Chapter Four

DERIN

Derin exhaled as he crashed onto his bed, hoping to never attend a wake like that again in his life. So much for meeting a potential girlfriend.

While the video tribute to the deceased had been going on, it was interrupted with a video of one of Julia’s uncles molesting a small child of about seven, or thereabout. It brought to mind the rumour Tariebi had made mention of. It seemed plausible, and he hoped it wasn’t true, but seeing the look of satisfaction on Julia’s face as the police carted her uncle away for defilement, Derin feared she might have been a victim of her uncle’s depravity.

All that had happened after two women came in claiming to be pregnant with the children of Jacob, Preye’s husband. Though he had vehemently denied knowing either, they claimed to know him very well and went on to describe his tattoos. Of course, that was followed by Preye declaring their marriage was over.

Julia had sported a sneer through it all.

Except when her grandmother fainted. Then, she burst into laughter. Unashamedly and wantonly.

And when she winked at him, he knew she hadn’t forgiven him.

It was too easy, and now, he knew it was all a sham.

Attempt one: FAILED.

He sat up and took off his cufflinks while his mind revisited the night he did the unthinkable, retracing his steps as though if he could find the point he went wrong, he could understand how better to seek her forgiveness. The cold, rancorous night and its memories had him wincing in regret.

Remembering now, he could understand if she never forgave him. He was her first love. He had deflowered her, and she had given him her all, only for him to turn around and insult her, calling her a slut and a devilish LovePeddler.

He could remember her resolved words that sunny yet chilly afternoon in Jos where she told him plainly: “Don’t worry, Derin. You will never see my disgusting face again.”

True to her word, he never saw her again till this evening.

He had said some hurtful things to her, things he wasn’t morally entitled to say, not when he had been the one to seduce her. He hoped she could really forgive him.

Even if he didn’t deserve it.

***
JULIA

Julia winced as the stylist she hired tightened the aso-oke pleated gele with a side twist and a side fan.

“Is it too tight?” the woman asked.

Julia said, “Just a little bit.”

“Sorry,” the woman said and loosened it a bit.
The pain reminded her of every time she had to sit through dinner with her father and his “original” family. She had to endure feeling like an outsider while her father played happy family with his wife and sons. She had to endure the pain of a bleeding heart, knowing it could never be like that for her with her mother.

Dinner was always a solitary affair for her. In her room, all alone, devoid of the laughter and jesting he had with his sons, and she was supposed to watch them shove it in her face.

He had brought her nothing but pain, and she would make sure he tumbled in his grave.

Julia stared at her flawless make-up and the glittering diamond chandelier earrings her father had gifted her for her twenty-first birthday. She had never worn them, and his funeral seemed like a great time to launch them. The lady put in the finishing touches and pinned the ends of the gele.

Julia, pleased with the results of her close to two hours of grooming, took a couple of pictures and videos of herself. She sent a few to the lady and transferred her fees.

“Please, ma, refer other customers,” she said as she left.

Julia put it on her to-do list, right after “Give My Father A Funeral He Will Never Forget”.
In his next life, he will learn to treat his children right.

She picked up her clutch and stared at her reflection. She hadn’t gone with the George fabric her family had chosen. Her father’s sleazy wife didn’t deem her part of the family and didn’t send her own George fabric. It didn’t matter. It would make her plan work even better. Though it cost her a pretty penny, she had imported the exact same sheer lace fabric for guests, but in a different colour.

The family had chosen white aso-ebi with rose gold aso-oke for the guests. She had gotten hers in black and her aso-oke in a hot, blazing shade of red. Her aso-ebi was styled in a mono-shoulder dress with a thigh-high split in front and a plunging sweetheart neckline.

The doorbell rang, and she scoffed, wondering what the stylist must have left behind. She left her room to get the door and met Derin standing outside her apartment.

She quirked a brow. Her irritation spurred. She hated everything his presence signified. She hated she had cried herself to sleep two nights ago, remembering the horrible pain she had had to endure after he tossed her aside like a filthy floor rag.

He had killed a part of her when he ended things, and she lugged around the weight of that corpse. Its stench and rot were killing the rest of her slowly.

“What?” she gritted.

“Good morning.”

“Look, Aderinsola, I don’t entertain uninvited guests, so if you have nothing important to say, I have to leave to attend my father’s burial,” she snapped.

How could he look so cool and show up at her place after he had called her a desperate slut, a devilish loose LovePeddler and a good-for-nothing tramp?

As much as she wanted to forget, she still remembered every horrid word he told her that night and the jara he added when she told him she was pregnant.

Do you know how disgusting you sound?

She gulped back her pain.

She had broken her rules two days ago. She wouldn’t break them again for him.

“Actually, your mum sent me. About a last-minute venue change. She was trying to reach you, but you didn’t answer. The heavy rain that fell last night uprooted a tree in the church, and it fell over the church auditorium. The funeral service has been shifted to the Church of His Grace branch at Falomo.”

She chuckled and said, “So you’re my mum’s new errand boy? Typical of Sophia Azazi-Onoja. She’d rather send somebody than come here herself. Such a coward.”

She snickered and cleared her throat, leaning against the doorway.

“Well, thank you. Do I give you a tip or… I’m not exactly sure how it works with executive errand boys,” she said with a condescending sneer.

He pursed his lips and said, “I know there’s bad blood between us.”

She chuckled. “Did you just realise that now, or did you actually think I forgave you two days ago?”

“Julia, I messed up pretty badly. I know, and I’m so―”

She pushed off the jamb and glared at him.
“No, Derin. You don’t get to apologise. Not after twelve years. You did the crime. At least, have the balls to pay the time.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he scoffed with a frown.

Julia smirked and said, “It means watch your back, sleep with one eye open because I haven’t forgiven you, and I definitely haven’t forgotten. And one of these days, when your guard is down, I will make you feel pain more excruciating than the one you dealt on me. Thanks for the message.”

She slammed the door and leaned against it with her heart racing wildly. Tears clogged up her throat, making breathing difficult. She clutched her chest and willed her heart to stop banging in fear and dread.

She kicked off her shoes and walked to her bar to pour herself a double whiskey. She took a huge sip and let the hot, neat drink burn away everything she didn’t want to feel.

Why did Derin have to come back? Why now?
She laughed at herself, recalling how naïve and stupid she was.

She had believed all the lies of a Hot young adult looking to get laid. She should have known better. He was a guy who indulged in watching pornography, and he was definitely looking for someone to practice on. She was a pathetic girl desperate for love, an easy prey. All it took was a little attention and a few I-love-yous and she was ready to do whatever he wanted. And when he grew tired of her, what did he do?

He tossed her aside.

Literally.

She could still remember how roughly he had shoved her out of his room.

What was his excuse again?

She chuckled, remembering his ludicrous words —I gave my life to Christ.

She had heard of people blaming the devil, but she had never heard anyone blame God before.

Oh.

Except her father. Like minds indeed thought alike. Her father was the first man she had ever heard of to divorce his second wife and remarry his first wife because he gave his life to Christ.

They are both hypocritical bastards.

She finished her drink and went back up to her room to touch up her makeup before heading out to finish the last phase of her revenge.

***
SOPHIA

Sophia craned her neck to check if Julia had finally arrived, but she didn’t see anyone who looked like her. Douye had requested a small service of only family and a couple of close associates he had pre-selected, and in the scanty hall, Julia was nowhere to be found.

After her stunt at the wake, Sophia wasn’t sure if she wanted Julia present at the funeral. She had shown up in red. That was the height of disrespect, and it only went to show Julia didn’t love Douye. Douye might have thought she did, but he was wrong. Apprehension of what Julia might do at her own burial gripped her, and she gulped in fear.

Her doctor’s report sounded in her head again. After fighting cancer twelve years ago, another lump was found in her breast a week ago, and she didn’t know whether she wanted the biopsy results out or not.

Ameh pulled her hand into his, linked their fingers together and squeezed her hand lightly.

“All is well,” he whispered.

