Featured

Meena’s Diary #32

Can I see her now? I asked impatiently.


“Let’s go to my office so I can give you a proper update, Tide gestured, leading the way.

“I think you’ve told me all there is. “Please take me to Meena. I  want to see her. Now that I had the blood transfusion out of the way. I wanted to catch a glimpse of Meena.”

“JK, let’s go to my office first. There is more I need to tell you before you see Meena.”  A dread filled me; I could not form the words to the thought that flashed through my mind.

“She is alive,  although in a critical condition. Tide reassured me. We were now in what I guessed was her office as she motioned to me to sit down.

“I did not tell you the whole truth. Meena was not rushed here from the office, and your number was in her file, indicating you should only be contacted if anything happened to her. She was involved in a head-on collision and was brought in here unconscious. We were luck y ot have her history as she’s been attending this hospital for her antenatal care, and the pregnancy was indeed a high-risk pregnancy. I was not the doctor seeing her for internal. Everything else mentioned earlier is true.

I took this all in. “How critical is her condition?”

“She is in a coma, and we had to take the baby out,” Tide answered, taking my hands across the table, trying to reassure me.

I felt a huge rock settle on my shoulders. “People from a coma wake up, right?  “They do,” Tide responded gravely. She had a swelling around the brain area. We are watching it and monitoring her closely, but there is a danger that she may not regain her memory. Whether that would be in part or in full, we cannot say until she wakes up. The rock had left my shoulders and was now on my chest. I was having difficulty breathing.  In a flash, my mind went down memory lane: the first time I met her at that party in a corner with a book in her hand; the day she agreed to date me; our honeymoon; when we had our first child; and the second. Her last trip to Paris. The shock and disappointment when she learnt of the supposed baby from my P.A. Our last memories together were not ones I was proud of or could erase. I did not realise I had been crying and felt the wetness on my face as I came back to consciousness of my surroundings. I was in Tide’s office, and although a few minutes had passed, it seemed like an eternity.

“Can I see her now?” The words tremble, my voice breaking beneath a flood of tangled emotions.

“Her face is swollen and all wrapped in a bandage. She has a broken rib and her arm.  A few cuts around her body from the broken glass.” Tide continued. I tried to smile, but it must have shown only as a slight widening of my lips, prompted by the professionalism with which she spoke. It felt like a bad dream, and I wanted to wake up. I stood up, but I couldn’t feel my legs as I followed her. I felt my body moving on its own volition while I watched from the sidelines.

All the description Tide provided did not prepare me for what I saw. Meena was all wrapped up in bandages, almost everywhere and strapped to machines.  I gasped and gagged as I felt like throwing up. I held on to the wall, trying to steady myself. I needed to be strong for Meena, the kids and myself. We would get through this as we have always done. A part of me said, while the other argued to let her go, what if she wakes up and is not who she was before the accident?

“How soon can she be moved?” I asked. “I want her in the best facility we can secure.” My voice was steady, final in the tone that leaves no room for discussion.

“Not now, but I have made arrangements for some relevant top professionals in their fields to fly down. The money you transferred has been helpful. Once she is out of the coma, provided that happens and after further observation. If you still want to move her. That can be arranged.

I should be happy that I had found Meena, but this wasn’t how the story was supposed to go.

Featured

Fear to Fall

Parts of this work first appeared on this blog under the title, Omowashe Omorishe.

Fear to Fall is set in the sights and sounds of the boisterous city of Lagos chronicling the life of a career-driven Nigerian lady in the banking sector.

The twist and turns of life’s curveballs are thrown unexpectedly; the intertwining of romance, friendship, loyalty and family drama leaves you captivated and wanting more. To what length would you go for the one you love? This is a book to tuck away and lose yourself in the wonder of contemporary Nigerian romance told in a first-person narrative. You would love, laugh and cry with the characters.

Available only in ebook format on  #okadabooks #applebooks #amazon#rakutenkobobooks #tolino #vivlio #barnes&noble #scribd #baker&taylor #overdrive #24symbols #bibliotheca

Meena’s Diary #31

JK

I gazed at Meena’s picture, which was my screensaver. How does someone disappear from the surface of the earth, just like that, without any trace?  I am still surprised I survived the last seven months, hanging by a thread and drawing strength from pouring my energy into my business. It showed: we expanded, hitting the trillion-dollar mark. I should have been thrilled and over the moon, but success had no meaning without Meena by my side. I kept going as it was the outlet that kept me sane. Every breakthrough, every contract won, every company acquired, and every million-goal achieved, till the trillion mark was reached as we had dreamt. Ironically, there was no Meena to celebrate with. The one person who had believed I would make it, even when I doubted myself, was not there. The milestone celebrated by the media and everyone around me meant nothing.

My face was splashed across all the magazines; I had turned down several interviews and still had a long list of interviews to attend. The random women coming at me was another battle, and fending them off was still another greater one. Taking Hauwa’u to the tech award six months ago was to keep the women away. Instead, the media went wild with stories. I still can’t wrap my head around how it came about.  My mother was the one who called and asked if I had moved on so quickly from Meena, and why it had to be her friend, and how she did not trust Hauwa’u. The same woman who gave Meena hell is the one protecting her territory in her absence.  The thought of Hauwa’u and me was the most ludicrous of the century. Still, having been framed by my receptionist, I was coming to terms with the fact that nothing could surprise me any longer.

My friends and associates were asking me what happened to my wife as a result of the news on social media. It was tiring trying to explain to people close to me who did not know that I, JK, had no idea where my wife and two daughters were, and Hauwa’u was just one of my wife’s closest friends.

The moment Hauwa’u’s husband showed up at my door, I knew without a doubt that inviting her to the tech awards had been a colossal mistake. I was taken aback when I was told Alhaji Sherrif was here to see me. After exchanging pleasantries with a man I had only encountered once or twice—despite the closeness of our wives—I was stunned when he claimed Hauwa’u had eyes on me. I was her closest friend’s husband, yet he said he was shocked to see our supposed relationship splashed across social media. I wondered if I was in some twilight zone.

“This is some sick joke, Sheriff, but even that is too far.  If you have any issues, please discuss them with your wife. I cannot even fathom the need to refute such allegations. I have bigger problems to find my missing wife, and I am not looking to replace her, not now and not ever.”

“I thought to come over, I may not have a conventional marriage with Hauwa’u and may have afforded her some liberties not common to a northern woman, but I would not want to be taken for a fool for someone so close to me.”

He got to his feet and, on his way out, tossed one last accusation over his shoulder. “If you were truly serious about finding your wife, you’d be digging into her friends,” he said, and then he was gone.

