Coming Back To You

Part #3 of "My Shola, My Love".

Ebun

Mar 04, 2025

This is the final chapter of Shola and Omolola’s story, enjoy.

In case you missed it…

PART #1 - My Shola, My Love

PART #2 - Always & Forever

Doesn’t really matter, but I definitely recommend reading the stories in their order of arrangement.

LOLA’S POV

"Maybe you’ll tell me the name of the girl that’s always keeping you busy," I say, my voice thick with annoyance. "Because you said you’ll call by 7pm., this is 7:17, Shola."

I hear him laugh over the phone.

He can't see me, but I roll my eyes anyway.

"Her name is NYSC, Lola mi," he says, clearly amused by his joke. "And she has all my attention, at least for the remaining five days. You’ll have to manage whatever she shares with you."

"I've been managing for the past two weeks; I'm tired. We've barely texted. You don't spend long on the phone when we call. Your absence has made me realise that I don't even have any serious close friends. It's just me and countless episodes of Love Island. Omo, just be coming back."

"Eeyah. Nothing for you o, aunty." He laughs again, and it's the most beautiful sound in the world. "If it's any consolation, I miss you too. Thankfully, I'm always swamped with activities that I don't even remember that I'm missing you."

"That's how easy it is to forget me, abi? Just like that."

"How can I forget you when you're all I'm always thinking about?"

The smile is instinctive, and it spreads across my lips before I can stop it.

I try my best to frown again, but I can't.

I'm happy he can't see me right now because I really want to be upset with him.

"Nobody asked you to go for camp so far away. Your mates that are serving in Lagos don't have two heads."

I hear him hiss, which is very out of habit, but I don't say anything.

"Lagos this, Lagos that, every time Lagos. Don't you guys get tired? Nigeria is too big not to see the other parts of it, you know?"

I scoff. "Pele o, Shola the explorer. You're the only one that knows what you're looking for up and down."

"Adventure, my love," he says, and a tingle of electricity flows down my spine. "Adventure."

"How's your adventure going? Hope it's beating you during the day and biting you at night?"

He laughs again, and I want to punch him through the phone.

"It's going well, to be fair. The drills and marching are not so bad once you get used to it. Same thing for the sun. Plus, there's good food and fine girls everywhere, so what else could a man want?"

I don't reply.

"Lola? Omolola?" His laugh lasts longer this time. "I'm joking o. It's just a joke."

I remain silent.

"I just know you're about to end this call. If you do, it's till tomorrow sha. So better behave."

More laughter.

"You always think you know me so well," I say with a scoff as I remove my finger from over the 'end call' button. "I wasn't going to end the call. I'm not petty like you."

"Oya naw, I've sha told you."

"I'm telling you how much I miss you, and you're telling me about some random girls."

"Some random, beautiful girls."

I sigh.

I've always known Shola to be extra positive.

He always finds something amusing in every situation, and although it's one of his traits that I love so much, sometimes I just wish he'd turn it off.

After I don’t say anything again, he also sighs loudly.

"I'm sorry. I’m sorry. Making jokes is the only copium I have here. If I don't laugh, I'll lose my mind over how little sleep my brain is getting and how terrible the longing in my heart is to see you again. So just bear with me for now, my love."

I smile and turn around in my bed, placing the phone on my chest and staring at the ceiling.

Part of me is still wowed by how he somehow always knows what's on my mind.

"Sometimes, I think I love you too much," I admit. "We've just been apart for some days, and it's already like I'm going crazy."

"I feel the same way, honestly. Maybe one day you'll tell me exactly what you did that made me fall for you like this."

It's my turn to laugh.

"Never ever. It's a secret," I say in a singsong voice. "It's the only advantage I have over those Warri girls that refuse to leave you alone."

He chuckles.

"You don’t need any advantage, jare. If anybody wants my heart, they should go and collect it from you."

I smile again in the dimly lit neon light of my room.

"Unfortunately, I don't like sharing my things," I reply.

"Thank God. I'm counting on that."

Silence passes between us.

I hear some ruffling over the phone, followed by some loud pumping music in the background.

It only lasts for a few seconds, and then the silence returns.

"Sorry," Shola says. "I had to get a quieter space."

"Social night, abi?"

"Every damn night." He sighs. "I'm tired, Omolola. This whole scene is not for me. Yes, I'm enjoying the experience. It's different, and it's challenging, but omo. I just can't wait to be back home."