She sighed and wished she could believe that. At his right, sat Ebiojo and Eleojo, his twin daughters from his first marriage. Ameh had lost his wife shortly after their birth. She envied just how much they fawned over him. Though the girls treated her and loved her like their mother, she still longed for the love of her own daughter.

The pastor was rounding off his sermon when he paused and looked straight ahead. Everyone turned. Julia stood in the aisle in black and red.

Sophia shut her eyes and turned to face the altar.

God, why is she acting this way?

Rather than sit at the back, she sashayed to the front pews and sat on the same pew as Ebiere. Sophia ignored the sting in her heart as the pastor continued preaching and made an altar call.

No one responded. He then asked those with tributes to pay to step forward.

Ibiso, Douye’s first son, stepped forward to give a speech on how much he missed his father and how good a father he was. In the middle of his heart-warming speech, Julia burst into laughter. The church turned to look at her.

Rather than bear remorse, she wore a wide Duchenne smile, and Ibiso continued.

After him was Dimien, Douye’s younger brother who was a professor of English at Leeds University, started with a haiku and went on to render a sonnet, to which Julia yawned loudly.

Again, the church paused to look at her and she wore a blank expression.

Sophia caught Ebiere clenching and unclenching her jaws and fist and Douye’s mother’s frown deepening.

Dimien rounded off his poems, and Jesumiyen, Douye’s third son, took over with a spoken word rendition. Their extended family and his close associates gave tributes, and speeches were delivered by emissaries of the Central Bank Governor and the President.

The last person to take the mic was Julia. Sophia’s heart raced, and she hoped Julia wouldn’t further embarrass her.

“Hi, everyone,” she said with a huge smile, as though it were a birthday or wedding.

“I want you all to know you are gathered here to witness history,” she said with a sombre look on her face and her brows stitched together with all seriousness.

“Oftentimes, the bad guys have a long lease on life and very well live to the end of the movie and make it out of the season alive with a promise of revenge. But today,” she said with a huge smile, “we’re here to witness the death and final burial of one of the worst fathers this planet has ever seen.”

Murmurs erupted, and Sophia cringed.

“Julia, go and sit down if you have nothing good to say,” Ibiso scolded.

“Excuse me, Ibiso. I didn’t interrupt you, so try to can it, will you?” she retorted. “Anyway, ladies and gentlemen, before my ill-mannered half-brother interrupted me, I was saying you are gathered here at the burial of one of the worst fathers this planet has ever seen.”

She turned to face Douye’s open casket and said, “Dad, I don’t wish you peace.”

Shouts and murmurs filled the auditorium, and Sophia winced and shut her eyes.

“I hope you burn in hell and rot too. Oh, and one more thing, …. you for being a lousy father.”

The gasps of outrage at Julia’s curse thundered, and the next thing Sophia heard was a loud slap and the feedback from the speakers as the mic dropped to the floor.
She looked up and saw Julia cupping her cheek, and Ebiere swelling in anger like a blowfish.

“I know you lack manners and home training, but this is grotesque. How dare you come here and make a mockery of our loss, of our grief? After everything he did for you? He may not have been the best father, but he did his best to make you happy. And you do this? Shame on you,” Ebiere shouted.

Julia flexed her jaws and gave a sinister sneer. Sophia hoped she had no plans of retaliating the slap earlier given.

“I’ve said my bit. Go ahead and say whatever you want, but know this, you will regret hitting me,” Julia said and walked to grab her clutch and stormed out of the church.

Sophia sighed and hoped this funeral would be over soon.

JULIA

Julia strutted through the living room, ignoring her mother, stepmother and stepfather. She did get the attention she was hoping for with her sultry, red outfit and over-the-top accessories. The horrified looks on their faces made her day. She wished she could have captured the moment and blown it up to the size of the portrait of her father in the foyer.

She snatched a glass of champagne from Aunt Linda’s hands. She detested the old witch and she lived to irritate her. Julia swigged down the champagne and handed the empty flute to a passing waiter. She needed to get drunk enough to ruin the wake, just like he had ruined their family. Weaving through the guests who stared at her like she was an aberration, Julia smirked at the impression she had made. She lived to make people talk.
Her confident sashay took her to the terrace where she stumbled on her father. A lump formed in her throat as she took in the bouquets and flower arrangements too beautiful, in her opinion, for his disgusting self. She walked over to the open casket and stared at his face.

Her ten-year-old voice echoed in her ears, and she fought tears.

“Daddy, please, don’t leave us. I will be a good girl. I will come first again. I will do all my assignments. I won’t make Mummy shout again.”

She had cried, hanging on to his leg and sitting on the floor. She had hoped she would convince him to stay.

He didn’t stop. He didn’t turn back.
That was the last time he heard her say I love you. She chuckled, remembering all the times he ended his calls with “I love you”, hoping she’d reply the same.

“I hate you, Douye Hans-Okubo. I hope you rot in hell,” she said, resisting the urge to spit in his face.

“Good evening, Julia.”

The velvety, baritone voice caused her to turn, to make sure she wasn’t hearing things or that the champagne hadn’t been spiked with some hallucinogen.

She blinked over and over to be sure she wasn’t imagining Derin by her side.

“Derin?”

Her heart thudded in her chest at the sight of him.

Was it possible? It couldn’t be. The last she heard of him, he was a pilot in Kuwait or Dubai. She hadn’t been paying attention to Aunty Adesua’s unsolicited droning.

His lips quirked at the side in a small smile.
Who is smiling with this one? A part of her thought.

While another thought of how scrumptious he grew up to be at thirty-two. He sported a nice box beard, and he filled out his suit rather nicely. He was eye candy.

Really sweet eye candy.

This was turning out to be the gathering of the major men who hurt her – her father, Uncle Douere, Derin and Jacob – and she had hoped to serve them justice for the hurts they dealt on her one by one. But she didn’t plan for Derin. She didn’t expect she would see him again.

She had promised him he wouldn’t see her again, and she had intended to keep her promise to the day she died.

“It’s good to see you, Julia,” he said with a nervous laugh. “You’ve grown.”

She crossed her arms under her breasts and gave him a stink eye.

“What were you expecting? That I remain the naïve, little girl you left behind?” she gritted.

He inhaled deeply and said, “I deserved that. Julia, I’m really sorry. Sorry doesn’t begin to cover what I did to you, but I’m sorry nonetheless.”

His eyes darkened with remorse. She would have pitied him, but he was twelve years too late with his apology.

She let out a sough and shrugged. “It’s been twelve years. Let’s just bury the hatchet and pretend it never happened.”

He raised a brow. “For reals?”

She gave him the widest attempt at a genuine smile she could muster. “Yeah. I read grudges make you wrinkle faster, so I’m just doing this to preserve my beauty.”

He chuckled lightly, and her heart fluttered at the sound she had loved listening to. She scolded her heart and fought a frown.

“You don’t know how happy you’ve made me,” he said. “Thank you.”

Julia nodded.

“If you’ll excuse me, I have to greet some family friends,” she said and hugged him. He stood frozen in her embrace, and she whispered in his ear.

“You don’t know how good it is to see you again, Derin,” Julia said.

It’s payback time for everything you did to me.
She pulled away and kissed his cheeks twice.

“We should catch up sometime. Catch you later,” she said and gave him the same wave she had given everyone else.

Chapter Three

DERIN

Derin pulled his car into the driveway leading to the ostentatious building he called home. Chinagorom’s words rang in his ears as he drove all the way home. The conversation they had postponed till he was back in the country left him more puzzled than before he discussed with Chinagorom. Was he really broken as Chinagorom had suggested? As Miriam had hinted? He didn’t want to believe so. He swallowed and killed the engine, resolving to pray about it as he had told Chinagorom.

He got out of his car and walked up to the porch. A maid opened the door a few seconds after he rang the bell. He greeted the maid and asked about his mother. The maid informed him that his mother was in the living room. He joined his mother who was sketching in her little sketchbook. Derin smiled as he spotted her. Since he could remember, she was always sketching and doodling. Her stationery evolved from 2A notes and Bic pens to Bristol Board sketchbooks and graphite pencils.