I did not give much of what he said a second thought as he left my office. Whatever information Meena’s friends had, they had been good at keeping it close to their chests and guarding it with their whole lives to prevent it from even slipping out.

Not long after, a call came through from a strange number, and I almost didn’t pick up, but I did. “JK,” I recognised the voice immediately, “Tide, I asked in wonder. My cousin, whom I had not heard from for over a decade. “One and only coz”, she responded in her usual way. The days we ran Lagos together, flashing through my mind in a millisecond before she fell in love and married. “You, you walked away without a backward glance. You no try at all.“

“Ma binu, you know why I had to cut everyone off, including you or else my mum would have really pressured you. ‘O de ba aburo e soro‘. “

I smiled. Tide was spot on. Auntie Nike, her mom, to this day does not believe that I did not have her contact. After many months of asking me, she gave up, which was one of the reasons I could half-believe that Meena’s friends did not know where she was, even though it was hard to believe.

 “So, after 10 years, you suddenly decided to call, ‘Kilode gan‘, if your mom did not accept the Igbo man you brought home and decided to marry. Cutting off your family was not the best, after all, against all odds; she agreed to the wedding”

“JK, let’s not go there. They made our lives a living hell at every family gathering and opportunity. The wedding was a disaster, just like a war zone. I could not bring up children in that toxicity between both families”

“So, you decided to just up and miss from the surface of the earth?” I expressed my displeasure.

“Well, that makes two of us,” she responded quietly, which I almost did not hear.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“I read on the blogs that tech guru JK’s wife is missing”

I groaned.  “Where are you, sef, that you are following Nigeria’s fake news?” I did not want to burden her with my drama.

“I am in the Gambia.”

Dr Tide Jideonwo, I thought you were in the US of A. We were! But we moved to Gambia just 6 months ago. It was the dumbest decision, and it didn’t make sense. Chidi was so sure we should move, and yes, we did. What we did not know was that we were sent ahead because of one coconut head cousin of mine.

“And that is definitely not me. Who is it?”

“You, of course. Coz, get the next available flight and head to Royal Cross Hospital in Banjul. I am so sorry; there is no better way to break this news to you. We are doing our best. With her voice going down a little octave lower, “your wife and baby are in my hospital, and your attention is needed urgently.” 

“What are you talking about?” I heard her words, but they did not make sense. We were not expecting any baby when she disappeared on me. You must have the wrong person. I am sure that you have the wrong person.” I heard my voice, but it didn’t sound like me. My heart was racing so fast it frightened me.

“I do not know, but he has your rare blood group.” Whether he is your son or not, that can be checked later. Your wife and baby need you. How soon can you get here?  We are seeking a blood donor because we do not have a match in our blood bank.

She was rushed from work and has been in and out of consciousness, but kept asking for JK. I did not know who she was at the time, but when she said JK, I wondered if you were the one. When she gave you her number, between in and out of consciousness, there was a desperate plea to reach you. I dialled the number, and it was yours! How crazy is that?

In one breath, I was relieved that Meena had been found and was reaching out to me, but in the next, apprehensive that Tide might not be telling me everything and that the situation was worse than she was making it out to be.

Without missing a beat, I told her I would be on the next flight to Gambia. I asked whether they needed anything and instructed that no expense be spared to provide them with the best possible care. I asked her to send the hospital’s bank details so I could arrange payment immediately. If they needed to be flown out of the country, I said to do whatever it took.

Meena must be fine. I’ve gone through hell without her. I do not think I will survive losing her. As soon as I dropped the phone, I contacted my PA to instruct the bank to transfer N50,000,000 to the Gambia Hospital, as Tide had sent the bank details via email. I called Alfred Tike, my oil mogul friend with a private jet. I have an emergency – I need an immediate flight to Gambia. Without question or losing a beat, he responded, “I will instruct the pilot to get ready. Just make your way to the tarmac. I will have the pilot call you. If I can be of further assistance, do not hesitate to contact me.

The next step was to call my driver while I picked up my passport from the safe in my office and the only change of clothes I had there.  No bag packed, no calls to anyone, and I was out. I was tense but refused to entertain the possibility of losing Meena. Meena left seven months ago. She could not have known that she was pregnant. Gambia! I would never have thought. We had combed the US, the UK, Canada, Australia, and the nearby Accra. 

I was on autopilot as I made my way to the airport to catch my flight. The six-hour flight to Gambia was the longest of my life. As soon as I landed, I called Tide. A car was already waiting to take me to the hospital. The car had barely come to a complete stop when I opened the car door and rushed into the reception. Tide was already there waiting for me. “How’s she?” The dread squeezed my heart as I waited for Tide’s response. She hugged me. She is still the same. I will have a nurse check your blood for compatibility and prepare you for the blood transfusion.

A nurse took me away, followed closely by Tide, who briefed me further. “From the notes, she’s begged to give her baby priority over her. It’s been a high-risk pregnancy, and we’ve waited till the best possible time to bring the baby out as healthy as he can be. She wanted the baby so severely that it was at risk to her life. I hung my head in guilt. If anything happened to Meena, the blame would be mine alone. I understood why the baby was her priority; after all, she had endured from my mother, the very reason she had left. While I had never put pressure on having more children, as we were happy with the two children we had, I could not understand why she would go through this alone without reaching out to me. The child was ours. She should never have gone through this alone. I was on a roller coaster of emotions. Sometimes I was angry at myself, then mad at Meena for not believing in me enough to stay. At the same time, another voice will ask whether I would have forgiven Meena if the tables were turned. I was balling my fist at just the thought and slumping in defeat simultaneously. You cannot ask someone what you cannot give in return when faced with the same situation.

“When can I see her and the baby?”  Once we are done here, you can see her, but you will see the baby from the glass and later be prepped to go into the ICU.

Meena’s Diary#30

I read the blogs and comments and laughed it off.  Who will believe all the conspiracy theories? Just because JK won a tech award, all the lenses have been pointed at his life, his background, and his history. I saw a post by a random person saying I met JK at a party before going to the university. I did not recognise the name, but that person must have known me or someone who does. No one was there to agree or disagree with the comment.

When they were tired, they would move on to the next big scandal. In Nigeria, it was a scandal every other market day. At best, a story will be on for 2 or 3 weeks. Still, something else always came up, and trust Nigerians to take the matter into their own hands, discussing strangers’ personal issues with so much passion and conviction that one would think they had slept and woken up in the same room with the strangers. No action, no solution, heated arguments and unsolicited advice. It was the 21st-century equivalent of market-square gossip.  If we diverted the same energy to solving our national issues, the nation wouldn’t be where it is.