For the first time tonight, I can hear the exhaustion in his voice.

"I know, baby; I can't even imagine. It's like I'll even skip the whole thing. Serving your country shouldn't be so tiring."

"No, no, it's fun; you'll love… it."

His voice has started to drawl.

The same way it does whenever he's dozing off.

I feel a pang of sadness, and my heart melts for him.

I wish I could hold him in my arms and stroke his head till he falls asleep.

I miss him so much it hurts.

He's still muttering, so I put the phone beside my ear, and I bite my smile.

Shola always talks in his sleep, so I like to pick out the things he says so I can tease him with them later.

"Omolola…" he says.

"Oluwanishola," I say, stifling a laugh. "Do you want to tell me something?"

"I… miss you."

"I know, I know," I reply, my heart swelling with emotion. "I miss you too."

"Hmm…" He’s half grumbling and half muttering.

"Yes, hmm." I laugh slightly. "I'm going to end the call now. I think you better find somewhere to sleep for a bit before they find you."

"No, no… wait."

I open my mouth to speak, but noise from the background interrupts me.

Over the phone, I hear sounds, like he's having a conversation with someone.

About a minute later, I hear his voice again, awake and energetic.

"Did I sleep off? Omo. I'm so sorry, babe."

"No, it's fine. You're tired; I get it."

"It's not. We were meant to talk and see me sleeping off. Chai."

"Don't beat yourself up; we'll have lots of time to catch up when you come back."

"You're too good for me," he says with a sigh.

"Of course, I am."

"So… I have to go now, Lola," he says, and sadness immediately wells up in me. "They are summoning everybody to the parade ground. I don't know why."

A lump forms in my throat.

"Oh, okay," I say, tears stinging the back of my eyes.

Omolola, my God, get a grip!

"I'm sorry, my love. I'll make it up to you on Sunday."

"Yeah, it's okay. Enjoy the rest of your night."

He laughs.

"No promises, but okay."

"Yeah."

"I love you, Lola."

The tears slowly start to drop from my eyes.

"I love you too, Shola."

"Five more days, okay?"

I take in a deep breath to calm my nerves.

"Five more days."

"Five more days, Lola mi," he says again, voice low and tone firm. "Five more days, and then I'm coming back to you."

I try to force some energy into my voice. "I can't wait."

"Me too."

"Goodnight, Shola."

"Goodnight, my love."

He hangs up, and the line disconnects.

I stay still for a few seconds, listening to the emptiness that follows his voice and the silence of my room.

Relax. I say to myself. You're okay.

Shola is okay.

He will be back soon.

Just five more days, and you won’t have to worry about him ever leaving you again.

Just five days.

Then he’s coming back to you.

SHOLA’S POV

The bus rumbles beneath me, the soft hum of the tires against the road filling the air with a gentle vibration.

Outside the window, the world passes in a blur of dark shapes and scattered lights.

I really hate travelling at night, but I have no choice today.

The driver had to stop the vehicle for "minor repairs," and we ended up spending close to three hours in the mechanic's shop.

Other passengers cursed and complained and threatened, but my mind was really elsewhere.

Lagos. Home. Lola.

And now as I see the familiar buildings and signboards, I know I'm closer than ever.

I never thought I'd ever miss this city, but here I am. It's almost like I was trapped in a hole for the past three weeks, and now I've been released into the real world again.

Where there's no confined spaces or constant military supervision or an endless barrage of people wearing white.

I feel at peace as I lean my head back against the seat and close my eyes. I let my thoughts wander away.

Camp was a crazy experience, but I'm so glad it's over.

There were upsides and downsides.

I met some pretty cool people, and I connected with a man who I really think can help me achieve one of my biggest dreams.

Obviously, there was also the terrible toilet facilities and the hours spent roasting in the sun.

But those mattered less in the grand scheme of things.

The biggest downside was being away from her.

My Lola.

I've missed her so much.

Seeing her, hearing her, holding her.

Three weeks isn’t so much, but it felt like an eternity, and I don't think I ever want to go that long without being close to her again.

Maybe one day we'll have to get used to spending more time apart from each other, but for now, I'd rather have her with me at all times.

I’m obsessed, I know.

I glance around the bus, the other passengers half-asleep, some curled up against the windows, others nodding off with their chins resting on their chests.

