Hi Guys....


Long Time, No Sighting.

I think it's been a year since I took my break and so many things have happened since then.

Remember I told you all I wanted to have a little soul searching. Thing is me and Baba God were not on really good terms back then and I wanted to have time to set things straight and find my calling.

Long story summarised: I did and it's been a whirlwind.

So, lemme state a few facts:

1) I'm back

2) I write only clean and Christian fiction books now. I understand not everybody might like what I write now, but it's not changing. That doesn't mean clean books and Christian fiction can't be interesting.

3) I'm getting a book published soon. Yeah. Like real publishing. So stay tuned for more details.

P.S. It's a wild spinoff from Ocean of Secrets

4) Even If He Doesn't is a series I'm doing on my IG and you can follow me on IG @_abikewrites for more details.

5) Prepare for more fun stories. I gatchu.

6) Below is the Cover image and Character aesthetic images for Even if he doesn't

When you cross deep rivers, I will be with you, and you won’t drown.



Isaiah 43:2 CEV
























January 2019

Prologue

Dayo

Have you ever felt insulted without actually being insulted? Maybe the person didn’t mean it as an insult, but that was all you could read it as. If you have, then you probably understand how I felt when the new workers placement was announced in church that Sunday. I had been the Virtuous Jewels director for the past three years. That was just a fancy term for the person in charge of the single ladies at church. It had appeared insurmountable three years ago when I stood in front of the altar at Solid Rock Assembly and Pastor Agbaje read my name out, but with God’s grace, I grew to fill the large shoes of my predecessor.

I didn’t mind being demoted, because that was what this was, from a director to a mere worker. Honestly, if it had been any other unit or directorate, I wouldn’t have minded at all. Less responsibility for me.

But then Pastor Agbaje just had to say, “After careful consideration and much prayers, we have decided to move Sister Dayo Adeshola to the Children’s Department.”

Children’s Department? Me? Did he know what kind of insult and ridicule that was?

I, who didn’t have any children of my own after ten years of marriage, would have to look after the children of others.

Was the pastorate trying to mock me? Or was it God?

I forced a smile and joined the team standing beside Mummy IJ, the incumbent Head of Instructors at the Children’s Church.

Pain lodged in my throat.

It was often said, new years brought new things. I had a feeling I wouldn’t like the new thing this year had in store.

My eyes darted around the auditorium trying to decipher what everyone was thinking. Did they notice the irony and mockery yet? My eyes stumbled on my husband who sat in the front row with the other ministers. His eyes were on me too.

He too had noticed the insult. His eyes asked if I was okay and I swallowed the lump of pain choking me.

I blinked once, our code for yes.

Was I really okay?

Would I ever be okay?

I had been married for ten years. No child, no miscarriage. No two lines in the result window of a pregnancy test kit. Nothing. No fruit of the womb for ten years. The church used to be my haven. Now, it would be a place of mockery for me.

This was not what I had in mind when I said Happy New Year.



Ivie

All that came to my mind as I returned home from the Crossover service in the wee hours of the year was that I would be clocking thirty this year. Thirty, no boyfriend, no fiancé, no husband.

Looking through my wardrobe, trying to find the magenta asooke that would match my offtheshoulder george dress, the spectrum and rainbow of asooke and sego geles from all the weddings I had attended blinded me.
I had enough to show me how pathetic my life was - the teal gele from Ifeoma's wedding, the gold, peach and silver headties from Yetunde’s introduction, engagement and traditional wedding, even the black and gold damask gele from the wedding of Ajoke, my university roommate who got married while we were still in school, amongst many many others.

Ivie, see your life.

I could point to all the asoebi and headties I had bought for other people’s weddings. Who could point to mine? My mind flashed back to that day ten years ago and I shivered.

Marcus was dead and it seemed all my dreams of ever settling down died with him.

“Mummy, are you not ready?” My daughter came in and asked.

I snapped out of my self-pity and we got ready for church.

It seemed today the universe wanted to laugh at me- two wedding anniversary testimonies and one outlandish thank God for a successful wedding testimony that seemed to pour the whole of Dangote’s salt refinery into my wounds.

