They say if you keep playing with the devil, one day he will follow you home.
Fausty had heard that warning all her life, passed down like an old proverb, spoken softly by women who knew what they were talking about. She never thought it would belong to her.
Kwaku did not arrive looking like danger. He arrived looking like love.
He was charming in the beginning, the kind of man who made you feel chosen. When he spoke to Fausty, the rest of the world faded. His confidence felt like protection. His attention felt like affection. Being loved by him felt intense, and she believed that intensity meant depth.
But even in those early days, there were moments that unsettled her.
The way his smile vanished too quickly.
The way his voice hardened when challenged.
The way silence stretched after his anger, heavy and uncomfortable.
Fausty noticed.
She just didn’t listen.
Love has a way of dulling fear. It teaches you to explain away what your spirit already understands. She told herself he was passionate. She told herself everyone had flaws. She told herself love required patience.
Each time he hurt her with words, he returned with apologies. Soft ones. Convincing ones.
“I didn’t mean it.”
“You know I love you.”
“You make me lose control.”
And Fausty believed him, because believing felt easier than leaving.
But love should not feel like walking on glass.
Love should not make you afraid to speak.
The night everything changed, she knew it before it happened. His anger felt different, less contained, less apologetic. There was no softness behind it this time. Just something raw and frightening.
So she ran.
Her heart raced as she moved through the dark, every step filled with panic and shame and regret. She kept thinking, Once I get home, I’ll be safe. Home had always meant safety.
She didn’t hear him at first.
Then she did.
Footsteps. Too close. Too familiar.
When Fausty reached her door, her hands trembled so badly she could barely unlock it. She slipped inside, locked the door, and leaned against it, breath shaking, body cold with fear.
But safety never came.
Because the devil does not respect boundaries.
And once he knows where you live, distance no longer protects you.
That was the moment Fausty understood the truth she had been avoiding: some warnings are not metaphors. Some love stories are not romances. And some doors, once opened, are not easily closed.
She had invited him into her life.
Now he knew where she lived.
And that knowledge changed everything.