She was one of the few people he knew who had job satisfaction. She had gone from an undervalued tailor to the creative director of a reputable couturier and fashion house. Talk about dreams coming true.

“Hi, Mum,” he greeted, and her face lit up with a smile as she looked up from her sketchbook.
Derin fell to half prostration in front of her before rising to press a kiss to her cheek.

“Derin,” she responded.

“How’s the most beautiful girl in the world doing?”

His mother scoffed and instructed him to save his charming lines for his future girlfriend. They exchanged pleasantries and shared how their days went. Derin managed to finagle a peek of his mother’s design from her sketchbook—something she rarely allowed.

“It’s beautiful.”

His mother scoffed and closed the book. “It’s not right.”

Derin said, “One thing I’ve learned from A.Y. is that an artist is his own biggest critic.”

His mother shrugged and said, “That reminds me. There’s a wake next week that I want you to attend with us. Maybe you’ll finally meet someone.”

Derin sighed. Since he returned from Qatar, his mother had been on the issue of him finding someone. It had barely been a week, and he was already weary of his return.

“Since when did wakes become the place to meet ladies?” Derin said, infusing humour into the conversation in hopes of curtailing the tirade he was certain would follow if he didn’t interject. “I thought it was weddings.”

His mother grimaced, scrunching up her nose. “Weddings have casted, jare.”

Derin chortled at his mother’s choice of words. He wrapped his arms around her, unable to stop himself from laughing.

“Mrs Cole, please don’t kill me,” he managed to say in between laughs. His mother joined him in laughter.

“Anyway,” she said after they recovered from their bout of laughter, “it’s Julia’s father’s wake. He passed on a few days ago.”

The mention of the five-letter name drained the moisture in his mouth. His heart pounded hard, sending a tremor down his body. His teeth chattered, and he clenched his jaws to quell it. His mother turned to look at him and interpreted his terror as shock. She informed him of how he passed on after a tragic heart attack and how shocking it was since he had gone through surgery and the doctors had said the surgery was successful.

“Who knows? My future daughter-in-law might be a guest at the wake,” his mother said.

Derin shrugged and scratched the back of his head, thinking of the perfect excuse.
“Mummy, I don’t think I’ll be able to attend. I have―”

“Spare me that nonsense, Aderinsola. You’re coming with us, and that’s final. You don’t go out, and when you do, it’s only to see your church friends. You need to mingle. Wife will not fall down from heaven o,” his mother said.

Derin pursed his lips and nodded. He excused himself and went up to his room, wanting to get far away from the get-a-wife discussion. He couldn’t tell his mother that he hadn’t had romantic feelings towards any woman in the past decade, not since…

The thought of Julia sent a rattling chill down his bones. Her tear-stained face came back to his head, and he shook his head. Those were dark times he was better off not recalling. He had been a foolish young lad led by his lustful affections and taking advantage of as many young women as he could all in the name of being a man. The blood-curdling arms of guilt wrapped themselves around him.

Can you imagine how filthy you were? Filthy and despicable.

The words whispered in his ears pushed him to utter a plea for mercy.

God, forgive me.

Can God really forgive you? The voice in his head added.

He swallowed as Chinagorom’s words when he had just given his life to Christ echoed in his head.

Anytime you hear words that exalt your past above what God has already done for you, that is the voice of condemnation and not the Holy Ghost.

Derin jerked and recited one of the first scriptures he memorised as a Christian.
“If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness. The Lord is just and faithful to forgive me whenever I confess my sins.”
He spoke the same words over and over again till he didn’t hear the eerie voice again.

He sighed and thought about how to avoid attending the wake. If not for any reason, he wasn’t ready to face Julia again. What would she even say when she saw him?

Probably ask the guards to throw me out on my ear.

He shook his head. He’d rather deal with his mother’s indignation than face Julia. He’d probably cook up an excuse and…

Go and ask for her forgiveness.

Derin frowned at the soft whisper in his heart.
Which her? he asked mentally. My mother? Or Julia?

A deep knowing in his heart told him the latter was the answer. Something skyrocketed in his chest, and the air became too heavy to breathe in. He swallowed and shivered. His teeth chattered, and he shook his head. Julia would rather kill him than forgive him. And he would rather face a firing squad than Julia Azazi-Onoja.

***

Derin twiddled his thumbs and wiped his palms with his handkerchief over and over again as his heart banged with a sporadic rhythm in his chest. The throb in his throat echoed the arrhythmic dance of his heart. He raised his hand to his neck trying to loosen his tie. Maybe that was what he was choking on. His knuckles only grazed his Adam’s apple.
He took in a deep breath as he recalled he wasn’t wearing a tie. The jasmine air freshener filled his lungs as he sucked in the air and cracked his knuckles. His teeth chattered, and he didn’t realise till his driver asked if he was cold.

Derin managed a small smile and said he wasn’t.

He sighed and leaned his head back in his seat.

Old habits die hard.

His teeth had been chattering too that night. She had thought him to be cold, and she hugged him. An innocent move on her part, but it had fanned the flames of lust that burned in him for her. He had taken advantage of her innocence and dumped her without looking back.

How was she supposed to forgive him?

He couldn’t even forgive himself.

Yet, God expected him to ask for her forgiveness.

“Jesus,” he called under his breath. “I don’t think I can do this.”

Her sobbing face reappeared behind his eyes, and something jagged rent his heart. He couldn’t do it. He knew it was the right thing to do—to beg and grovel for her forgiveness for breaking her heart and abandoning her—but he was scared. He was scared that he would never get it.

With man, it is impossible. With Me, all things are possible.

Derin gasped at the words that echoed in his ears. He drummed his fingers on his lap and decided to lunge into the deep before contemplating whether or not he would make a catch. His driver drove through the impressive, dark, wrought iron gates of Uncle Douye’s Eko Atlantic mansion after presenting the armed guards with his invitation.

He found a spot, and Derin took a deep breath before stepping out into the golden-hued, humid evening. Sleek, state-of-the-art cars—new models and limited editions—dotted the expansive, stone-paved courtyard. No doubt, the crème de la crème of Lagos and Abuja had come to pay their last respects. He shook his head as he spotted his parents’ Rolls-Royce Cullinan.

She made good on her words.

We are taking the Royce. God forbid somebody outshines us.

She also ordered expensive flower arrangements and the entire menu of a luxurious patisserie. Despite her need not to be outdone, she cared genuinely for Aunt Sophia. His mother had started out as the daughter of a maid in the Azazi-Onoja household. Being an only child, Aunt Sophia had taken his mother as a sister and her life changed. The Azazi-Onojas sponsored her through school and eventually fashion school. They also secured a good match for her and paired her with a man who came from old money.

He chuckled, remembering his mother’s sayings. Only old money can be trusted.
Together with Aunt Sophia, they owned one of the largest fashion houses and couturiers in Nigeria. He stalked off to the large portico with the glass front doors with wrought iron vines.
Here goes nothing.

The usherettes in uniform black dresses smiled at him and welcomed him in unison. He nodded at them, and one of them handed him a program of events. He thanked her and walked in.

Right opposite the front door, in the centre of the grand foyer, stood a large canvas painting of the deceased on a flower-decorated easel. Beside it was a circular, glass, foyer entry table with a condolence book.

The grand double staircase bannisters were decorated with white flowers and green garlands and the white marble floors gleamed, reflecting the golden crystal chandelier hanging from the double-height ceiling. The perfume lingering in the air told him the flowers were natural. Derin pursed his lips and walked up to the foyer table.

Scrawls, chicken scratches and cursives filled the pages with heartfelt words of condolences, prayers for the bereaved and tributes to the deceased. He wasn’t exactly close to Uncle Douye or his first family. Derin had chatted with him quite often before the divorce, but after the divorce, his mother declared him persona non grata. That meant no greeting, no talking to, no nothing. All that was before Julia came to live with his family. His heart thudded at the thought of those days.