The newly weds in matching burgundy native attire just had to be seated next to me.

“You know when the Bible says he who finds a wife finds a good thing, you can’t begin to imagine what it means by good thing.” The groom started and I rolled my eyes.

Cheers and applause erupted in the auditorium and I think someone whistled. The women beside the bride smiled at her and I looked away trying not to gag in repulsion.
Did they have to rub their joy in everyone’s faces?

“Everyday, I thank God for bringing Rhoda into my life and making her the good thing that brought many more good things.” The groom continued and the hailing and lauding continued.

“I’ve never had cause to regret being with her because every step of the way she’s been a source of blessing for me. She’s been supportive, my helpmeet, my friend, my lover, my prayer partner, my prayer warrior and teacher, my nurse, my wife, my everything. I wouldn’t be the man I am today, the man you know me as without my Rhoda.”

Did they not just get married last week? Which one is this nonsense?

“And I want to thank God in advance for keeping us together. I want to thank God for giving you to me. I want to thank God for seeing us through. And thank you Rhoda for everything you do. Thank you for loving God and for loving me. I love you, babe.” He said and blew the wife a kiss, tossing it as though tossing a ball through a basket. The cheering grew louder and her lips were spread in a wide duchene smile.

I withheld my hiss as he returned to his seat and they exchanged I love yous.

Call me bad belleh. Call me envious.

It was allowed. I had been patiently waiting on God ever since Marcus died trying to cover a story from about the army’s battle against Boko Haram. How could God pass me by when he was sharing life partners and give this fresh graduate a husband before me? Me that was only twenty years away from menopause. Someone once said a woman’s beauty began to fade once she clocked 38. That meant I had roughly eight years on the dating market before I became old model, old stock, old cargo.

God, are you looking at me like this?

I knew this was going to be good, thanks for the update.

loving it already....pls kip up with d updates

Wow, you are welcome back milli.
I believe this is gonna be a blast....... following

Hi Mllie, good to have you here again.
Please what about ocean of secrets, the flow? Should we keep being expectant?

Advantaged:
Hi Mllie, good to have you here again.
Please what about ocean of secrets, the flow? Should we keep being expectant?

It's going to be a long time before I get back to the story you all remember.

The way I planned Ocean of Secrets was going to be too long. So with the help of God, it's been broken down to about ten different books and three different series.

I know. Mad o.

It will be starting with Baby Regina's story.

Then the twins. Then the story you all remember will be rewritten in another series.

Episode One

February 2019

Dayo

I hated a lot of things about the Children’s Department. The screaming of children my home was devoid of, the beautiful chaos the children left behind after each service which my home lacked, the headache I got after scolding naughty children, something I had never experienced in ten years of marriage.
But they were not the things I detested the most.

Our children’s church had a crèche, and whenever I had to care for the babies and toddlers there, it was as though a claw slashed at my insides. I learned how to mix baby food and I fed my first baby there all the while getting the pity looks saying ‘what a pity’ and ‘she has no child’, and the looks saying ‘she can’t even care for a child properly'.

I hated those looks, but they came second to watching new mothers feed their babies. I don’t know how. I don’t know why, but whenever that happened, I felt like I had been branded a failure to womanhood. Wasn’t that supposed to be the easiest thing for a woman? To conceive and carry a child to term? How many eggs had I released that had gone to waste?

I watched the woman we all referred to as Mama Twins (the title Iya’beji was already taken by Sister Ademoye, the head of the ushering unit) remove her nipple from her son’s mouth and stuff it again in his twin brother’s mouth.

How could one woman get two at a time and I couldn’t even get one?

The woman’s eyes met mine and I smiled before continuing to spoon-feed the child in my arms. As I looked at the child in my arms, I tried to imagine myself breastfeeding her. I smiled as the image appeared in my mind. She was my daughter and her name was Oluwasoorefunmi. I had picked out that name ten years ago and I was still holding on to it.


March 2009

I slipped into the last row in the hall and joined a few pubescent students singing loudly with their eyes shut in worship. I closed my eyes and said a little prayer of Thanksgiving before joining in the familiar chorus. I had wrapped up things at work late and that was why I ended turning up at the fellowship service a few minutes to the sermon.