I swiped away from social media to my email, bringing up Meena’s email. I held back responding to her. If I were to start divorce proceedings, JK would know we were in touch, and he would be pissed off that I withheld this information from him, which would damage the access I currently have to him. Moreover, JK would not agree to a divorce without putting up resistance.

Talk about the devil. JK’s call came through. Without any greeting, his voice blaring through my phone, “I would not be needing your Investigator.”

“Why?”I asked, a dread coming over me, another dent to my plans. 

“I changed my mind.”  His tone sounded final, the kind he must be using in his negotiations. I could not be intimidated by any tone; I have seen much worse in the courtroom or with some unruly clients who think money has made them gods and given them license to speak without being spoken back to.

“Are you not looking for your wife anymore?” I ventured to ask.

“I did not call to be interrogated by you. You seem to think that I do not know that Meena would have been in contact with you women. I have never believed it, and I still do not.”

And just like that, the call went dead. JK had ended the call.  Does this guy have some sixth sense? My access to every piece of information from the Investigator would have been my cue to filter any information he received. My frustration was building up. Meena had been gone for more than three months now, and I was no closer to making him see me as the woman he needs. If I have been patient for 10 years and now suddenly fortune has smiled on me with Meena leaving, what is 12 months more of waiting? JK, you can run for all you want. I will get you this time. There is no comeback from Meena. She would never take you back. I sank into my chair, my gaze on the ceiling. I had an exit clause in my marriage to Sheriff. I would finally be with the one I have loved all these years.

Meena’s Diary #29

I still hadn’t heard from Hauwa after one week, and I wondered whether she had missed my email or was simply overwhelmed with work. I did not want to call, as I was sure JK would leave no stone unturned in getting information out of them, knowing I would contact my closest girlfriends, and I did not want to put them in that position. Although I know my girlfriends would choose to protect me.

The tech awards were all over social media that weekend. From the moment I saw it, I went across all the social media to follow the event. Guess who was filled with so much pride when JK received his award that she momentarily forgot she had moved on? It was me!

I was confused when I saw Hauwa’u at the event, sitting with JK in one of the many videos I watched. The Tech industry was not her space, and even if my friend found herself at an event with JK, she would have made sure to sit many seats away from him. I still don’t understand why Hauwa acted that way, despite JK’s many attempts to be polite and respectful.  They seemed to find a way to mutually exist because of me.

It looked weird the way Hauwa’u was gazing at JK like a lovesick teenager in the 10-second video clip. In that instance, I felt a little concerned for her; social media would likely blow it out of proportion, making it a Herculean task to explain to Alhaji, her husband.  Worse, she was not even with her veil; her head was all exposed. Hauwa’u grew up in Lagos and did not cover her hair, but started doing so in public after she got married. Veils were left in the car on our nights out, but we weren’t expecting anyone to take pictures of us, and the venues of our nights out were our homes.

I reached for my phone to call Hawa’u, chuckling when I remembered yet again that it was not an option. The more I watched the clips, the more it meant something different. The last thought was preposterous. Hauwa’u and JK. The sun will cease to rise before that could happen. JK has a baby mama to wed, Hauwa’us unusual marriage arrangement and lifestyle, as well as animosity towards JK, would never allow it. I wondered if I had watched too many Nollywood movies recently for such plot twists to come easily to mind.

I logged out of the media space and clicked on the Economist magazine to read. I did not have the headspace to entertain such ridiculous thoughts. I made up my mind to stop checking online for JK and focus on myself and my girls.   

I thought of calling my mom, but changed my mind. The last time I called, she begged me to contact JK, despite my instructions not to discuss JK at any time I called. She kept insisting that the girls need their father and would stubbornly not let me be, so I have given her a break equally.  I still had not told my mother I was pregnant. I could almost predict my mom’s action. She would literally pass her phone to JK so that when my random call came through, he would answer it. Sometimes, I wonder who her child was, JK or me?  She’s all about JK, this JK that, but can’t see what her precious JK had done to me, her own daughter. I love that woman to bits, but I swear, she is a sellout.  Quite frankly, the connection between them sometimes makes me jealous. JK doesn’t play with my mom. He displays the same warmth and affection he has for his mom towards my mum. For that, he’s earned points with my family members. The way my mom sings his praises, he can do no wrong in her eyes. One day, my mum is on my side, and the next day she is on JK’s.

Meena’s Diary #28

I waited for two hours and still did not hear from Hauwau. This was very unlike her. She would have fired me with emails threatening me to call her as soon as possible. The silence was louder than her many shrieks in person.

 It is official. My friends hated me! I stayed away because I could not afford to take chances. JK will have his eyes on them, very sure they will have information about my location.

The girls and I had just come in. I picked them from school, which was a short five-minute walk from the house, on the days my schedule allowed it. On other days, the elderly housekeeper Madam Asanatou did. Banjul was a quieter and slower-paced town than Abuja. The population for the whole area was comparable to that of Asokoro or Jabi. The Gambians were friendly, and the girls and I settled in nicely.

I feel guilty about taking the girls from JK, but I couldn’t have left my precious babies alone, and I needed to take a walk. I could have been wrong, but I still think I could demonstrate resilience in any other situation, but not infidelity.

I sighed as I stepped into the cold air-conditioned house. The heat was something else. Abuja heat would have prepared us for Banjul. But no, the weather was something I could never get used to. I prefer the cold weather, but Anastasiya, a colleague who comes originally from Russia, warns me to be careful what I ask for.

It’s been three months since I left JK without a hint. I booked a flight to Lagos under a different name, and from there, we travelled to Accra by road and then took a flight to the Gambia.

I wasn’t stupid enough to leave any tracks. I did not want to be found. I needed to just disappear and build a life for myself and the girls.

I started work with the Gambian branch of my office in Nigeria. Still, two weeks after my resumption, there came another opportunity to work with UNESCO in the country. It was a perfect opening for me. I applied, and six weeks after a series of interviews, I got the role. I was extremely excited because the work time was flexible, allowing me to fit it around my kids. The girls attended the bilingual international school, paid for by the company. We were comfortable, and I could not complain.

I am already thinking of bringing my mum. She is still upset with me. And all my reasons why appear not to resonate with her.