He had grown up with Julia. They played together as children, and they maintained a somewhat civil relationship when they crossed on to be tweens. Everything was fine till that year. Julia was taken out of the boarding school and placed in his mother’s care. His mother thought him responsible and asked him to look after her. Not knowing she had asked the fox to guard the hen house.

He gulped and scribbled a simple Rest in Peace, Uncle Douye.

Derin strode into the living room where most of the guests were, following the direction of an usher. An instrumental version of Franz Schubert’s Ave Maria played from speakers he didn’t see. Most of the guests wore morose looks as they held wine glasses and champagne flutes and pretended to be sombre as they gossiped. The room was obviously divided into two–guests of Aunt Sophia and guests of Uncle Douye’s first wife.
He knew he would never hear the end of it if he greeted Uncle Douye’s wife first, so he walked up to Uncle Douye’s aged mother and greeted her. The old woman with tears in her eyes nodded and thanked him. Luckily for him, Uncle Douye’s first wife was being consoled by a family, so he turned to Aunt Sophia who sat with his parents and her husband.

“My condolences, Aunt Sophia,” he greeted.
She gave him a small smile, socially practised and befitting of a well-brought-up lady of society who was mourning her husband. Aunt Sophia was always one for propriety. She looked the epitome of a graceful mourning woman. With her minimalist makeup, black and silver damask boubou with an elegant turban, Aunt Sophia looked like she was headed for a royal funeral and wound up at the wrong venue. But that was Aunt Sophia; she dressed to be outstanding.

He greeted Uncle Ameh before walking off to greet Aunty Ebiere, Uncle Douye’s first wife. If anyone needed consoling and condolences it was her. She was the one who lost a husband, not Aunt Sophia. From what he gathered from his mother, a letter entrusted to Uncle Douye’s best friend containing burial and other instructions was read a few days ago. It demanded the attendance of all members of the family, and that was the only reason Aunt Sophia was in attendance.

He walked around greeting a few acquaintances who ran in his social circles, all the while trying to find in the small gathering the real person he had come to see.

After scouring the living room, dining, terrace and garden where the guests were for close to an hour, Derin came to the conclusion Julia wasn’t in attendance, and she probably wasn’t going to come.

A wave of relief crashed over him, loosening the tension in his shoulders. He wasn’t ready to face her yet. He could have a lifetime and he doubted he would be able to face her.
“A glass of cream soda, please.”

The bartender nodded and poured him a tumbler of cream soda.

“Why won’t you come on?” the lady beside him gritted and slammed her iPhone on the table.
He turned to look at her, and she glared at him with her startling blue contacts.

“What?” she snarled.

He shrugged and apologised.

She sighed, a long loud one, and said, “I’m the one who should be sorry. I shouldn’t yell at strangers.”

“And iPhones too,” he added.

She chuckled lightly. “Yeah. I’m sorry.”

“All’s forgiven,” he said and took a sip of his drink.

“I’m Tariebi Hans-Okubo,” she said and stretched out her hand.

He shook it. “You’re the daughter of the deceased?”

She smiled and shook her head. “His niece. I’m his younger brother’s daughter. Uncle Douye only had one daughter, and I pray, for the peace and sanity of this place, that she doesn’t show up.”

Julia?

“Why would you say that?” he asked with a frown marring his forehead.

“Let’s just say she doesn’t get along with anyone in the family. Plus, she ruined Preye’s wedding dress the night before her wedding just because Preye’s fiancé happened to be her ex. Poor Preye had to walk down the aisle in a Donna Karan white evening dress.
Everyone was expecting Julia to let it go, but then it served Preye right. The hussy is in the habit of stealing everyone’s men,” Tariebi gushed with the speed of a professional gossip.

A lady walked up to them and greeted them.
Tariebi hugged her and whined a saccharine greeting. “Hi. It’s so good to see you, Preye.”

Derin raised a brow. So this is the Preye? She was petite, and her tight off-the-shoulder, short, black, blazer dress hugged every dip of her curves. He tore his eyes away, and she smirked at him with hooded eyes.

“I don’t believe we’ve been introduced. I’m Tamunopreye Ikedinobi,” she said and stretched out her hand. He gave her a small smile and shook her hand briefly.

“Derin,” he said.

“Well, it’s lovely to meet you, Derin,” she said in a sultry tone and held onto his hand longer than necessary with her finger making a pattern on the heel of his palm.

Tariebi’s gossip seemed to have some fact.

“Preye dear, your husband is looking this way. You wouldn’t want him to think you’re flirting around with another man so soon after your rather grand wedding,” Tariebi advised.

Preye gave a tight-lipped smile full of scorn and walked away.

“Told you she’s a hussy,” Tariebi said and sipped her drink.

“What about Julia?” Derin blurted. Tariebi swirled her drink before answering. Derin hoped he didn’t come off as too inquisitive.

Tariebi shrugged. “There’s not much to tell about Julia. She’s got a temper, and she doesn’t give a shit about anybody. Not her mother. Not her father. Not anybody. I won’t be surprised if she doesn’t even show up for the burial. Almost everyone here is present because the silly letter demanded it. Julia was already settled inter vivos, plus she inherited a boatload of money from her mother’s gazillionaire parents, so it doesn’t matter if she doesn’t get her inheritance. The selfish witch will probably do it to spite the rest of us. Particularly Uncle Douere. Rumour has it his company is on the verge of insolvency, and he’s banking on his share of his inheritance to get some dangerous creditors off his back.

“Julia knows this, and I can bet you if she doesn’t show, he’s the reason for her absence. Not after what I heard went down between them.”

Tariebi leaned in conspiratorially and whispered in his ear, “I heard he abused her as a child.”

Derin pulled away, frowning. No such thing happened to Julia. They told each other everything, and Julia would have told him if she had been abused. Unless it happened after they broke up. He doubted it.

Murmurs filled the room, and he looked up. His heart stopped at the sight of her.

Oh God.

She had grown. He had avoided looking her up on social media to avoid the memories of their tumultuous relationship and their even whirlwind breakup.

She was taller now. Thinner too. Her acne had disappeared, or maybe her flawless face was the handiwork of makeup. Either way, she was still beautiful.

And she was in red.

“Hello, everyone,” she hollered in a singsong manner.

“Wow. This beat my expectations,” Tariebi tittered.

Julia stood at the doorway to the living room with a huge grin, one hand raised and her fingers repeatedly moving downwards toward the palm in some form of wave. She blew a kiss to her grandmother, gave a wiggly finger wave to Preye and winked at Preye’s husband.

“Derin, get ready for Hans-Okubo daytime family drama, season four episode one,” Tariebi said and downed her wine.

***

HELEN

Helen strolled through the aisles of Palladium, indulging herself in her weekly dose of window shopping. She had already purchased the pair of heels she wanted, but she couldn’t help but look at the other pretty items on display. It was her obsession. She fawned over the clothes on racks and the gadgets displayed on shelves. Her wandering eyes and obedient legs led her to her favourite department of the store—the baby and children department.

She found the baby onesies and outfits so cute and irresistible. She stared at the clothes on the racks, and a grin pasted itself on her face. A vivid image formed itself in her head—her little daughter in the frilly pink gown hanging from a glitter hanger. She giggled at her imagination and weaved through the aisles in the department till she came across a white baby crib.

The exquisite craftsmanship and chic decoration caught her eye, and she moved closer to the crib. The ellipse-shaped crib was draped with a fuchsia mesh canopy with matching glittery 3D butterfly applique. The bedding, knot baby bumper and butterfly-shaped pillows in the crib, a matching shade of fuchsia, screamed boujee. The thought of purchasing the cot filled her head. While she weighed the pros and cons of giving into her impulsive purchasing spree, a voice called her name.

Helen looked up, and the smile on her face wilted.

“Emmy,” she greeted with all the enthusiasm she could muster, which was not a lot.

Emmy, sporting a huge grin and a huger baby bump, sauntered toward Helen. Helen tried to hide her shock at the sight of Emmy’s pregnancy. Emmy was a colleague at the airline she used to work at four years ago. They weren’t exactly friends. Helen was her boss, and they didn’t have the best working relationship. In Helen’s opinion, Emmy was incompetent and only had her job because of the lousy thing called nepotism. Helen didn’t fail to let Emmy know how incompetent she was. And Emmy didn’t fail to let Helen know she hated her. She had heard when she relocated to Abuja that Emmy had been the one to take her position.