Wande rose to the wooden lectern in front of the congregation with a sticker of the fellowship’s insignia pasted on it. He had been invited to preach and I was too antsy to share the good news with him so I joined them for their evening service.
I tried to focus on the prayer session, but my mind drifted over and over to the envelope in my bag.

Soon we were asked to sit. The small annex to the chapel was sparsely decorated with a few unbalanced chiffon drapes and ribbons. No doubt done by the students. My eyes noted the brown stains of dust on the white walls just above the window lintels and the thick cobweb in one corner, and I sighed.

Back in my days, the sanitation department took their work seriously.

I shrugged it off as Wande’s cheery voice greeted the excos of the fellowship, thanking them for the privilege to minister. I smiled as I watched him. Wande was in his element here. He was a lover of God and he frankly loved talking. It seemed God helped him roll the two passions into one by calling him to be a minister. When we were much younger, I thought he would study law or mass communication, something to help him put his oratory prowess to good use, but God had other plans in mind.

The boy beside me sneezed out a blob of catarrh and I handed him tissue from my bag.

“Thank you ma.”

“Before we continue, I’d like to acknowledge the presence of someone important. If I didn’t do that, I would be wrong, very very wrong.”

I wondered who he was talking about.

“Please help me appreciate my beautiful, beautiful wife. God knows that without her in my life so many things would have gone wrong.”

I scoffed under my breath.

Wande.

I gave a smile as heads turned to look at me and a few hands applauded.

Ki lo le to yen?
(What warrants applause?)


“I appreciate you, honey. Thank you for all you do.”

I shook my head, laughing inside me.

“So today, I’ve been asked to talk to you on Trusting and Obeying. I don’t know why I was asked to come to talk to you on this topic of all topics. But God will help me, He will speak through me.”

He said a small prayer before continuing and we all chorused amen. Wande started preaching, and I honestly zoned in and out. The envelope in my handbag filling my thoughts and arresting my attention. I drummed my fingers on my black bag. I missed most of the sermon and I felt bad. Wande rounded off and the ushers took the offerings. The service was closed not too long after and Wande had to pray for the excos of the fellowship. I didn’t mind waiting.

A few minutes later, my husband walked up to me with a huge grin on his face.

“Oh baby,” he called.

“Awwwn,” one girl cooed from behind us and my cheeks heated in embarrassment. I really didn’t like PDA but Wande revelled in it. I could still recall when he made me apologise with a kiss at a fast food restaurant. I felt like all eyes were on me.

Wande deposited his frame in the plastic chair beside me. He still towered over me sitting. It was annoying sometimes that he was a whole foot taller than me. I couldn’t help but wonder whose height our children would pick. How would I discipline children taller than me? I immediately recalled Miss. Soaga, my home economics teacher in secondary school. We had nicknamed her Angry Frog because she was 4’9 and she always seemed to jump whenever she was angry and trying to scold us.

Wande twirled one of my braids around his finger and yanked softly to pull me out of my thoughts.

“Ow,” I cried dramatically.

“Welcome back to Earth,” he said, smirking.

“No be your fault. Next time,I won’t make braids. I’ll fix pixie cut.”

Wande loved me making hair with long extensions. He said they suited my face better than the bobs and pixie cuts I favoured.

He pouted and said, “Somebody cannot play with you again?”

I laughed at his jutting lower lip and flicked it.

“See your lebe. Let’s go home jare. I’m really tired.”

He nodded and stood and pulled me up. We held hands as we made our way out of the chapel grounds and towards the university’s bus station.

We held hands throughout the ride and shared how our days had gone. He told me about how fruitful his waiting on the Lord was and how much insight he had gained on certain scripture. I told him about the shooting of the first episode of a new tv show the channel I worked with would soon be airing.

For the first episode of Celeb Close-up, the host had interviewed a popular actor.
Wande listened attentively to the pretty bits and the not-so-pretty parts. That was one of the things I loved about him. Regardless of how much he enjoyed talking, he always listened to me.

Well, mostly.

He didn’t listen when he was scolding me.