I threatened not to call her again if she keeps moaning about JK. She should accept my decision and refrain from discussing him with me. I did not want to know what he did or anything about it. I was surprised he had not married the lady carrying his son.  With the way his mother was excited about the birth of her grandson, one would think that they would have completed the marriage rites quickly and moved on with their lives. Maybe it was a quiet wedding. Whatever, it was not my business. I tried to convince myself I did not care. Still, I was the one poring over the Internet looking for updates on Jamal Kolawole Lawson or Lawson Technologies. JK had clinched that contract he was working on before I left. I knew, as it was all splashed over the news and one of the top technology blogs, I followed because of him. Luckily, his personal life had not been featured on those gossip blog sites.

I closed all my social media accounts and operated under a pseudonym. This was to keep in touch with friends, but it was more like ghosting, as I could never comment or give away my identity.

So, I stalked him through his pages, not that anything was going on there. He had not posted anything in the last four months. He had zero presence on social media.

Yes, I was that pathetic. I justified my actions. And I would not admit that I still love JK. I had a responsibility to know he was okay as the father of my girls.

In a moment of weakness, I dialed his number the moment I found out he won the contract, and I was expecting another child. JK picked the call and kept repeating “hello,” while I held on relishing the sound of his voice unable to utter a word. I broke down in silent tears when he asked, “Is that you, Meena?” Holding onto my mobile phone as if my life depended on it. I wanted to ask him how he was doing and congratulate him on his big win. I wanted to let him know we were expecting our third child. I just held on till he cut the call. If only I could forget why and how we got to this point.

I cradled my stomach, feeling life growing inside of me. Finding out that I am expecting our third child was a bittersweet feeling. Surprised because I had put measures in place not to have any more children, and shocked, as this was not the time in my life to carry a child and do so alone without JK. I wished I could turn the hands of the clock back again when all was good between us. I tortured myself with the thoughts of how excited JK would have been, even though we were not expecting it. It was still a blessing from God and worth celebrating. If it were a boy, it would have been his mother’s answered prayer. If it were a girl, we would have been ecstatic at the arrival of yet another version of me and the array of pink ribbons and dresses that forever adorned our home. They all came with their unique personality. You couldn’t help but fall in love with them and marvel at how these tiny, perfect beings came from two imperfect beings, and how quickly they kept growing, keeping you on your toes. The sassiness and know-it-all get to me on some days, the confidence and innocence bring out the fire to protect them as much as I can from the evil in the world. I remain their biggest cheerleader, letting them know they can be anything they choose to be, and nothing can stop them.

The Dice #49

Three years later…….

“I always thought what you said and did about how you feel was because of the prediction of your dice. I never knew you were speaking from your heart. I never knew you had the same feeling I had for you. I was never bold enough to confront what I felt for you. I was safe in the cocoon of our friendship and did not want anything to destroy the bond we shared.

Dunni laughed bitterly. How foolish I was., I lost you in the end, lost you as a friend and the bond we shared. Is there any place in your heart to forgive me? I am not asking that we go back to what we had, but start something new. A new friendship.

“Hey, babe, a girl I had not noticed sauntered towards Moses with a kiss on his lips while handing him a glass of champagne, gazing through her long false lashes at Dunni with curiosity.

“Thanks, darling, meet Dunni, she used to be my partner at Architex Designs. Dunni, meet my fiancée, Jessica Audu.”

Duuni had never felt this humiliated in her life. She wished the ground would open and swallow her. She’d bared her heart and soul and was rejected. Karma – she was being paid for in her own coin. This must have been how Tade felt when she returned his ring. She could hear the crack of her heart, and she knew she was not going to survive this.

She braved a smile and shook hands with Jessica, pleased to meet you.

Moses watched Dunni intently, the pain in her eyes and the heartbreak she tried to hide. He knew that false smile and confidence from the extra hunch of her shoulders. He knew she was breaking from the double blink of her eyes at intervals. He knew the moment she turned to leave that a tear had escaped, and she was trying to leave with her dignity intact.

How complicated could their love be? He had healed and moved forward but like a sucker for punishing himself he wanted to see her again. Just behold her beauty and go home to torture himself some more. What he had not envisaged was that they were two hurt hearts beating for each other, but with so many obstacles in their path.

He could no longer go ahead with this farce of a fake engagement. Jessica was his pretend fiancée, and she acted the part so convincingly that she could have fooled him, too.

Dunni looked for the nearest exit as she made her escape. She has concluded her work for the night. She gave her speech about the project and managed to make a fool of herself before Moses and his fiancée, drank more wine than she should have. At least she was sensible to call an Uber to take her home and arrange for her car to be sent to the office on Monday.

Just a few minutes into the safety of her living room, she heard her doorbell. There could only be two people who Sule the security will let in without checking with her, Ola and his wife. She had not bothered to remove Moses; he had not been to her house in three years. So, she did not have to worry.

Pulling her 4-inch open-toe silver Jimmy Choo sandals from her feet and pulling her braids up with a hair band, she went to the door and was shocked to see Moses. One part of her was glad he followed her, but then she remembered he was engaged and could never be hers.

She stood at the entrance of her door, not letting him in.” What do you want, Moses?”

“Please, can I come in?”

Dunni smiled sadly at how things had changed between them. Moses would take strides in here like he owned the place, first looking for the remote control to put on the TV to CNN or whatever sports he was crazy about. He loved Formula 1 and the NBA. He was one of those few guys who missed out on receiving the spirit of football. Then he will make his way to her kitchen to help himself with whatever there was to eat, which was most of the snacks.

That changed in the year she was with Tade, she learnt how to cook and never looked back. She is now into eating healthily. Vegetables and fruits are constant in her house. She was his ex-partner; their friendship was dead, making her maybe an ex-friend, and she was never his girlfriend, so she could not earn the tag ex-girlfriend.

Moses stood outside waiting for her to let him in. He did not miss the puffiness of her eyes, which indicated she had been crying.

Dunni reluctantly let him in, still stunned that he was in her house and curious about what he had to say.

“How are you?” he asked, watching her closely.

“I am fine, and you?” If he came all the way for a small talk, that was his problem. Two can play the game.

“As fine as can be.”

“How is New York treating you?”
“New York was brilliant. Although I moved back to Lagos six months ago.” Moses watched her reaction closely to his revelation. The surprise and the hurt that followed in her eyes pleased him.

“You did?”  This was news to Dunni. There was no indication or information that the award-winning New York Architect was in Lagos. She learnt the hard way from her relationship with Tade to check some of the gossip columns occasionally, but she must have slipped back to her old habits. It was an upheaval task to open anything apart from the architectural journals.

“I told Ola not to tell you. I thought it was better than the way.”