The air is thick with exhaustion, but I think I’m too excited to sleep.

My heart is literally swelling with anticipation as the seconds pass by.

I reach into my smallest travel bag, and I fish it out.

It's a small bracelet with her name engraved on it. It belonged to her mother, who was also named Omolola, and Lola never goes anywhere without wearing it.

It's the only piece of her parents that she has left.

So, when she gave it to me to take along to camp, I vehemently refused.

I know how much it means to her, and I didn’t want to separate her from it, but she just wouldn't take no for an answer.

"Just hold it whenever you're missing me and imagine I'm there with you," she had said.

Reluctantly, I had agreed, but in camp, I never once took it out of my bag.

I couldn't imagine it getting lost or even stolen.

That would break her heart so badly, and I'll never forgive myself for losing something that holds so much value to her.

I rub the bracelet and I feel comfort.

It feels safe.

Before I know it, I'm dozing off, my excitement finally giving way to fatigue.

Some minutes later, I jerk back awake when the bus finally stops at the park.

I alight and retrieve my two other bags from the boot of the vehicle.

I had tried to order an Uber to take me home from the park, but I had no luck getting one, so I'll just have to take a Maruwa from here.

It's risky this time of night, but it'll have to suffice. I'm not so far from home again.

Not so far from her.

I pull out my phone and type a quick message.

On my way. Can’t wait to see you again, Lola mi.

The message delivers instantly, and I picture her smiling as she reads it. Squealing on her bed with excitement.

The image doesn't leave my head, and I can't stop smiling.

After a lot of pleading and even offering to pay double of the normal fare, I finally convince a Maruwa driver to take me as close as he could to my estate.

I will still have to walk a small distance, but I surmise that it's better than nothing.

I'm so tired and sleepy, but I honestly can't care less about anything at this point.

I just want to get home to my woman.

My destination is still about twenty minutes away as I drag my bags across the road.

I curse and mutter as the heavy luggage keeps twisting and turning on the uneven gravel road.

Thankfully, there are streetlights everywhere so I can see where I'm headed.

I've lived here for a while, so this entire surrounding is very familiar to me.

This neighbourhood is also generally safe, so I'm not worried about any trouble.

I just want to make it home before I pass out.

Fatigue clings to my bones as I take one laboured step after the other.

This NYSC jungle boot I’m wearing doesn't even make walking easier. It just cramps my feet with every movement I make.

I can see my estate gate in the distance. Not so long now.

That’s when I notice something strange.

It's a roadblock.

Four sets of tires are on either side of the road with a large stick resting on top of them to prevent any vehicle from passing through.

It's a bit weird to me at first, because despite this area not being so "high class," it's also not filled with touts or people that might want to extort drivers for money.

There's probably not much to it, so I shrug and keep moving.

Maybe it's a new security measure by the neighbourhood vigilante group.

When I get closer, I notice some men sitting around the roadblock, but they had already seen me coming.

They wave me over, and I’m about to be afraid when I notice their black uniforms.

All the tension in my body dissipates.

"Good evening, officers," I say, giving them a slight salute.

There are three of them around the tires on the left side of the road.

Two of them are standing at the checkpoint, and another one of them sits further back on a chair, smoking a cigarette.

There’s a police van some meters behind them, parked slightly off the road.

The three policemen all hold guns, and they regard me with wary suspicion in their eyes.

I wonder how I look to them: a random guy in complete NYSC uniform, dragging boxes on the streets at 11pm while panting and sweating.

"Ehnhen? Who are you, and where are you coming from?" One of them barks, his voice sharp and impatient.

I'm a bit taken aback by his outburst, but I'm too exhausted to be offended.

"Warri, sir," I say, gesturing to my uniform. "I just came back from camp."

"Warri? At this time?" He asks, the sharpness still present in his voice.

"The bus had issues on the road, so we were delayed for a long time," I reply. "Sir."

He glances at me from head to toe, and there's something very menacing about his stare.

His eyes are bloodshot, and I think I even perceive the small of an alcoholic mix coming off his breath.

Goosebumps rise across my skin.

I'm nervous, but I remind myself that this is all normal.

It's past curfew, and I'm wandering the streets.

They're just doing their jobs.

"Oga!" The officer calls back to the man sitting on the chair. The one smoking a cigarette. "Oga, e say e be corper o. E say e just dey come from Warri."