“Did you go to the doctor?” He asked as the bus stopped at our stop. We alighted and Wande walked to the passenger side to collect the rest of our change from the driver who doubled as his conductor.

Wande folded the ugly looking five hundred naira note and handed it to me.

“What are we eating this night?” I asked and linked my fingers with his as we strolled to the pack of okada riders, each hailing us, calling ‘customer, where you dey go’.

Wande flagged down one and haggled with him. We got on and the man zoomed off.

“Madam, I asked you a question before.” He said in my ear as the breeze blew against us.

I smirked and said, “Yes.”

“What did he say?”

“When we get home.”

“Okay o.”

Wande asked me if I wanted suya and I nodded. I was so not in the mood to cook anything. He asked the Okada rider to stop his bike at the gate leading to our street where a portly, dark man stood roasting suya. The aroma of fresh roasted meat filled my nostrils and my mouth watered.

Wande settled the bike man while I went ahead to select choice cuts. Wande favoured liver. I was a beef girl. Thankfully, there wasn’t a swarm of patrons today like there was most days. We strolled down home and we settled not long after to a meal of sweet, ice cold garri and hot, spicy suya.

“What did the doctor say?” Wande asked halfway into our meal.

I licked the suya maji off my fingers and pulled the white envelope with the copy of my blood test out of my bag and handed it to him.

Wande swallowed audibly. “Dayo, are you okay?”

It took everything in me not to laugh at the fear that painted his face. He collected the envelope and pulled out the leaflet in it in less than a heartbeat. He looked at me once more before turning his eyes to the paper.
His fear morphed into shock and I smiled.

“You’re pregnant?” He asked.

I laughed, nodding. “Wande, we’re going to have a baby.”

***
Ivie

2009

“Thank you for tuning in. Until next week, bye,” I drawled into the microphone with my best diction and a subtle fake American accent.
The radio show producer gave the signal telling me we were offair. I sighed and slouched in my seat. I took off the headset and grabbed my water bottle from my bag. My hand grazed the clear file bag my project file was in and irritation filled me.

Of all the project supervisors on Earth, I had to get the most annoying. He had rejected three topics and I was at my wit’s end. Most of my colleagues had started their first chapters. The effico ones had moved on to chapter two. I hadn’t even gotten my topic approved.
I unscrewed the cover of the bottle and chugged down the water. I wiped my lips with the back of my hand as the university’s radio station manager walked up to me. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes and I zipped up my bag. With the stress Dr. Akinbolu was giving me, I couldn’t trust myself not to splash my water in his face if he came to toast me again today. I just wasn’t in the mood to let anyone down softly.

The man with complexion that reminded me of the bottom of a party jollof pot grinned at me. At least he had good dentition.

“Ivie, Ivie. Your voice will not kill somebody.” He said, laughing.

It took all the home training in me and the twenty thousand I got at the end of the month to keep me from glaring and snarling at him. What has started as a brief stint for my course in broadcasting became a part time job. I anchored the night time music show on the radio station and they paid me for it.

My fellowship pastors weren’t pleased I was anchoring a show with worldly music but what did it matter? I needed money and my parents were civil servants. I couldn’t rely on them with how late the government paid them their monthly salary. Sometimes, I even had to help out at home.

I made a mental note to ask my dad for the fifteen k he borrowed.

“Good evening sir,” I greeted and genuflected, hoping to snap him back to his senses with the greeting and remind him that I’m still a student in the university.

He took the hint and his smile waned. He wanted to make small talk but I cut it off telling him I had an eight o’clock class in the morning. I left the building and as part of my employment contract, the DSA had mandated the station’s driver drop me at my hostel after every show. I got into the car and greeted Mr. Kunle, the driver. He smiled at me and I smiled back.

I liked Mr. Kunle. He was a sweet elderly man who reminded a lot of my grandfather. He used to be retired but he lost his only son in an accident and he had to work to take care of his young grandchildren. Sometimes, whenever I cooked, I made sure to bring him something. It was the least I could do.

As we rode to my hostel, we talked about politics and my phone rang. I dismissed the call when I saw it was Pastor Marcus from fellowship. I had missed the prayer meeting scheduled for this night and I wasn’t ready to give explanations. Not too many people knew about my job at the school’s radio station and I wanted to keep it that way.