“Hmm, she grunted, so why tell me now?” To think he had been in the same city as her for six months and found no need to contact her.

“How is Tade? Surprised you never married him.”

She shrugged. One of life’s mysteries. It did not happen. But we remain friends.

Moses knew all that; he knew she met him regularly at Ocean View restaurant on Friday nights, and that had made him stay away when he came. It looked like they were trying to make it work, but he may have been wrong with Dunni’s confession earlier today.

There was a moment of silence when the small talk had ceased. Dunni watched Moses, determined not to break the silence. She had never been able to do it in the past, but just like how everything had changed between them, she did not feel any need to break the silence.

“I have stopped using my dice.”

“I know you gave it to me, remember.” She did not tell him that sitting at her dressing table is the Dice and how pathetic that she speaks to it every morning and night, but it had become a guiding light for her. She also would never admit that the Dice was always right. Which was why she was more confused when it alluded to her and Moses getting married, and she concluded that the only part the dice ever failed in the past and the present was where she and Moses were concerned.  Every other situation was on point.

“Changed the dice to a gold dice now engraved with diamond stones.”

Against all her resolve to remain civil with Moses. Dunni burst into fits of giggles.

“You stopped using the dice but now use a gold and diamond dice? I have had a long day and want to rest. I am not interested in your dice, fiancée or anything that has to do with you.”

While Dunni was ranting, Moses had invaded her personal space with a ring and a stone in the form of a dice engraved with diamonds.

“Will you marry me?”

Dunni was unsure if this was one of his many jokes.

“If you must know, I still asked the dice this time.” But you gave it to me. The Dice lives in my heart. It is the guiding light to my life, and it is never wrong, but I could be wrong when I do not take the necessary actions at the right time or do not take any action at all.

She wiped the tears that fell down her cheeks. What about Jessica?

Jessica is my cousin’s best friend and my pretend fiancée since I came back. It kind of put those sharks away from hounding me.  She gets settled for every outing including her love sucked up boyfriend with new clothes and accessories. She almost ran me bankrupt, though.

This elicited laughter from Dunni. “I should have been charging you for all those plus one outing in the past.

“That was me creating every moment to be close to you and keeping the barracudas away. Just one season, I turned my back, and the biggest of them came and swept you off my feet.

No talk of sharks and barracudas. Adunni Adesida. I have always loved you and will love you for eternity. Would you do me the honour of spending the rest of your life with me?

“Yes, Moses. I love you from forever and want to spend my forever with you but….

Moses looked alarmed, and Dunni had to laugh this time.

But no long courtship, no fanfare wedding, no….

She did not finish her words as she could feel Moses’ mouth devouring hers in a kiss she’d only experienced in her dreams.

The END

The Dice#48

Landing at JFK airport, Dunni’s heart pounded with nervous anticipation. The air was crisp, the unfamiliar scents of jet fuel and New York traffic sharp in her nose. She made a stop at her hotel to freshen up and drop her luggage, but she was too excited to see the surprise on Moses’ face that the thought of resting before setting out was unappealing.

The drive to Moses suburb felt endless. Her heartbeat was in rhythm with the passing mile markers. His neighbourhood was as she’d imagined — spacious, the scent of cut grass lingering in the cool air. His house stood tall and sleek, framed by perfectly manicured lawns. Space. Always space. That was something they both had in common.

She rang the bell, hands trembling. Over the last four weeks, she had changed her mind many times, but when she remembered Moses’ sacrifice, she knew this trip was something she had to make. She was about to leave when the door opened.

Becca.  The scent of her perfume reached Dunni first, floral and overpowering. Didn’t Moses say they were just work colleagues and nothing more? Yet she was staying at his New York residence.

“Hi. You must be Dunni,” Becca said, a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Moses didn’t mention we were expecting anyone.”

“We?” Dunni caught the word instantly.

“I was in town… thought I’d say hello.”

“Ahhh.” She cooed. “He’s out of town but will be back in two days. You can come then.” She spoke with a saccharine sweetness so overdone it nearly made Dunni gag.

“Not to worry. I’ll call him,” Dunni fibbed. She didn’t want to let Becca have the upper hand.

She turned to leave. Her heart felt crushed, breath tight in her throat. She willed the tears not to fall and was lucky to have made it to the car. Thankfully, the driver had insisted on waiting. Dunni returned to her hotel, heart heavy, yet her eyes remained dry. She wasn’t going to torture herself any longer. She would return home and put Moses behind her for good. Some things were never meant to be. A few days later, she flew home.

When Ola asked how the trip had gone, she lied and explained she could not make the trip.

Dunni knew no one else would ever fit the space Moses had carved within her heart. And if life led them down different paths… then she would walk alone. Some loves were etched too deeply. Although she tried to forget him, it was his face she still found in her dreams. Dunni threw herself into her work, letting it consume every part of her. She’d always been a workaholic — but now, she took it to extremes. Work became her outlet to drown the pain, and Ola’s insistent pleas to rest fell on deaf ears.

The Dice #47

Dunni was back home. Though her body had healed, her mind remained tangled in restless knots. Her tranquil home, once her safe space, now seemed smaller somehow, the air thick with unspoken thoughts threatening to suffocate her. The faint scent of lavender oil drifted from the diffuser on the dresser, meant to calm her, but instead it stirred an ache she couldn’t name.

At night, the dreams came. It was always Moses reaching out to help her out of the forest. She told herself they were tricks of her weary mind. Yet more than once, her fingers hovered over her phone, yearning to bridge a gap that felt impossibly wide. A wall, invisible but impenetrable, stood between them now. She had to accept that it was no longer the same with them. He had moved on, and she had to do the same.

A soft knock stirred her from her thoughts.

“Come in,” she called in an upbeat tone that was the opposite of how she felt. She was not ready to deal with her mum’s insistent “how are you?” and prying eyes trying to probe into the recesses of her soul as she tried to hide the fear and anxiety stemming from her recent ordeal.  She still wondered why Maami always knocked before coming in. They were the only ones in the house, and just answering required more energy than she could explain.  She was comfortable with gestures and grunts and could not muster the energy to engage in small talk. She had limited her visitors to almost none, wearied by their attempt at small talk and look of pity.

Her mother entered, the warm, spicy aroma of “asaro” palm oil yam porridge with spinach filling the air, wrapping the room in something comforting and familiar.

“Maami, you don’t need to treat me like an invalid. I’m perfectly fine now,” Dunni protested, pushing herself up against the pillows. Her stomach grumbled in defiance. “At this rate, I’ll be two sizes bigger by the time I return to work.”

