I met Chioma in Lagos during a church program. She was one of the choristers, always in the front, leading the songs with that soft, clear voice that made the whole hall quiet down. People used to say she looked like she had never done anything wrong in her life. Light-skinned, calm face, always smiling gently. She dressed simple, no heavy makeup, always had her Bible and choir robe ready. I liked that about her. I thought she was different. We started talking after one of the rehearsals. She told me she was from Anambra, living with her aunt in Lagos, trying to finish her HND. I was already working then as a software engineer, traveling sometimes but mostly based in Lagos. I started helping her with small things. School fees when her aunt delayed, transport money, even bought her a better phone so she could join the online choir practices properly. When she complained about her old laptop, I replaced it. She used to pray for me in front of people and say she was grateful. At night she would call and sound so soft, asking if I had eaten, telling me she was reading her Bible. She always said she didn’t trust me. From the beginning. She would ask who I was texting, check my phone sometimes, and tell me men are the same. I used to laugh it off and say she was the only one. I never hid anything from her. My passwords, my location, everything. She knew my schedule, my colleagues, even the few female friends I had from school. Still, she would say, “I don’t trust you. Something will come out one day.”