"At this time?"

"Na wetin me sef dey tell am."

The sitting officer takes his time to reply, and I assume that he's the one in charge of this little "checkpoint”.

He takes long drags from his cigarette and puffs them out toward the night sky.

After a few minutes, he throws the blunt away and starts to walk toward us.

He eyes me carefully as he gets closer, sizing me from head to toe.

He's looks even more menacing than the first officer as he takes careful steps toward us, his gun slung casually across his shoulder.

"Mr man, I thought corpers were instructed not to take night buses," he says to me.

Oddly, I find some solace in the calmness of his voice and easy way the words roll off his tongue.

"Yes sir," I say. "We left early, but the bus had some mechanical issues."

He observes me in silence.

"Or you're lying to me and you're one of the criminals that's been disturbing this area since last week?"

I let out a short laugh, confused. "No sir, I'm just on my way from Delta state. See, this is my ID card."

I try to fish it out from my pocket but the other two officer draw their guns at me immediately.

That's when the panic I've been trying so hard to suppress starts to rise.

I can feel the bile forming in my throat.

I look around the street, empty.

Silent.

It's just four of us out here.

"Oga, be like this one wan shoot us o!" The first officer says, his gun pointed squarely at me.

"No, no, sir," I say loudly. "I am just trying to show you my ID."

My voice is careful and controlled.

My heart, on the other hand, is racing like a drumbeat in my ears.

The superior officer waves his hand dismissively.

"Relax, he's not that type of criminal," he says. "Search his bag sha, let's see if he's saying the truth."

The first officer steps forward, grabs my travel bag roughly off my shoulder, and unzips it.

He turns it over and shakes it, spilling everything to the ground.

He inspects the items on the floor—my wallet, some empty wrappers of snacks, and some documents.

"Find anything there?" the superior asks.

"No, oga. Na just nylon and paper dey here."

When he bends over to inspect the items closer, I hold my breath and hope to God that he doesn't see it.

But he does because when he stands up, he holding something shiny.

Lola's bracelet.

My stomach knots.

The officer picks it up, smiles mischievously, and holds it in my face. "What is this one?"

"A bracelet," I say carefully, my voice laced with caution.

"For who?"

"My mother," I lie, hoping it'll convince him to give it back to him.

They all laugh at me.

The officer hands the bracelet over to his superior, and I feel the trepidation in my bones worsen.

The officer turns the bracelet over in his hand.

"Omolola," he reads casually. Too casually. Then he shoves it into his own pocket. "It's a beautiful one. You can go; I'll hold onto it for you."

I freeze.

My body reacts before I can think.

"No sir," I say, stepping forward. "Please, you can’t take that. Please, sir."

They all stop laughing.

The first officer grips his gun tighter. "O boy, you say wetin?"

I swallow, forcing myself to stay composed. "Sir, with all due respect, that’s my property. You’ve all searched me and you’ve searched my bags, you’ve seen that I have nothing on me. Please, sir, give it back; I just want to go home."

"Shuu, o boy, you get mind o. You dey argue with police? You no dey fear?" The third officer finally speaks.

His voice is raspy, and his words are barely audible.

The superior officer stares at me for a minute. He looks impressed and surprised at the same time.

I don't know where this courage is coming from.

Call it madness. Call it adrenaline. Call it desperation.

I don't know.

But I can't leave here without Lola's bracelet. It's all she has left of her family; if these men take it, she will be devastated

Monetary-wise, I know it's probably worth a lot, but that's not the important thing.

It will crush her and she’ll probably never forgive me.

No, I can't leave it behind.

I must try at least.

"I've already said you can go, Mr. Man. I'll keep the bracelet as a sign of goodwill. Since you say you're not a criminal and we’re letting you go. So, bye bye."

"Sir, please," I plead again, clasping my hands together. "That bracelet has a lot of sentimental value to my family. Please just give it back to me."

I inject as much firmness into my voice as possible.

"I'll pay you whatever you want, please, just return it."

The superior officer stares at me in shock.

Then, before I can react, his fist connects with my stomach.

I double over in pain, wheezing and clutching my guts.

"You dey mad?" he growls. "I beg you for money? I resemble beggar for your eye? Because I dey follow you speak English, you dey reason me anyhow?"

I try to straighten up, but another blow meets my ribs.