“Maybe you should start going to the gym,” her mother teased, setting the tray down with a gentle smile.

“Are you calling me fat?”

“Oti o, you that need more flesh on these your bones. I only said gym to get you to leave the house. Going out and meeting people will do you good.”

“The gym sounds like a good idea,” Dunni agreed with her mother. “But I feel so lazy. I can barely jog around the house, not alone get on a treadmill.”

An unbidden image of Moses flashed through her mind, shattering every resolution to put him at the back burner of her mind. His signature handsome grin adorning his face, eyes crinkling with mischief as he tugged her out of the house to gym classes, promising to suffer through them with her. The scene was so real, she did not know when a sigh slipped from her lips.

Her mother’s gaze sharpened. “What is it, my daughter?”

“Nothing, Maami.”

Moses wasn’t a subject she wanted to discuss with her mother or could bear to unpack the too many unsaid words and too many wounds beneath the surface. Stewing under the weight of what could have been better than facing her reality of what she had lost.  She took a spoonful of the porridge, savouring the spiciness that brought tears to her eyes. Tears of the pain she felt in her heart than from the pain on her tongue.

Having Tade in her corner did nothing to assuage the deepening wound from the loss of Moses, and her current ordeal only magnified her loss. She could picture Moses’ reaction clearly at every scene as her day unfolded, had he been here.  She was exhausted from beating herself for destroying their friendship. She would give anything to have him back in her life – colleague, neighbour boyfriend, husband or anything. 

Tade had been visiting, trying, perhaps too hard to mend what had broken. He’d even shared a revelation that Dr. Larry was their long presumed-dead father. A fact traced back to her own birth certificate. But the news barely registered. She was happy for him, but as for their relationship, it was a ship that had sailed. Trust was a fragile thing, and theirs had shattered into irreplaceable pieces.

“You’re my self-appointed doctor,” she’d teased him when he’d asked to remain friends. But it wasn’t the same. He wasn’t Moses, and he never could be.

“Oh! Sorry, Maami — I didn’t realise you were there,” Dunni said, startled, blinking rapidly

“You were far away. Are the nightmares still coming?”

“No, Maami,” she lied smoothly.

In truth, they came each night. It was always ending the same way. Moses, arms wrapped around her like a sanctuary in the storm, at other times, or he reaching out to her from the depths of a forest. She wrote them down as her therapist advised, but never mentioned the ending. Some connections felt too sacred to speak aloud.

On her way out of the room, her mother paused at the door, “How’s Moses? I haven’t heard from him since he left the hospital.”

Dunni stilled.

“Maami… Moses is in the US,” she murmured, her voice measured and cautious.

Her mother frowned. “I don’t know about the US. But he was in that hospital for three days and three nights while you were asleep and not responding. He never left your side until you woke.”

She was about to correct her mum for the umpteenth time. Maami will never use the word coma.   But what she heard just sent a tremor rippling through her. “Are you sure?” She was almost afraid to ask.

“Why would I lie? That boy is a gem. They say he flew in, even entered that, Salisa Forest.”

“Sambisa, Maami,” Dunni corrected automatically. Her mother always seemed to have another version of it — sometimes Samisam, sometimes Bisam.

“Moses? In Sambisa?” she whispered, awe colouring her voice. It was something Moses might’ve done if he were still in Nigeria… but from the US? The thought was dizzying.

“Why haven’t you called him?” Maami asked, a deep frown furrowing her brow.

“I’ve been focusing on recovery,” she replied, the lie tasting bitter on her tongue. She wasn’t ready to unravel the threads of their estranged friendship or discuss with her mother what happened before he left.

Her mother gave a knowing smile. “Hmm. I hear you.”

When she was finally alone, Dunni’s heart thundered. She wasn’t imagining it. Moses had been there. It was a bittersweet moment. Glad that she was not crazy, but sad their friendship had slowly faded.  This did not stop the warmth surging through her, threatening to swallow her whole. Without ever touching her, Moses had marked her for life.

Just then, her phone buzzed.

“Hey, Gimbiyan Sambisa!” meaning queen of Sambisa, Ola’s teasing voice rang out — a nickname he’d coined since her return. “How are you doing? Hope you’re getting all the rest you need.”

“I’m good. Maami has been spoiling me silly. I’m already dreading how I’ll cope when she leaves.”

“No rush back to work,” Ola assured her. “We’ve got your projects covered.”

Dunni did not argue with Ola, although she was growing crazy from sitting at home, but she also was not up to returning to work yet. The sudden flashbacks, the way she froze at the sound of a door shutting, running water, or even the rustle of leaves in the evening were all signs of the trauma that clung to her.. She hesitated, her pulse quickening. Then she asked softly, demanding the truth, “My mother said Moses was at the hospital.”

Silence hummed on the line.

“But… you saw him when you woke up,” Ola remarked. “You asked if you were home .”

“I don’t remember.”

But her tone sharpened as she fired the questions like an investigator. “When did Moses arrive? When did he leave? And don’t tell me to ask him.”

She could almost see Ola shrugging.

Ola hesitated, always careful not to tread too deeply into their tangled history. They needed to figure it out themselves without the help of anyone.

“He landed the day after you were kidnapped. Left the day you woke. He recruited the rescue team.”

Her breath caught. Tears pricked her eyes. Moses. He had done all of that for her. A truth settled deep within her. Moses was etched into her heart. She longed for him still, and the belief that no one could ever replace him both reassured and terrified her.

“I want to see him,” she whispered. “But it must be a surprise. Will you help me?”

Now that Dunni was beginning to understand just how deep Moses’ love ran, Ola no longer hesitated. “Of course. What do you need?”

“An address.”

The moment they hung up, Dunni called the travel agency, her voice trembling with resolve. The trip was booked, and she just had to wait to complete her treatment.

The Dice #46

Tade was less than thrilled about the birthday dinner his mother had planned. Since when did she start organising dinners for his birthday, especially now that he was an adult? The only reason he’d shown up was because he had nothing better to do. Three days earlier, he’d tried booking a flight to the U.S., but their travel agent couldn’t seem to find one. She’d muttered something vague about unavailable flights, but it didn’t make sense to him.

This was the first birthday he and Tide would spend apart. Not even when she was heavily pregnant with the twins had they skipped celebrating together. Somehow, they always found a way to connect.