My phone buzzed with a text. It was from Pastor Marcus.

Hi Ivie. I hope you’re good. We didn’t see you at PM today and I was worried. I hope all is well. Take care of yourself.

His smiley face at the end of the text made me chuckle. A thought breezed into my head. Did Pastor Marcus like me? I shook my head. I was just reading meaning into a meaningless emoticon. We arrived at my hostel and I thanked Mr. Kunle for the ride and got out of the car. I greeted the porters who all eyed me with disdain thinking I was a runsgirl because a dark tinted car dropped me off every night. I didn’t care to correct them. Only what God thought mattered.


My roommate, Ajoke, was folding clothes and listening to a recording of one of our fellowship meetings. She smiled when she saw me and I flopped unto the bed.

“Long day?” She asked and paused the recording.

“My stupid supervisor refused to accept my project topic.” I groaned.

“Pele,” she said.

“I want to kill him,” I said.

She laughed and asked me if I wanted rice. I shook my head. I walked to my locker and pulled out the remaining slices of bread left and my refill sachets of Milo and Dano. I made a very generous and rich cup of the cocoa beverage.

“So what will you do now?” Ajoke asked.

I shrugged and stuffed my mouth with the coconut flavored bread. Perks of being a working class student.

“I don’t know.” I said with my mouth full and washed down the bread in my mouth with the thick sweet drink.

“Pastor Marcus asked of you o.” She said as she pulled out her box and unzipped it.

Ehen?

“He even escorted me and Sister Elizabeth to the hostel. I know it’s because of you sha.” She said as she stuffed her clean laundry into the bag.

I fought a smile and drank my tea. Pastor Marcus was one of the young pastors in my fellowship. He was a graduate of Mass Communication, and I had like him since he was in the faculty, but after he graduated, my crush died. Lately, he was becoming friendly and my crush was resurrecting.

“I think he likes you.” She added.

I simply shrugged.

***
January 2019

A heartbreak is probably one of the worst kinds of pain you’ll ever experience. If you’re lucky, you get to scale through life without experiencing one. If you’re unlucky, you’ll probably meet one or two people who’ll treat your heart like a table tennis egg only to find out the eight to twelve ounces of cardiac muscle isn’t made of celluloid or plastic, rather something more fragile than annealed glass.

If you’re me, and you haven’t shot yourself in the head or tried to slit your wrist or drown yourself in the tub, you’ll probably get your heart broken as often as you change your toothbrush.

I once read a heartbreak triggers neural reactions similar to the pain of a heart attack. If I were to look on the bright side, if I ever had heart issues later on in life, I’ve had all the practice I need.

I can’t begin to describe how hurtful a heartbreak is. Painful is all it is. Pain full. Full of pain. Every pain imaginable.

But you know the painfuller thing? The moment you decide to grit your teeth and stomach the pain, you find someone who just pokes at your wound making it hurt even more.

Not like Daddy Wande was being lovey-dovey with his wife to spite me. He probably didn’t even realize I was in my car watching them. But why did he have to bring his lovey-dovey with his wife close to me on the Sunday I decided to forget Nosakhare and our lousy breakup.

“Ivy, I can’t marry a woman with baggage and luggage. This relationship, ko le werk.”

His Instagram DM blazed behind my eyes and I blinked it away together with tears that prickled my eyes.

I barely paid attention throughout the service. I just wanted to get back into my PJs and cry my eyes out. Eventually, service ended by twelve and I made my way down to my car.

Guess what?

I ended up parking right beside the couple of the day. I had slid into my car to avoid any greetings and pleasantries and that gave me front row tickets to watch Daddy Wande and Mummy Dayo kiss and laugh in their car. I watched the couple from my tinted windows. They were the perfect definition of opposites attract. Where Dayo was short and dark, Wande was tall and fair.

Though everyone refer to them as Mummy and Daddy because they were ministers, they were only in their mid thirties. Just like me.
But unlike me, they scored the jackpot in love and relationship. I had only been in Solid Rock Assembly for two years but I knew just how they loved each other. I had heard a few people say it was all show, but I doubt that. I had been around the block of fake men long enough to know the difference between a stare that was premeditated and a look that flowed from the abundance of love in a man’s heart.