"I say comot here. I say I dey keep the gold, you still dey follow me argue. You dey very stupid."

Another blow connects.

Then another.

I stumble back and fall to my knees, my vision blurring.

Every instinct in me is screaming at me to run, to fight, to do something.

"Please," I manage to spit out, the salty taste of blood pouring from my lips.

I know it's pointless.

I know I shouldn't even be talking again, but I'm so delirious with pain.

I’m so dizzy too, like I'm about to pass out.

"Na wah o," I hear the third officer say. "This one think say e be superstar."

The first officer scoffs in response.

"Na very stupid boy. All these young criminal boys, stupid with no respect."

The superior steps towards me again.

There's still anger in his eyes, and all the calmness from earlier has long vanished.

He looks at me squarely and I look back at him, dead in the eye.

"Carry am go the van for me,” he says.

My whole body goes cold immediately.

The two officers hesitate and look at each other slowly.

"Una dey deaf!? I say carry this boy go the van for me. Make I beat am up. Make I teach am lesson."

I suck in a sharp breath and my pounding heart threatens to burst through my ribcage.

"Oga abeg," I hear the first officer say. I glance up from the ground, and through my teary eyes, I see that he looks uncomfortable for the first time this night. "E don learn already. Make we just free am go."

His superior ignores him.

The third officer finally moves to where I am and grabs my shirt. He drags me forward, toward the back of the van, and he lifts me inside.

The space is dark and smells of damp rags and stale alcohol.

He's still holding me as his superior comes again and pulls my chin up so I can look at him.

"For your next life, ehn. You go show some respect."

He punches me square in the gut and I cough some blood.

I groan loudly.

He tries to hit me again, but this time I throw my head forward at him and catch his nose.

He's taken aback, and he stumbles back, crying and holding his face in pain.

He falls to the ground of the van.

I try to wrest my grip from the officer holding me, but he's more agile than I am, and I can't muster enough strength to push him away.

The officer clambers up from the ground and lunges toward me, enraged.

He grabs me by the collar of my shirt and immediately, something sharp pierces my stomach.

The pain doesn’t register at first.

I just feel a strange, burning sensation spreading through my torso.

Then I look down, and I see it.

A knife, buried deep inside me.

"God."

A gasp claws its way out of my throat. My legs buckle.

My hands instinctively clutch my side as warm blood spills through my fingers.

He pulls out the knife and releases me from his grip, so I fall to the hard metal floor.

The world tilts.

I try to scream, but I'm choked by my own sobs.

The pain is unbearable.

It spreads through me like fire, searing my insides, making every breath a battle.

I cry out in agony.

It’s a pain unlike any I’ve ever felt.

I press my palm to the wound, desperate to hold myself together, but the blood keeps spilling, hot and thick, slipping through my fingers like grains of sand.

The cold ground presses against my cheek, the rough texture scratching my skin, but I barely feel it.

A shudder wracks through me, and I cough, the sharp motion sending another bolt of pain through my ribs.

My body trembles, my limbs heavy. I’m growing weaker by the second.

This can’t be it.

I look up and see two figures standing over me.

Looking. Watching. Laughing?

I mutter for help, but they don’t respond.

I try to stretch my hand, but I can't.

I'm too weak. I'm too slow. I can't move.

There's a thought in my head, but I can't grasp it.

My brain hurts.

My mind is desperately torn between processing my pain and grasping that fleeting memory.

I can't remember what I want to remember.

I think I'm dying.

God, I'm dying.

God, please, I don't want to die.

Tears flow freely from my eyes.

I want to go home.

I want to live.

I want to see her.

Her.

Lola.

The thought returns loud to my head, clear and frantic.

My chest tightens, but it's not from the pain.

"Omolola," I cry out.

I writhe on the ground and try to move again, to try to stand up.

I can’t.

Omolola.

She's the thought I was desperately trying to remember.

I see her in my mind. She's smiling. She's laughing.

I hear her voice come back to me, teasing, soft—Shola, I miss you.

I can’t die.

I told her I’d come back.

I told her she had nothing to worry about.

I promised.

A heavy weight crushes me as I feel myself getting weaker and weaker.

The blood is everywhere now, I think I might drown in it.

The truth fully dawns on me and wraps itself around me like a blanket.

I feel reality suffocate me.

I’m not going to make it home.

I stop moving and let the tears pour.