Emmy pulled Helen into an unsolicited hug, and Helen had to feign excitement.

“It’s so good to see you,” Emmy said.
Helen smiled, not wanting to lie. She would rather have LASTMA drama than have this reunion with Emmy.

“How many years has it been?” Emmy asked.
Helen shrugged and busied her mind searching for an excuse to escape this greeting.

“When I saw you in front of a baby cot, I was shocked, because I didn’t hear that you had gotten married. Congratulations on the wedding and the baby,” Emmy goaded.

Helen resisted the urge to lie and accept the congratulations. “I’m not married. I was just admiring the crib.”

Emmy pouted with a mock look of pity. “Oh, I didn’t mean to assume.”

Helen gave a tight-lipped smile and nodded.

She gave a flimsy excuse and bade Emmy bye. The sooner she got away, the better for both of them. As she made her way away from the baby department, Emmy called her name. Helen heaved a sigh before turning around to face Emmy with a saccharine smile.

“Yes, Emmy?” Helen said.

“Just a little unsolicited advice. If you want to keep a man and get married, you should try being a bit forgiving.”

With those words, Emmy spun around and traipsed away, no doubt feeling fly for leaving Helen come-backless. Helen stood in her wake, gobsmacked and stupefied, unable to believe Emmy had given her such a low blow.

Tears welled up in her eyes. She clenched her jaws as she regained the ability to control her legs. She stirred herself to her car and wept as she drove home.

Chapter Two

JULIA

Julia panted and smiled at the thrill of her masturbation session. She rolled out of bed and walked into her bathroom. She cleaned her toy and placed it back in its sterile storage bag until her next use. Scrolling through her Instagram feed as she sat on the toilet to do her business, a post from her ex-best friend stopped her in her tracks.

Reggie’s face was devoid of makeup, and her flawless skin was sun-kissed. The picture was captioned with a verse of a hymn she had sung all too well while in the Christian all-girls boarding secondary school she had attended.

T’is the voice of that Saviour,
Whose merciful call
Freely offers salvation
To one and to all;
He is now beck’ning to Him
Each sin-tainted soul,
And lovingly asking,
Wilt thou be made whole

Julia blinked. Regina’s hurtful words returned to her with a nasty echo.

This is something I should have done a long time ago. Julia, we can’t be friends anymore. One can’t sit beside fire and not reek of smoke or feel the heat. You’re not healthy for my walk with God.

Julia kissed her teeth. Where had Regina’s religion led her to in the past? She had been stuck with a treacherous friend and living her life to please her fellowship members and to fit in with them. She’d come back crawling.
This Jesus razzmatazz was only a phase. Once it was over, she’d have her friend back.
Julia showered and got ready for Salma’s house party. It was time to let her hair down and have fun. Nothing screamed fun more than a party, and Salma knew how to throw a party.

***

Julia smiled at the guy she was dancing with as Burna Boy’s Killing Dem came on. As they both gbese’d, Julia knew two things—one, this DJ was going to play at whatever party she would be hosting next, and two, it had been too long since she danced this hard. They both laughed and continued dancing. The song switched to a more sensual number, they drew closer to each other, undulating and grinding against each other. The guy wrapped his hands around her waist and whispered in her ear. An unbidden memory came back to her head. Julia shuddered and drew away from the guy.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

She shook her head and gave him a huge smile.

“I need a drink,” she said and walked towards the makeshift bar beside the pool.

Why did he come back to her head? And twice in one week, at that. She hissed and weaved through the dancing bodies. This was all Liam’s fault. If he hadn’t cheated, she wouldn’t have remembered that scumbag. She shook her head again and ordered herself to relish the euphoria of the moment and not reminisce on the misery of her past.

A few metres from the bar, a force pulled her arm and turned her around. Her shock gave way to indignation as she came face to face with Liam. His frown told her he had received the token of her retribution, and that gave her satisfaction. Did he really think he could hurt her and get away with it?

“How could you?” he asked in a growl.

Julia sniggered. “How could I? How could I what?”

“Don’t play coy with me, Julia,” Liam shouted.
“You know how much the Shindara project meant to me, and you did this?”

Of course, she did. She had to hit him where it hurt the most. He had been contacted by an international director to star in a docudrama on drug trafficking in Nigeria, and she knew the truth about his past with drugs was just the kind of thing that could make him lose the slot.

“You should have thought about that before you cheated and got engaged behind my back.”

He shook his head. “You’re despicable.”

Julia scoffed. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

“You know what? I don’t regret being with Rebekah. I’ll bounce back from this. But you? You’ll remain pathetic, empty and alone. I can see why Regina left you. She saw the light, and I’m glad I can see it now.”

He turned away, but his words stabbed Julia in the chest. Not wanting to let him have the final say, she yelled a scandalous expletive at his retreating back. Unsatisfied, Julia made her way back to the man she was dancing with earlier and whispered an indecent invitation in his ears. He smiled at her, and she led him to one of the spare rooms in Salma’s mansion.
Her? Pathetic? She was Julia Onoja. She was beautiful, brilliant and successful. She could have any man she wanted. She owned a successful venture capital business and had more money than she could do with in one lifetime. She wasn’t pathetic. She was envied, her lifestyle coveted.

If anyone was pathetic, it was him. She spoke these words to herself till the truth of them resonated in her head.

***

SOPHIA

Sophia enjoyed reading books about power. They were the only things she loved more than power itself. 48 Laws of Power, The Art of War, The Prince and The Art of Seduction were her favourites. She rarely invested her time in anything that wouldn’t boost her power or teach her to gain more of it.

“Sophia,” her father had said, quoting Mario Puzo, “power is the only thing.”

She had learned as a child while being beaten at chess by her father that life was all about how much power you had. The weak, poor and downtrodden didn’t understand that and that was why they remained at the bottom. Power was to be coveted more than money and protected more than a candle flame on a dark, windy night. But there was one thing that her father taught her that she could never forget:
Be wary of the one who has power over you. He is your enemy, and in this dog-eat-dog world, he’s a bigger dog that can tear you to pieces. You don’t challenge a bigger dog. You befriend it. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. That way, you learn all its weaknesses.

Long before now, she predicted the impulsive move she made to cover up her crime would return to be a pain in the neck, and just in preparation, she had Matthew, her fixer, find out Veronica’s thumbscrew.

Veronica made a mistake thinking she could try to exploit her. What she didn’t realise was that she had declared herself an enemy. And Sophia Azazi-Onoja always crushed her enemies to fine powder.

Sophia pulled away from the window seat and returned the leather-bound copy of Machiavelli’s The Prince to its place in her pristine bookcase. She returned to her desk and took off her reading glasses.

“Matthew, she threatened me.”

Matthew Solomon’s lips remained in a flat line, passive just like the rest of his face. His eyes, however, were alert, keen on listening.

“You know I don’t take well to threats. She gave me an ultimatum. I want her crushed before then,” she said.

Matthew cleared his throat. His raspy voice filled the room as he said, “Crushed or pulverised?”

Sophia smirked in appreciation of his foresight and asked, “What do you think?”

“She’ll become dust. Don’t worry,” he said and stood. He inclined his head in greeting and turned to leave.

Just before he got to the door, she stopped him. “Matthew.”

He stopped and turned to face her.

“Be a dear and show no mercy.”

He nodded and left.

Sophia sighed in relief and leaned back in her chair. She smiled in gratitude to her late father who had introduced her to Matthew and his business of cleaning up loose ends. She left the room to meet her best friend, Adesua.

Adesua was fiddling with her phone when Sophia rejoined her. Sophia smiled at the lady who was the closest thing to a sister to her.

“What has you all giddy?” Sophia asked as she sat.

Adesua flipped her natural, mid-back length locks over one shoulder and passed Sophia her phone.

“Doesn’t Julia look charming?”