I wish I had met a man like Wande.

Why didn’t I ever meet a guy like him? Why were all the men I ever dated wicked, selfish, bastards? How did she even land a man like him? I was prettier than her, taller than her. I had more assets than her.

I probably would never have given Wande another look though. He was too fair for my liking. I preferred my men more on the caramel, peanut butter or dark chocolate side, not fair like the inside of unripe pawpaws. And he was way too tall for my liking. I was 5’9 and he was tall enough to make me raise my eyes to look him in the face.

Maybe it was high time I stopped being superficial.

Maybe I had to be less picky about looks and focus on what was within.

They drove out before me and I left the parking lot as soon as they did.

following bumper2bumper..... Christan books rock

Episode 2

Dayo

2019

I licked the plastic spoon trying to savour the creamy, sweet dessert. This was the most fun I have had in a long time. Wande had taken me on the craziest dinner ever at a rooftop Teppanyaki restaurant. And our chef had mad skills that made our dinner all the more entertaining.

We got yoghurt and fruit parfaits afterwards and drove around in his car. It reminded me of the old days when we’d stroll to the Tantalizers near my place and have meat pies and share a tub of ice cream. We had on our favorite songs blaring from the stereo. The moment couldn’t be more perfect. Or so I had thought.

Wande pulled up in front of a pharmacy and I turned to look at him.

“Are you okay? Is your stomach paining you?”

I knew he went overboard when he ordered squid. My liver did not reach that level.
He smiled and shook his head. He turned to face me with a serious look on his face.

“Are you okay?”

“Dayo, today is January nineteenth.” He said and I smiled and spooned myself some parfait.

“I know what today is, Wande.”

It was the anniversary of the day we met at a Christian retreat programme for teens almost twenty years ago.

“Who knew we would have become more than friends and gotten married? Who knew we would have made it to ten years so soon? It was just like yesterday your car broke down on your way to church and I was crying in Pastor Emmanuel’s office saying you’re not coming.” I said.

Wande let out a deep, throaty chuckle.
“Crycry baby.” He teased and I stuck out my tongue.

“Na you sabi.”

He reached for the hand holding my spoon and I turned to him. The expression on his face scared me. Wande was the jovial type and seeing him so serious was unnerving. I had only seen him this serious once before – when he lost his job ten years ago.

“Wande, what’s wrong?” I said and placed the small ice cream cup in the cup holder. “You can tell me anything.”

A few seconds passed and he gave me a wistful smile. He held my hand with both his hands and kissed it.

“You know I love you right?”

I nodded.

“And no matter what happens I’ll stand by you?” He added.

Despite the AC at full blast, cold sweat ran down my back. Was he down with some terminal illness? Or had he lost his job again? A few seconds passed as he locked gazes with me.

“Wande, talk nau. What is going on? I’m imagining the worst.” I blurted when I couldn’t handle the suspense anymore.

“It’s been four months since your last period.” He said.

“Oh.” I said and pulled my hand out of his. I turned to face the window and watched a woman lead her sons out of her car towards the entrance of the pharmacy.

That could have been me. If only God would bless me with the fruit of the womb. It has been ten years. Was there no miracle for me? Was there no mercy for me?

“Babe, I know you said you don’t want to go through tests again, but it’s been four months. You could be pregnant this time. You haven’t missed your period for this long. This could be it.” He said.

I turned to look at him and the hope in his eyes crushed my spirit. I knew how much Wande loved children. I remember how much he enjoyed playing with my neighbors’ children when he visited me while we were still courting. I knew how eager he was to start a family. Yet I couldn’t give him one child.
I opened my mouth to tell him I wasn’t pregnant, but that would be crushing his hope. I could only imagine his disappointment and tears filled my eyes.

“Dayo…” He called and cupped my face.

I shook my head. “I – I don’t feel pregnant, Wande. We shouldn’t get our hopes up just to have it fall and crash.”

Wande shook his head. “What if you’re wrong and you’re pregnant? You’ve put on weight and ….”

I pulled away from him.

