But someone had drawn a symbol on their apartment door. Hawa knew it immediately.
“It’s the mark of the collectors. They’ve marked me. In three nights, they’ll come for me.”
“No one is taking you,” Drissa said. “I’ll protect you.”
That night, he did not sleep. He sat in the living room with a knife beside him, listening to every sound in the building.
On the third morning, Hawa found him hollow-eyed and exhausted.
“We have to run,” she said. “Far away.”
“They’ll find us. We need to face this.”
“You don’t know what they’re capable of. My own mother sold me to them when I was twelve. I escaped at eighteen. For six years, I was their slave. They forced me to vomit money every night. If I didn’t produce enough, they beat me.”
Drissa listened, heart breaking, jaw tight with rage.
“Tonight they’ll come. And if I resist, they’ll kill you in front of me to break me. I don’t want your death, Drissa.”
He stared at her.
“Then we’ll beat them with their own greed.”
She frowned.
“You said the money comes from you. Then create. More than ever. But not for them—for us.”
She did not understand at first.
His plan was simple, but dangerous.
He would withdraw everything from their accounts. That night, they would set a trap.
By nightfall, they had arranged thousands of dollars throughout the bedroom. Hawa sat there trembling.
At midnight, footsteps echoed in the hallway. Then the door opened without the lock even being forced.
Three figures entered.
An old man with a cane. The man in the dark robe. And a veiled woman who clearly led them all.
“We know you’re here, Hawa. You can’t run anymore. It’s over.”
Then the lights came on.
Drissa was sitting calmly in an armchair, a glass of water in hand.
“Good evening. We were expecting you. Sit down. We need to talk.”
“Where is Hawa?” the robed man barked. “Give her to us or I’ll cut you down.”
Hawa is here,” Drissa said. “But first, look at this.”
Fifty thousand dollars.
“It’s my offer. Leave Hawa alone, and this money is yours.”
The old woman laughed harshly.
“Fifty thousand? She brought us twice that in a year, fool.”
“Then let’s say one hundred thousand. And a contract. I give you one hundred thousand dollars every year, and Hawa stays with me.”
The contract was simple: the collectors would give up all claim to Hawa, and Drissa would pay them annually from what Hawa produced.
The old woman stared at him.
“Why would you do that? Why pay for a woman you could just keep?”
“Because I love her. And because without this contract, you’ll hunt her forever. I’d rather pay than lose her.”
At that moment, Hawa appeared in the bedroom doorway. She had heard everything.
“Accept, Mother. Accept the contract. Or I swear I’ll let myself die, and you’ll never see another dollar from me.”
The old woman stared at her daughter for a long time. Hate and respect mixed in her eyes.
Then she took the pen Drissa offered her and signed.
Before leaving, she looked once more at Hawa.
“You found a man who truly loves you. That is rare in our family. Don’t waste it.”
Then she turned to the two men.
“Take the money. We’re leaving.”
The door closed.
Silence fell.
Hawa collapsed in Drissa’s arms, sobbing.
“It’s over, my love. Truly over. They won’t come back.”
That night, for the first time in years, Hawa slept peacefully—no nightmares, no fear.
The weeks passed. The shop prospered.
But one question haunted Drissa.
One evening, he took Hawa’s hand.
“I need to ask you something. It’s been eating at me. This money you vomit… where does it really come from? Do you create it? Do you steal it? How does it work?”
Hawa inhaled deeply.
“I should not tell you. No one is supposed to know. But you have sacrificed everything for me. You deserve the truth.”
She looked at him and finally said:
“I don’t create money. I retrieve it.”
“What?”
“I steal from the wicked. Every night, my spirit travels. It enters the homes of traffickers, corrupt men, thieves, and I take their dirty money. My body purifies it. Then I vomit it back clean.”
Drissa was speechless.
“You mean… all this money belongs to criminals? Dictators? Traffickers?”
“Yes. I was born with this gift. I cannot steal from the poor or from honest people. Only from those who do evil. That is why my family kept me captive. They wanted me to steal for them. But I always kept only a portion. The rest I gave away in secret.”
Drissa sat in silence for a long time.
His wife was not a monster.
She was a hidden force of justice.
“Have you ever taken money from an innocent person?” he asked finally.
“Never. I can’t. That is the law of my gift. If I ever steal from an innocent person, I will die in terrible suffering. My mother learned that the hard way.”
“Your mother?”
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