The venue was Roisaree, one of Ikoyi’s more upscale restaurants. While other restaurants were moving into Lekki and beyond. Roisaree had stationed itself in Ikoyi, near the affluent Banana Island neighbourhood. It was owned by a mixed-race Lebanese-Israeli woman from the famous Lawani family of Lagos Island, who married into the prominent Kusimo dynasty of Isale Eko. She had done well for herself, and the restaurant rivalled any other on the Island. After much pressure, she opened two additional branches, one in Ikeja on the Mainland and another in Asokoro, Abuja.

His mother was already seated when he arrived, dressed in a flowing white guinea bou-bou embroidered with teal thread. Her long, texturised hair was pulled back into a loose bun, and her caramel skin glowed, almost defiant in its radiance. It was hard to believe she was over fifty, let alone a grandmother.

Tade greeted her with a perfunctory kiss on the cheek and took his seat.

“Have you ordered anything?” he asked, pausing to take in the softly lit room. It wasn’t too crowded, which he appreciated.

“You didn’t book the whole place?” he teased. Molade was known not to do anything in half measures.

“Just half,” she replied without missing a beat.

He managed a small smile. “And here I was thinking you were softening. Losing your edge.”

“I’m so sorry to disappoint,” she said. Her voice carried a faint sadness, but her gaze remained steady and unyielding, the way he remembered.

Their relationship had never fully recovered after she disapproved of Solape. Even after Solape’s death and despite her repeated olive branches, things remained distant. Still, he knew she was there for him, and she adored his daughter, her only granddaughter, unconditionally.

“What?” Tade’s face lit up as he saw Tide approaching. Dressed in a fitted teal-blue knee-length gown that subtly echoed their mother’s teal embroidery, and white Michael Kors wedge sandals that gave her an extra four inches of height, she placed her teal clutch on the table. Hugging their mother first, before making her way to her twin.

“I should’ve known you had a hand in this dinner,” he said, teasing but visibly pleased.

“I could see your scowl from thirty yards out,” she quipped. “What’s got you all twisted up like you’re sitting on pins?”

“Please ask him,” their mother chimed in dryly.

He gave an exaggerated sigh. “Being kidnapped for dinner when I’d rather be at home eating fish pepper soup made by Chef Rita and a bottle of champagne, wishing myself a happy birthday while throwing a wish your way since you refused to pick up my call.”

“You know, try sha, why were you looking for tickets three days before and not earlier?”

“I was waiting for your plan, meet me in Seychelles, Maldives or Cape Verde or whatever weird place you intend to choose this year.”

For the last decade and more, they had hopped to very unpopular destinations, long before they became a Lagos outbound destination.  Tide did all the groundwork and just announced, expecting him to drop everything he was doing and be there, which he always did. It was a mystery that Efosa allowed her to do her thing. It was an unwritten rule that their birthday was theirs alone. Solape, ingeniously, chose to celebrate his birthday a week earlier.

Tide placed her order, Linguine ai Frutti di Mare. Fresh linguine pasta delicately tossed with wild-caught tiger prawns, tender calamari, Scottish diver scallops, and Mediterranean mussels, all simmered in a white wine, cherry tomato, and garlic infused broth. The dish was finished with a touch of Calabrian chilli, a hint of lemon zest, and a drizzle of cold-pressed Sicilian olive oil. She thanked the waiter and joined the conversation.

They had a great time catching up. It was lovely to be all together in one place after a long time, but they did not fail to notice their mothers’ quietness as the evening went on.

“Mom, is the food not okay?” Tide asked, her tone laced with concern. She and Tade exchanged a glance. They’d both noticed their mother picking at her meal.

“I try new dishes… and struggle to enjoy them,” Molade said with a soft shrug.

“Want to order something else?” Tade offered, already motioning for the waiter.

“No, I’m fine,” she said, then paused. “But there’s something I need to share. And I am afraid it’ll shock you. I’ve had a few weeks to process it, but it’s still… big.”

“Are you sick?” Tade asked quickly, concern etching his features. It was the kind of expression Molade wished she could frame. It was a glimpse of the son who, somewhere deep down, still loved her as he had before Solape came into their lives.

For the next ten minutes, Tade and Tide listened in stunned silence as their mother recounted how she’d found Dr. Lanre Braitwaite listed as the doctor who took delivery of Dunni Adesida.

“Mom!” Tade objected, getting frustrated with his mother’s insistent need for background checks.

“You are still doing this, your FBI moves.” The girl does not want to have anything to do with me, so you can rest now. I hope you are happy.”

Tide gestured to him to calm down. “Let’s hear what mum has to say.”

Molade told them about her visit to his office and how, by sheer coincidence and shock, she had met him there.

“Mom, who is he?” Tide asked, her brow furrowed.

“He’s your father,” Molade said quietly, the words dropping like a bomb between them. “I didn’t know he was alive. It was not until I saw the birth certificate, dated well after his supposed death. I was told he’d died, but it turns out that wasn’t true.”

She took a shaky breath. “I went to see him, but… the meeting didn’t go well.”

“Why didn’t he ever contact us?” Tide asked, her voice a whisper.

“Because he never knew you existed,” Molade replied. “When he met Tade, he got curious about your name, which is his middle name, and the surname… it all clicked, especially when he found out I was your mother. He’s been out of the country most of the time, doing medical outreach programs, but he’s back now.”

Tade and Tide sat frozen. It was too much to absorb all at once. How were they supposed to process the fact that their father wasn’t dead—had never been dead—and they were only finding out in their thirties?

“When can we see him?” Tide finally asked.

“He’s here,” Molade said softly, gesturing toward a man seated at another table.

The man stood and walked over to their table at Molade’s gesture. Tears filled his eyes. He didn’t just have one child. He had two grown ones. And grandchildren.

“I’m so sorry,” he began, voice trembling. “If I’d looked for your mother… if I’d even tried… I would’ve found you. I can’t give you back the years we lost, but if you’ll let me, I’d like to be part of the years ahead.”

Tide was crying now. Tade, still stunned, only nodded. The realisation hit him slowly—the man he had randomly met weeks ago, who had reacted so strangely upon hearing Molade’s name, was his father. There were so many questions, so much to catch up on.

Anyone watching might have thought it was just an intimate family dinner. They would never have guessed it was a reunion of life after death, of a family finding its way back to itself.

The Dice #45

Molade Thomas tossed her phone into the drawer. She knew she should pick up the call, but she wasn’t ready to have a conversation with Lanre. They have all been busy the last couple of weeks following the aftermath of the rescue of Dunni as well as the mad dash to set up the Sambisa Minning company.
She could understand the need for the children to know their dad was alive, but did not understand the urgency. If the children had survived 30-plus years of their lives without their father, what would a few weeks’ delay change? She’d tried many times in her head, replaying the different scenarios of how to broach the subject with them. Tide was away in the US, and it was crucial to reveal the information to them at the same time.