Sophia’s chest tightened as she stared at the picture of her daughter. Her wide grin took Sophia aback. She couldn’t recall the last time she saw a picture of her daughter smiling. Most of the pictures her private investigator managed to snag were of Julia conducting mundane, daily tasks. A small smile formed on her lips without her realising it.

“She’s so gorgeous. Like her mother.”

Adesua’s words were all it took to break the ambivalence that held Sophia spellbound. She schooled her features and passed the phone back to Adesua.

“Who else would she take after? The Azazi-Onoja bloodline is filled with beauties,” Sophia said and took a sip of the chardonnay in her glass.

“I can certainly agree,” Adesua said.

A few moments of silence passed, punctuated by the clack of Adesua’s nails against her phone screen.

“How exactly did you find the picture?” Sophia asked with an air of indifference. If it was some blog or social media account, she would gladly stalk it to catch a glimpse of her daughter.

Adesua told her Julia had sent the picture to her. Sophia’s chest smarted at that revelation. She cleared her throat and picked up a green grape from the fruit platter before them. Pursing her lips, she hoped her jealousy wasn’t evident.

Adesua placed a hand on her knee. “Are the two of you still feuding?”

“She’s just an insolent, spoiled brat as faithless as her father,” Sophia replied.

“Are you sure you didn’t offend her?”

Sophia threw her friend a stink eye just as her personal phone rang.

Grateful for the distraction, she checked the caller ID. Only very few people had her private phone number, and she had all their numbers. Seeing a strange number was … strange. She shrugged and answered the call.

“Hello, who is this?” Sophia asked, without wasting a beat.

“Am I speaking to Mrs Sophia Azazi-Onoja?” the deep voice on the other end of the line asked.

“Yes. This is she. Who am I speaking with?”

“Good evening. I am Ibiso Hans-Okubo. My father had a heart attack this morning, and he asked to see you.”

Sophia frowned. Douye wanted to see her? Was he breathing his last? Even if he was, what was her business?

Adesua mouthed, “Who is it?”

Sophia raised her hand and continued speaking. “I’m sorry, but I’m a busy woman, and my schedule is―”

“I know this is abrupt, and the circumstances between you and my father are not…palatable, but if you could spare him a few moments of your time, he would be really grateful.”

Sophia pursed her lips, considering whether it was really worth it to see the man who pierced her through with many sorrows again. Maybe this was a boon from karma, showing her that Douye was paying for the sins he committed against her.

“Fine. I’ll be there. Text me the details of the hospital,” Sophia said and hung up.

***

Sophia paced in the waiting room trying to grasp the entire situation and plan her next line of action. Ebiere, her ex-husband’s wife, sat on the floor wailing, and Sophia resisted the urge to roll her eyes at the melodramatic display of impropriety.

“Money can’t buy breeding,” her mother always said, and it was evident in Ebiere.

She still wondered what Douye saw in her.

“Douye, this was not our agreement,” the woman wailed.

Sophia scoffed. Could Douye ever keep a promise?

It was advised that one shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, but all she had in her towards him was malevolent feelings. The only thing she got out of their twelve-year-old marriage was Julia, her daughter, and Douye had managed to turn Julia against her.

I hope you don’t find rest, Douye. I pray you rot in hell for all eternity.

“Sophia.”

She turned at the mention of her name. Her husband, Ameh, walked up to her and hugged her. She inhaled the heady, spicy fragrance of his Murdock London Patchouli Cologne as she hugged him tight.

Ameh was the best decision she ever made. She never regretted marrying him, and he had proven to be her rock and stay. He wouldn’t leave her for some stupid reason that made no sense like Douye had.

She pulled away and stared up at him. His eyes were bloodshot and puffy. No doubt it had been a long night for him.

“I was in surgery when your text came in. I came as soon as I saw it. Are you okay?” he asked.

She smiled. Even with how tired he was he still put her first—something Douye never did. She was glad she found a man like Ameh, and in her next life, she would seek and want him alone.

“I’m fine. Douye means nothing to me, but he’s the father of my daughter. And I know how much he means to Julia. I’ve been trying to get through to her, but she isn’t answering. I can’t begin to imagine how devastated she’ll be.”
Despite Douye’s faults in their divorce, Julia blamed her. Julia preferred him. Despite everything she did to make Julia happy, he was still the one she loved most.

And that was her singular sorrow.

Douye not only stole her joy and thirteen years of her life, he stole the one thing her money and influence couldn’t get her—her daughter’s love—and she would never forgive him.

“Do you want to try my phone? I doubt she has my number.”

Sophia nodded and collected his phone. She dialled her daughter’s number by heart and crossed her fingers as she waited to be connected.

“Hello, who is this?” Julia’s voice came through the earpiece less than five seconds after the second ring.

Sophia ignored the ache in her chest and said in a tone as steely as she could achieve to mask her hurt, “Julia, this is your mother.”

Ameh placed his hand on her shoulder.

“Take it easy,” he mouthed.

Sophia nodded just as Julia retorted, “Wow. You were so desperate to talk to me that you bought a new SIM?”

Julia snickered, mocking her, and Sophia swallowed, wincing in hurt. It had been six months since she last heard her daughter’s voice, and this was what she was hearing.

“Julia, this isn’t the time for theatrics. Your father is dead.”

“What are you saying? I spoke to him yesterday.”

Tears bit her eyes, and her hatred for Douye deepened.

“He,” she started and cleared her throat to ease the tears lodged in it, “had a heart attack this morning, and he died a few hours after he got out of surgery.”

“Wow. Interesting,” Julia said with a yawn.

“That’s all you’re going to say?” Sophia asked with her eyes widened with shock.

“Um, what were you expecting? My condolences? I couldn’t care less that he’s dead. Heck, I don't even care if you die. Can you just get off the phone and let me sleep?” Julia said.

Sophia didn’t miss the irritation in her daughter’s voice.

“Are you being serious?” Sophia said
Julia scoffed and said, “Apparently, you’re hard of hearing.”

The line went dead and Sophia pulled the phone away from her ear to see the screen alit with the words “Call Ended” and a dialogue box stating the airtime charges for the call.
Sophia swallowed.

That was not the reaction she was expecting. She was expecting anger and anguish, not indifference. It would seem she didn’t even love Douye. But Douye always bragged about her loving him and telling him what was going on in her life. Douye had known about her venture capital business before her private investigator found out. Douye had known her Banana Island address before her PI. Douye knew a lot of things she paid hard money to know.

If she was so close to him, and she had acted indifferently, how would she react at the news of her own death?

Sophia shuddered at the thought of being estranged from Julia till her last days. That would be a heartache she would never heal from.

HELEN

Helen’s mouth turned sour as bile permeated her entire system. Her brain told her to scroll on to the next post, but her eyes were fixed on the picture before her and her thumb froze. The picture of the couple on the screen sent a tremor down her spine. Helen enlarged the picture to get a good look at the engagement ring the man was sliding onto the lady’s ring finger. It was nothing less than four carats. It wasn’t the size of the rock that got to Helen. It was the person getting engaged.

In what world did Elizabeth get engaged before her? Elizabeth just finished serving, and she was getting married? Just like that? And to none other than the son of a former governor?
It wasn’t fair. Not at all.

Helen sighed as the door outside her stall banged open.

“Did you hear that Elizabeth got engaged?” a female voice said.

“Whoever didn’t see the reel is probably not on social media,” a voice Helen was certain belonged to Ogechi answered.

The first lady squealed, “I go love o. It was her dress and the ring for me.”

Helen sighed and stepped out of the stall. The flight attendants turned to smile at Helen.

“Hi, Helen,” they greeted and continued touching up their faces.

Helen smiled back and washed her hands as fast as she could to escape the restroom. She walked away as soon as she finished drying her hands with a paper napkin to avoid any small talk. Running to the sanctuary that was her office, she struggled not to recall not to think about the viral engagement or the fact that her marriage would have been four years today if it had pushed through. She swallowed as she walked around her desk to her chair.