“I won’t subject myself to the pain of a little stick breaking my heart. If I’m pregnant, then we’ll know when I begin to show. If not, then I’m not pregnant.” I snarled.

“Dayo,” he called.

I looked away and said, “Please, let’s go home.”

“But…”

“You promised you would never force me to take a test if I didn’t want to.” I said still looking away from him.

He sighed and said, “I’m not going to force you to do what you don’t want. But Dayo, the sooner we know, the sooner you can begin antenatal.”

I scoffed under my breath. Wande’s relentless faith and hope was impeccable. I wasn’t pregnant. I knew how I felt the first and only time I was pregnant. I had never felt that way since my baby died. No matter how many times I tried to delude myself to believing I was pregnant because my period was late, I knew that feeling was missing.
I had my one chance at being a mother and I had lost it.

***

2009

My pen tapped an arrhythmic beat against the notepad I had jotted the list of groceries we needed . My mind calculated and calculated. By the time I paid my tithe, bought the foodstuff and groceries for the month, deducted the money for utility bills and my transport fare to work and gave Wande his pocket money, there would be very little for me to spend.

I didn’t want to touch my savings again. Not with the baby on the way. I kissed my teeth and tossed the shopping list aside. Why couldn’t this baby have waited till Wande got a job? If I had to take a maternity leave, how would we survive? My stomach churned. The excitement of having a baby had worn off and reality had set in. Having a baby was expensive. Very expensive.

I wish I had insisted on Wande using condoms. I laid back and rubbed my throbbing temples.

God, why did you give us a child now? Ehn? You know all the bukata(responsibilities) on my head. Why now?

This was what I had been avoiding when I picked up the pack of condoms a month ago. Wande had looked at me like I had grown seven heads.

“Condoms? With my wife?”

“It’s either that or abstinence.” I said. The fluorescent security light from the next compound filtered in through the windows. A cold breeze rushed in through the windows bringing in the scent of rain.

I looked up and saw him smiling. “Nice one, Dayo. You almost got me.”

I raised a brow. “Who is trying to get you? I’m dead serious, Wande. We have to make sacrifices. The rent, mummy’s meds, the bills, everything. We can’t afford a baby now o. Do you know how much diapers cost? Baby food nko? My colleague told me her baby finished one tin of milk in two days. Wande, where do we want to get that kind of money? Nibo lati fe ri? (Where will we find it?) I would have bought those birth control pills if I knew where they are being sold. Maybe I will, but for now, you have to manage this. At least till you get another job or I can find where to get the pills.”
Wande sighed. “Dayo, we walk by faith and not by…”
“Wo, Wande, ma quote scripture fun mi l’ale yii o( Look, Wande, don't quote scripture to me this night). Just don’t. We walk by faith and not by sight? Is it not by faith we got married? We believed you would get a job shortly after. It’s been two months since. No job. It’s not faith that has been paying the bills. It’s been me. Will faith pay for antenatal if I get pregnant? Will faith buy Pampers and Cerelac? Will faith pay for immunization? When I’m on maternity leave, will faith bring money for us? If you want to quote Bible, I can quote Bible too.
“Luke fourteen twenty-eight to thirty. It says 'for which of you, intending to build a tower, sitteth not down first, and counteth the cost, whether he have sufficient to finish it ? Lest haply, after he hath laid the foundation, and is not able to finish it, all that behold it begin to mock him, saying, This man began to build, and was not able to finish.’ The same Bible says faith without works is dead. Apostle James gan sef said shew me thy faith without thy works, and I will shew thee my faith by my works. So what are you trying to tell me, Adewande Adeshola? Ehn? If we have a baby now, is it not me that will bear the brunt in every way? I’ll carry the baby and I’ll have to work to provide for it and us.”

Wande kept mute through my tirade and apologized to me when I was done. He simply placed the box on the bedside table beside me and told me he wasn’t going to use the condoms and he laid back to sleep. I felt victorious and proud of my dialectics. His ego was bruised but he’d survive. We wouldn’t survive the torrent of bills that would come with a baby.