She tried envisaging each child’s reaction. Tade was the cool one who would take the information and need more time to reflect, while Tide would be the first to find her voice and start firing questions, showing excitement and start planning the first meeting. When she’s done, Tade will take over with a third-degree questioning. She was, however, unable to ascertain whether they would be easily forgiving, considering the role she playedin accepting their father’s death without seeing the grave or contacting his family.  She believed her dad’s report and forged on with her life.

Molade is transported to a moment when the twins were 10 years old. They had returned from school in preparation for a Father’s Day event at school.
“Mummy, Daddies are to come to school for Father’s Day next week,” Tide announced, the appointed spokesperson for the moment. They had a pattern where they took the lead in speaking interchangeably. In the earlier days, as a mum, she used to play mind games about who would be the spokesperson for the moment, but gave up when she never got it right. 
“Your daddy is in heaven. He can’t come.”  Molade explained. It was something they had all come to terms with.

“Can’t we get another daddy to come for us, or rent one?” Molade almost choked on her food. 

“Rent a dad?” she asked bewildered.

“Yes, can’t you rent anything?” Tide asked sounding more grown up than her 10 years of age.

Molade was more shocked at how transactional she sounded.

“I saw it in a movie. The man rented a girlfriend to take home.”

” And where did you see this movie?”She asked troubled at what the children were being exposed to.

“Auntie Felicia was watching it on Africa Magic.” Auntie Felica was their housekeeper doubling as the twins nanny.  She made a mental note to discuss with the housekeeper.

“You can’t rent a human being. It borders on lies. If you have to rent, then the relationship is not true, and you are expecting both parties to pretend.” 
After a long pause, “You are right, mum. I saw that in the movie too.”
Not one to give up, she followed relentlessly. “We still need a dad, though, for Father’s Day.”

“I will talk to grandpa to see if he can come.”

Even though Tade seemed disengaged from the conversation, they responded simultaneously.

“No! “they both chorused.

“No one has a daddy with grey hair like grandpa in our class,”said Tide with frown.

“Uncle Jamiu can come,” Tade offered logically.

“That sounds like a plan. What do you say, young lady?” Any idea from her twin was always the best idea.

“Yeah, we could do that, but he must dress like a daddy.”

“How do daddy’s dress?” Molade asked curious.

“Hmmm like grandpa, but without grey hair,” Tide responded nodding confidently.

Back to present day.

Molade made up her mind, she would tell them in person. She reached for her phone to call Tide. When Tide’s call suddenly came through.

“I was just about to call you,” Molade said.

“I wasn’t sure if this was a good time, considering all your numerous meetings, but I took the risk,” came Tide’s voice from the other end of the phone.

“So, what were you calling me for, mum?” Tide added.

“Can’t I call to greet you?” Molade chuckled, feigning offense.

“Mum, it’s Monday, not Sunday, I know you, this is no social call,”Tide interjected.

Molade could not but release the laughter still refusing to admit any guilt. “Okay, you go first.”

“Efosa and I are relocating back to Nigeria. We arrive a few days before Tade and I’s 33rd birthday. Tade doesn’t know yet. It’s a surprise. Please plan a dinner anything with him on that day but make sure he doesn’t have a surprise plan of his own.”

“You two ask more of me than my biggest business deals.”

“Nah! Not the woman who took down a whole entity and is now building a mining company on grounds others feared to tread. I am learning from the best.”

“Yeah, yeah my lips are sealed, Mum,” Tide laughed, the sound bouncing down the line.

“Fine. I’ll try.”

“Promise to keep him in the country, whatever it takes.”

“I’ll try, Tide. I’ll try. I still can’t promise to tie your brother up and make sure he does not leave the country on whatever shenanigans you two always do on your birthday.”

 “Bye Mum, love you!”

Molade sighed with relief. She could not have come up with a better plan. She had barely put down her phone when Lanre barged into her office followed by her staff apologising.

Molade, waved off her apologies while focusing on Lanre.
“Your choice of entry into my office is becoming boring,” Molade stated drily.
“Maybe you should tell your staff to stop trying to prevent me from coming in or pick up your damn phone.”
Molade raised her head with a piercing gaze, the kind that could bore a hole through steel. Lanre gazed back unfazed, taking his seat in front of her without an invitation. Molade stared back, resolving not to speak, playing the silent contest of power game.
“Have you told the children?”

The question made her stomach tighten. A bitter taste coated her tongue of regret. She hated that she had to crush whatever hope flickered in his voice, but time was something she needed. You don’t just walk into someone’s life and announce that their dead father is alive. This wasn’t just a confession, it was an upheaval.

“This is life altering, Lanre,” she muttered quietly in disgust. “Can you think beyond yourself and about how they would process this information. The emotions… Shock. Anger. Grief. Disappointment. Betrayal. Maybe even relief. But I can’t predict it. I want to tell them at the right time, in a way that won’t undo everything I’ve built over the years with them. I haven’t always been the best mother, but I’ve always been present. Always fought for their best interest. This could shatter the relationship we’ve built.”

What she did not say was this would shatter what is left of the fickle relationship she had with Tade. He had not forgiven her for her disapproval of his dead wife.

Lanre’s voice was steady. “The longer you wait, the harder it’ll be to convince them why you held the information from them. They are adults. Telling them the moment you found out will build their trust and bring them into the journey with you as you navigate this new reality. You would build a connection of dealing with something new together, not let them feel left behind.”

Molade gave a faint smile, Lanre had spoken well but it was easier said than done.

“You always had a way of putting things into perspective.”

“And we’re in this together,” he assured her.

A quiet warmth touched her chest, a thawing sensation, like the first signs of rain after a long, harmattan season. But she fought to keep her composure. She was, after all, Molade Thomas.

“Give me a week,” replied Molade curtly. This was not the time to breakdown.

Lanre stood up. He seemed to want to say more but decided against it.

“I’ll wait for a week. If I don’t hear from you, I’ll speak to the young man myself.”

Molade caught the weight behind his words. A subtle threat delivered calmly. Thirty years had passed, and they were no longer the same people. Strangers, bound only by memory and a broken bond. Technically, they were still married. What did that even mean now? Was he married to someone else? Would she need a divorce? Could you be married and not really married? 

For so long, she had worn her widowhood like armour, dignified, untouchable. Now, that armour felt like a lie. She wasn’t a widow, but she wasn’t exactly a wife. An ex-widow? A returned from the dead spouse?