Trying hard but failing to suppress the ache in her chest, her mind wandered back to that day four years ago, and tears stung her eyes. People said time healed all wounds. Why was hers only getting worse with each year?

God, help me, please.

***

SOPHIA

Sophia Azazi-Onoja helped herself out of the hospital gown and back into her Chloé tailored suit. She picked up her Michael Kors handbag and walked out of the changing room. Her assistant, Athaliah, collected her purse as soon as she crossed the threshold of the changing room. The young lady informed the older woman that the doctor said the results of her checkup would be out in a week, and that he would schedule her for an appointment following the results of the test.

Sophia made it a habit to get a full body checkup twice a year since cancer sprung up on her over a decade ago. January and August were the scariest months in her year. She dreaded the prodding and poking that came with the medical examinations. She feared the week it took to get the results of all the tests conducted. Those seven days shook her and left her terrified and hoping she did not have another incurable disease.

Sophia nodded and asked for her schedule for the rest of the day. Athaliah pulled out an iPad from her bag and pulled up Sophia’s schedule without faltering or breaking the assigned rule of always staying one step behind Sophia. Athaliah listed out all of Sophia’s engagements as they rode the elevator down to the parking lot of the hospital. Her assigned bodyguard got out of the passenger seat and opened the door to the right, back seat as Sophia got to her Cadillac Escalade. The SUV drove out of the hospital and headed towards Ikoyi.

One of Sophia’s phones rang, and her assistant answered with her calm, distant yet polite voice.

“You’ve reached the official line of Sophia Azazi-Onoja. How may I help you?”

Sophia busied herself with going through the draft her speechwriter sent her while her assistant dealt with the call. She circled an entire paragraph and left a comment instructing him to bin the paragraph. She was delivering a speech at a NUPENG conference, and humour was not her style at such events.

“I’m sorry, but Mrs Azazi-Onoja is unavailable to answer any calls right now. If you leave a message, I assure you it will get to her,” Athaliah responded to whoever was on the line.

She went silent again and said, “Madam, I’m sorry, but she can’t answer calls right now―”

Athaliah sighed, pulling the phone away from her ear and covering the mouthpiece.
“Ma’am, she said to tell you that she’s Veronica Asomugha, and the name is supposed to ring a bell.”

Sophia looked up from her speech and frowned. Why was Veronica calling her after twelve years? She had paid her off with a whooping sum of ten million naira after she buried the story. She had bought her silence and instructed her to never show her face again.

“I’ll take it,” Sophia said and collected the phone from Athaliah. “Hello.”

“Ahh. Mrs Azazi-Onoja, good afternoon. Longest time―”

“Spare me the hypocritical pleasantries and go straight to why you called me,” Sophia snarled.

“Madam, no dey talk like that nau. You see ehn, the money wey you give me don finish. This economy is not smiling at all.”

Sophia swallowed hard and rubbed the bridge of her nose. Was this wretch trying to finagle money out of her? Did she know she had dealt with militants before, and she hadn’t been swayed by their unjustified demands?

“The long and short be say I need fifty million naira, ma. You know somebody go factor this recession and the price of dollar. In fact, Madam, I just use that one help you. I know say oil price dey fall.”

Sophia chuckled and said, “E be like say you don knack head for ground. Shi shi like this, I’m not giving you.”

Her use of pidgin elicited a soft gasp from Athaliah. Sophia ignored it and continued, “Do you understand me? Now take your exploitation elsewhere before I have the police arrest you and show you what hell fire looks like.”

The girl laughed and said, “Madam, you funny o. Bovi na your broda abi? See, I’m not playing here. If I don’t receive the money this week, I will tell the whole world everything.”

Sophia’s heart lurched.

“From the pregnancy to how you disposed of the baby. Everything like this I will sing it like keneri. I don talk am for English make you understand am well well. I go send my account number now,” the girl said and hung up.
Sophia gritted her teeth and handed the phone back to Athaliah.

“Madam, is everything all right?”

No. A bloodsucking, disgraced journalist is blackmailing me.

She turned and gave her a small smile.

“Yes. It’s just a blithering fly who thinks its buzzing wings will intimidate the spider. Call Matthew for me. Tell him I have work for him,” Sophia said.

She twiddled her Mont-Blanc pen and tried to focus on the justified paragraph in front of her. The black words looked like gibberish to her, and all she remembered was that evening when she made the worst decision of her life, after marrying her first husband. Sophia wasn’t sure whether the goose bumps that carpeted her arms were a result of the chill of the vehicle or the memories of the grave crime she committed. She shook her head, not wanting to go down that rabbit hole. Matthew would have to take care of it. That was the only solution.

***

DERIN

“What do you think about long-distance relationships?” the lady Amira had introduced to him as Zara said.

Derin looked up from his food and saw in her eyes a look he was far too acquainted with—a look that spelt attraction and interest. Two things he didn’t need from any woman right now.

Before he could open his mouth to reply, Karim, one of his colleagues, burst into boisterous laughter, and the rest of the table followed suit. Derin raised a brow, wondering whether he missed the source of amusement. Or was there something on his face?

Karim clarified Derin’s confusion when he guffawed, “Derin doesn’t date, habibti. He’s happily married to his work and God. If he were Catholic, I would have said he’s going back home to take the vows to become a priest.”

“Nah,” Jenny said, “he probably has a Nigerian wife waiting for him back home. Many Nigerian guys are like that. They always have wives back home. Only a few like Derin remain faithful.”

A few grains of rice went down the wrong pipe, and Derin coughed and reached for his glass of water. The opinions of his colleagues shocked the food in his mouth away from his throat.

Me? A monk? A married man?

Adnan, his co-pilot, patted his back as he coughed. The table told him sorry, and he nodded as the burning in his throat eased. Jenny changed the subject to how the entire cabin crew would miss him, and Derin could not be more grateful. Zara lowered her eyes and picked at her biryani with her shoulders hunched in embarrassment. He pitied her, but he couldn’t consider a relationship with her. Long distance or otherwise.

Despite how cliche it sounded; it wasn’t her. It was him. Somehow, he had lost any interest in getting involved romantically with any woman. A few times, he wondered if something was wrong with him biologically and emotionally. If he wasn’t aware of the past he had, he would have said he was aromantic. Over the past five years, he had tried to be in three relationships and failed. Miriam, his last girlfriend, who was a clinical therapist, had told him he probably had some trauma in his past that made him emotionally unavailable, and till he resolved it, he couldn’t have and maintain a relationship.
He wasn’t sure how true that was.

His colleagues regaled him with tales of how he had helped them in the past and the reasons they would miss him. Derin couldn’t help the ambivalence in his heart. He would miss them too. That was certain. He would miss everything about working in Qatar. It had been a beautiful five years, but the Lord had other plans. The festivities continued, and he tried his best to enjoy the last few moments he had with them.

A few hours later, he left Karim’s house, where his send-off party had been hosted, and boarded a cab back to his apartment in the heart of Doha. It was summer, and the streets were filled with tourists savouring the nightlife of Qatar. Despite the glamour and comfort of the city, a part of him was glad to return home, to be closer to his family and close friends. Five years ago, he was thrilled to be in a new country and a pilot for an international airline.

However, the years had taught him the truth of the Yoruba proverb—ajo o le dabi ile. He was glad to be returning home. His friends had teased him that the japa blood was not him. He was returning to the country at a time when many Nigerians were looking to emigrate from the country. With a smile on his face, he put an audio call through to his best friend on WhatsApp. The call was declined, and a text notification descended from the top of his screen.

Can’t talk now. I’m wrapping a few things up at church. I’ll call you in the next 15 minutes.
Derin thumbed an okay in response. A couple of minutes later, he was back in his apartment. He took a quick shower and listened to a track from Hillsong United’s latest album, People. The song Whole Heart, featuring TAYA, had been on repeat for the past three weeks. It reminded him of the grace God bestowed on his life, and how lucky he was to have been saved from the kind of life he led as a teenager and young adult.

Just as the song was about to hit his favourite lines, the music got caught off by an incoming call from Chinagorom. Derin smiled and answered the call.