The next morning came. Everything had changed yet they remained the same. I felt like there was an elephant in my home left to be addressed. Not like Wande kept malice with me, but I felt a distance. When we prayed together, I couldn’t flow or feel the Holy Spirit like before, so I prayed. I prayed hard. God had never felt so distant like He was throughout that week. I didn’t exactly know what the problem was. It’s not like I had done something I wasn’t supposed to, but nonetheless I prayed for forgiveness, asking God to forgive me of whatever I had done that had displeased him.

It wasn’t until Sunday when Pastor Agbaje was preaching about unity in the home and how it affects prayers. I knew then it was because of my argument with Wande. I apologised to him after service with fried rice, his favourite meal (which I hated cooking). Wande let me know his feelings were hurt. I had more than bruised his ego when I brought up the fact he didn’t have a job.

My errors became plain to me. I understood how much my words hurt. Wande used to work with Blue Cube Stocks and Equities, a huge investment and stock broking firm, till his employment was unjustly terminated on an allegation of insider trading. Before he lost his job, Wande never let me even pay own transport fare for our dates. But he lost his job three months to our wedding. He had insisted on postponing the wedding till he got a new job. I had a conviction that we ought to push through and we did. Here I was, turning to insult him.

I apologized and we made up. Because I didn’t want to insult or hurt him more than I had already, I dropped the issue of using protection.

Here I was, pregnant and barely able to make ends meet.

The white ceiling boxes stared back at me.

You could get rid of it. A voice whispered in my head.

God forbid.

I couldn’t kill an unborn child. I would not have blood on my hands.

You’re less than a month pregnant. Nobody will know. You can have another baby later.

For a moment, those words seemed enticing. I was just two weeks gone. The baby was probably just the size of a peanut. I would be safe and it wouldn’t matter.

It won’t?

The voice of the Holy Spirit in my ears sent a chill down my spine. Was I actually contemplating having an abortion?

“Babe.”

I jolted at the shout. It was Wande. I sat up and greeted him.

“You left the door open,” he said.

“It must have been when I went to pack in the clothes.” I said. “Welcome.”

He smiled, showing off his teeth. He stalked closer to me and kissed me lightly on the lips and bent to kiss my flat stomach.

“How are my babies doing?”

Guilt at what I had been thinking mere moments before he arrived filled me and I pushed him away.

“Stop, Wande. I’m not in the mood.”

“Are you still feeling nauseous?” He said as he looked up at me.

I shook my head.

“Then why are you so cranky?”

“Wo, just leave me. It’s pregnancy hormones. How far? How was the interview? Did you get the job?”

He shook his head. “Nope, they said I’m overqualified.”

“Then why are you now happy?”

Wande’s smile waned and he asked, “Dayo, should I be crying?”

Yes, I wanted to scream. Could he not see the disaster that was about to happen? I didn’t want to be one of those mothers who couldn’t give their children the best. I wanted my children to have better than I did. Wande’s lack of a job would kill my dreams for my child.

“Sorry,” I sighed instead.

He loosened his tie and asked, “Is there food?”

“Beans and yam in the kitchen.” I said and stood. I didn’t know why but I couldn’t stand to be in the same room with him.

“I want to go for a stroll. It’s a bit stuffy. And by the way, the caretaker dropped a letter. The rent will increase as from next year.”

Wande stopped unlacing his shoes and looked at me.

“Dayo.”

“Wande.”

“I will get a job before then.”

I held back a scoff and said, “Okay.”

Thanks for the update ma'am. I'm suspecting something but I won't say it yet

drewsman:
Thanks for the update ma'am. I'm suspecting something but I won't say it yet

Lol what?

Seat claimed

millieademi:

Lol what?

May be after the next episode, I may be able to say it. I always love your stories

...

Hi.
I this story on hold? Been checking for updates

Hey ma'am, hope you haven't forgotten this story

Millie you really kept us waiting for long. I kept coming to check out if you updated but for a year no news from you. I really missed OCEAN OF SECRETS ❌�. Good you're back. I also appreciate your new direction. God indeed is the greatest keep doing His work. Please sha complete Ocean of secrets for us. Dunno if I can ever stop yearning for that story. Please if you got the other part you've written I'd love to get them again. You truly are a talent. May God richly reward you.

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