Nala

Nala, forty, walks the edges of London like a shadow that refuses to vanish. Once a wife with a flat in Croydon and a job at the pharmacy, she lost it all to betrayal. Her husband didn’t just cheat—he stole everything, left bruises where love used to live, and vanished with the last of her trust. Now she survives by instinct. She shoplifts essentials, deals small-time when she must, and sells her body when there’s no other way. Each act is a transaction, not a confession. She doesn’t cry—hasn’t in years. Coping, for Nala, means staying invisible when it’s safer, sharp when it’s not, and never letting anyone see how close she’s come to giving up. She’s broken, yes. But she’s still here. And that, in her world, is its own kind of defiance.