She’s waiting for me, and I won't make it back.

"I'm sorry," I mutter to the ground.

I’ll never see her smile again.

I'll never hear her voice again.

I’ll never hold her again.

A choked sound escapes my throat again, half a sob, half a broken breath.

"I'm sorry."

I don’t want to die.

Not like this.

The tears escape through my lips.

I promised her.

I promised.

The world starts to darken at the edges.

They say right before you die, your entire life flashes before your eyes.

It's true.

I try to hold on, just for a second longer.

I try.

But I just can't.

The pain starts to fade and it's replaced by a strange weightlessness.

I smile slightly.

There's no pain again.

The darkness is inviting me, and it’s warm and comforting.

I don't resist it again.

I embrace its embrace.

It's endless and quiet, and it swallows me.

Slowly.

Slowly.

I fe-

UNKNOWN POV

I hold a rag to my nose.

The bleeding has stopped, but it's still stinging.

There’s no doubt that my nose is broken, or at least sprained.

Very stupid boy.

"Adams, come and drive this van," I say, jumping down from the back as I pull out a cigarette.

"Take him to St. Raphael’s. Doctor Mike is on duty. You know what to tell him, and he knows what to do.”

Adams nods.

“Tell him I said I expect the autopsy report first thing in the morning. No mentions of the bruises. And he should not waste time like he did the other day."

The two officers nod and move immediately without question.

They grab the body, and it flops limply as they carry it deeper into the back of the van and throw it down.

The door slams shut with a dull clang.

I look around the streets, empty.

Thank God we chose this location tonight.

"Bring that his phone," I say.

First things first.

With a sigh, I collect it and dismiss them with a wave.

The screen is cracked and smeared with a lot of blood, but it still works.

I make a note to remind myself to drop it into evidence and stop those greedy lieutenants at the headquarters from stealing it.

Not this time. We need this one to help our story.

I press the power button, and there's no passcode.

That's a bit surprising because most of these criminal boys that we bring to justice like to lock their phones.

I shrug.

No worries, it makes my job easier.

I scroll through the contacts till I find her.

Omolola.

It's the name he kept muttering as he died. The same name that's on the bracelet in my pocket.

Maybe she’s a family member or girlfriend.

That’s too bad.

I wonder why she'll be dating a violent criminal like that boy.

It's late, but I hit dial and lift the phone to my ear.

I have to inform her now so it seems like an emergency.

Morning will be too late.

It rings twice before she picks up.

"Shola!" She almost screams. "Oh my God! Where are you!?"

There's a mix of anticipation and eagerness in her voice.

I draw the phone away from my ear and take a deep puff from my cigarette.

It’s really too bad.

"Hello, is this Omolola?" I ask.

A pause. "Yes… who is this?"

"This is Officer Sunday from the Raymond Estate Police Division. I’m calling regarding…" I stare at the ID card. "Shola Ayodele."

Silence.

"Oh my God..." Her voice sharpens. "Please, what happened? Did something happen?"

I stare at the van as it pulls onto the road, the taillights glowing in the distance, further and further.

I rub my temple and exhale smoke through my nose. The pain from my nose is making my head throb a lot.

If she starts crying, I will have an headache.

"I'm sorry to inform you that he was attacked tonight. He was stabbed by some hoodlums after he got off his bus," I say.

She takes a sharp inhale.

I don’t wait for her to speak before I continue.

"We think that it's a case of mistaken identity, but it’s still early to say for sure. He was rushed to the hospital at Baci Close, and I'm sorry, but… he didn’t make it. He's dead."

Silence.

Then a loud cry. "No, no, no...”

She starts to sob really loudly, and I blow out more smoke, trying my best not to be irritated.

So much for not getting an headache.

"He was calling your name, so we called you. Are you family? If yes, we need you to come down to the station," I say.

"No! No, no, no. That’s not— no, I just talked to him! He was coming home! He just texted me!" A sharp, ragged breath. "This has to be a mistake!"

She’s wailing now, breathing heavily and muttering in disbelief.

"Please," she whispers. "Please tell me this is a mistake. Tell me it’s not him. Tell me—"

Her voice breaks completely.

I shift my weight and press my lips together.

This has gone on for too long.

"I'm sorry for your loss, Ma. He was just at the wrong place at the wrong time. We'll be expecting your visit at our station. Have a good night."