Rehab, Romance, and Revenge: Building a Life on the Ashes of the Last One

L N Bokete
Sep 4
3 min read

Isaiah's Version — For Mana, Always

The story didn’t start in rehab. It started in primary school.

I sat next to her because my usual seat was taken. She gave me her pen. A pink one. Said, “Don’t lose it,” like it was a blood oath.

She was looking at Fresco like he made the sun rise with his face. I should’ve known then.

We were thick as thieves at lunch. Me, Mana, Onyano, Vi. Then high school came and Fresco finally made his move. I was too busy batting away girls who thought my army dreams made me interesting. Onyano and Vi were inseparable. Sisters. Loud. Annoying. Unbreakable.

And Mana? She was magic. Loud laugh. Loud hair. Loud dreams. And Fresco? He didn’t deserve her.

“Isaiah, I’m pregnant,” she told me in the school parking lot. Graduation night.

I remember blinking. Like if I stared hard enough, the words would reverse.

I wanted to kill him. Fresco. The dropout. The drug crowd. The black hole pulling her in.

“I’m going to war,” I told her, like that would solve something.

I should’ve stayed.

But I didn’t.

I left her in a war zone of her own. While I was dodging bullets overseas, she was dodging pain meds, baby bottles, her past, and the weight of it all. Onyano called crying more times than I can count. Vi messaged me like she was holding everyone up by one thread.

Mana never answered my calls.

Not once.

I used my first leave to go straight from the airport to her rehab. Middle of nowhere. Cold cafeteria. Grey walls. She refused to see me.

That’s when I met him. Femi. Two years old. Big eyes. Dimpled cheeks. Called me “sir” like he was raised in Buckingham Palace. I decided that day — I’d be his godfather. I’d pay for everything I legally could. School fees. Clothes. Whatever. He was never going to feel abandoned.

“Mana will get better,” I told Onyano one night, while Femi was playing with Vi on the floor, laughing like the world was soft and kind.

Mufaro — my bulletproof best friend — was looking at Vi like she was home.

But Mana wasn’t there.

She was supposed to be.

“You always say that, Isaiah,” Onyano said. “But maybe our world isn’t a fairy tale.”

Years passed.

Then I got a message.

Just her name. “Mana.”

Like a whisper across a decade.

I picked her up at the bus station. My Jaguar looked ridiculous parked next to the minibuses, but I didn’t care. I didn’t say anything. Just took her bags and got her checked into the nicest hotel I could find.

She said she was clean. Said she got a job at the hospital. Said she needed a loan for a flat.

I helped.

Of course I helped.

I found the place. I signed the papers. I bought her a safe car. Pulled strings to get Femi into the school she wanted. And you know what?

She paid me back.

Every single cent.

Mana clawed her way back. Not clean and sparkly. Not like a redemption arc in a movie. Real. Quiet. Rough. But back.

She wasn’t trying to impress anyone. She just… showed up.

To life. To Femi. To herself.

She built something from the ashes. No blueprint. No rescue crew.

Just her.

People love talking about strong women like they’re made of steel.