud.”

Chucks clenched his jaw but said nothing.

The gavel dropped. Case closed.

Outside the courtroom, reporters surrounded Oena and Emma.

“Sir, how do you feel about the sentence?”
“Emma, what gave you the courage to speak out?”
“Will you press charges for the fake documents too?”

Oena raised his hand. “No more questions. My son and I just want to go home.”

He placed his hand on Emma’s back and they walked past the cameras, past the flashing lights, and into their car.

On the drive home, they didn’t speak much.

But inside the silence, something new was growing: peace.

At a red light, Oena looked at his son. “I’m proud of you.”

Emma smiled. “I’m proud of you too.”

Oena raised a brow. “Me?”

“Yes.” Emma nodded. “You listened. That takes courage too.”

Weeks passed. Things went back to normal.

The flowers in the garden grew again. The laughter in the living room returned. The house became a home again.

Oena went back to work. Emma went back to school.

People still whispered sometimes. Some called him “the boy who stopped a wedding.” Others just looked at him with wide eyes and respect.

But Emma didn’t care about fame.

He cared that his dad was alive. He cared that truth won. And more than anything, he cared that he didn’t stay silent.

Final scene.

One Saturday, Oena walked into Emma’s room holding a small wrapped box.

“What’s this?” Emma asked.

“Open it.”

Emma tore the paper slowly. Inside was a silver plaque.

It read:

To Emma Okonquo
For saving a life and speaking the truth.
You are a hero.

Emma looked up, eyes shining. “Dad…”

Oena smiled. “Just a little thank you.”

They hugged tightly.

And from that day, no matter where Emma went, he never forgot one thing:

Sometimes the quietest voices save the loudest lives.