“My guy, how far nau?” Chinagorom greeted.

“I dey o. I can’t wait for next tomorrow. I’m itching to be back in Nigeria already,” Derin said, and Chinagorom burst into laughter.

“Don’t let your country people hear you sha. What’s up? You rarely call.”

“Can’t I change?”

Chinagorom gave a sarcastic scoff and said, “Guy, abeg, talk in the future possible tense.”
Derin chuckled and said, “You no well. I just wanted to remind you that you are my ride from the airport.”

“Noted, Captain Aderinsola Cole.”

They chatted a bit about the mid-week service Chinagorom left before he called Derin and the send-off dinner his colleagues had put together for him.

“There was this babe there that wanted to use style to chyke me,” Derin said to Chinagorom as he walked into the kitchen to grab a bottle of water.

“Oshey, hot kek,” Chinagorom teased.

“Shut up,” Derin responded, and Chinagorom burst into laughter. “China, I think something is wrong with me. Honestly, is it normal that I don’t desire marriage or any romantic relationship with anyone at my age? The last lady I met at church and tried to go out with told me I have past issues to deal with and that I am emotionally unavailable.”

“Hmmm.”

Derin hated that sigh and how portentous it was. With Chinagorom, it meant there was a lot to unpack, and he didn’t want to believe so. He was normal. He didn’t have any past trauma as Miriam put it.

Flashes of his last relationship before he left Nigeria flashed behind his eyes, and he gulped the water to wash the memories away. Those were his darkest and lowest days, and he hated recalling them.

“Guy, let’s talk when you’re back in the country. When we see face to face, we’ll be able to talk well.

Derin sighed and hummed his acquiescence before they exchanged byes and ended the call.

***

Chapter One

JULIA

2019

Julia placed the pack of condoms on the checkout counter, laughing at what Liam whispered in her ear. She grinned and turned to kiss him on the lips, not caring if the mother of two beside her would shrivel to death. Liam chuckled at her audacity and withheld a gasp as the woman’s daughter sounded out the word fiesta.

“Mummy, is that sweet?” the little girl asked, pointing at the pack of condoms on the counter.

Julia flirted with her boyfriend as they waited for the checkout clerk to finish ringing up the woman’s purchases.

“Mummy, is that sweet?” the girl asked again, tugging on the woman’s boubou.

Julia chuckled under her breath, waiting for the woman’s response. The young clerk packing up the woman’s groceries slowed, also waiting for her response.

“Be fast nau,” the woman snapped.

Julia smiled and turned to look at Liam and the skit he was watching.

The curious child asked again, “Mummy, is that sweet? I want sweet.”

The woman turned to shout at the girl, telling her to stop asking stupid questions. She huffed and adjusted the little girl in the baby carrier she had on, muttering under her breath a word that sounded to Julia like oniranu. (someone who does rubbish)

Julia shook her head. She hated parents like the woman before her, parents like her mother, who rather than answer questions would make you feel stupid for asking them.
Feeling petty and in the mood for drama, Julia bent to the level of the sulking girl and said, “Baby girl, they are called condoms. You should ask your mum what they are used for.”

The woman and Liam gasped audibly, and Julia’s lips curled when she heard the girl ask her mother what condoms were used for. The woman fled, pulling her daughter and groceries like she was fleeing the devil himself.

The checkout guy packed up her condoms, and Julia paid with her card. She left the supermarket with a satisfied smile on her face and walked with Liam to his car.

Noticing the frown on Liam’s face, she asked what was wrong with him.

“That,” he said, gesturing at the supermarket, “was totally uncalled for. There was no need to tell the innocent girl that.”

Julia scoffed. “Did you not hear her mother insult me? I was just showing her how much of an oniranu I am.”

“You don’t have to be petty,” Liam groaned in exasperation.

“Dude, you’re overreacting,” Julia said, pulling her phone out of her bag.

Who cared if she was petty? He was her boyfriend, and he was supposed to be on her side. She scrolled through her messages and thumbed a reply to Salma’s invitation to a house party. She didn’t want to party this weekend.

“Maybe I am, but you always find a way to pay everyone back, and it’s immature,” Liam responded.

Immature?

Julia scoffed and shook her head. She had learned the hard way that revenge was the only way to survive in this cruel world. Julia ignored Liam and let him drive them to his home. He knew she was petty, and he chose to stay. If he didn’t like it, he could leave for all she cared. After all, he was the one who pestered her for the relationship. She could still recall the flood of gifts he almost drowned her with to get her attention and convince her to give him a chance.

She gave him his chance, and so far, it had been great. He was the sweet boyfriend, the kind who would jump however high she asked. The sex was great, and he had enough money to spoil her with. However, the past couple of months had been bland and hollow, and if he wanted to leave over her putting a lousy housewife in her place, the door was wide open.

A few minutes later, they arrived at his house. Before Julia could slip out of his car, he reached across the centre console and gripped her hand.

“I’m sorry,” he apologised.

Julia chuckled and accepted his apology with a kiss. They slid out of his car and walked up to the front door of Liam’s Parkview Estate home. She used her key and let them in. His phone rang, and he stepped out to the terrace to answer the call. Julia watched him as he answered the call, and for a moment, wondered if she could actually let him go.

Liam was one of the best boyfriends she had ever had. They were classmates in university, but she never gave him any mind. Not when she had her working-class boyfriends, but each one treated her heart with more levity than the last. Liam was always there for her, and after a kiss they shared at her twenty-sixth birthday party, she decided to give him a chance. So far, he hadn’t made her regret it.
He went on about his fees for a new movie.

Liam had branched out into acting. Not a decision she liked, but his meteoric rise in Nollywood was impressive. And his role in Mother-in-law from Hell, a flick released last year, got him his big break. He starred alongside veterans, and he shone. Since then, he starred in major blockbusters as the lead male. A review site dubbed him Nigeria’s next RMD. She had gone with him to some premieres, and she was proud of him.

“Why don’t you talk to my manager and get back to me?” he said and hung up.

“Baby,” he called as he joined her on the couch.

Julia smiled. What was she thinking? Being with Liam was thrilling, and she wouldn’t give it up just because of some ridiculous arguments. She wrapped her hands around his neck.

“I want to kiss you,” Julia confessed.

Liam’s lips curled up, revealing a peek of his pearly whites, and her insides quivered. His smiles always had that effect on her, and she loved it. Their kiss turned heated, just as she liked it. She pulled him down as she leaned back to lie on the couch, all the while not breaking their kiss.

The click of the door as it opened and its bang as it got slammed broke them apart. Julia turned and saw one of Liam’s co-stars standing in the doorway.

Her good mood flew out the window. The lady had shared a kiss with Liam in a recent movie, and Julia hated recalling just how intimate it had been. Liam assured her it was only acting, but Julia couldn’t shake her jealousy. She had gone to watch him on set once, and the lady was all over him like flies to garbage—disgusting. Even though Liam didn’t pay her mind, Julia was still angry and jealous. Seeing her here only got Julia irritated.

“What is she doing here, Liam?” the lady screamed, and Julia quirked a brow.

Shouldn’t I be the one asking that?

“Rebekah, what are you doing here? Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?” Liam asked as he pulled away from Julia.

“What is this doing here?” Rebekah shouted, hurling a certain five-letter curse at Julia. Julia sat up, deciding Rebekah had earned her attention.

She didn’t hide the fact she was the epitome of the curse Rebekah hurled at her. In fact, she embraced it. If Rebekah thought she was that, Julia had no qualms showing her just how right she was.

“I thought you said you were going to break up with her,” Rebekah flared at Liam.

What the…?

Julia turned to Liam for some explanation and saw the guilt and shock in his eyes. Julia clenched her jaws to calm her irritation.

“What’s going on here, Liam?” Julia asked.

“I’m pregnant with his baby, and we’re getting married,” Rebekah answered, flashing the huge princess-cut diamond on her finger.

A gong crashed in Julia’s head as she stood and turned to Liam.

“Liam, is this true?”

His face paled with guilt, and he looked away. A twinge burned in her chest. She stiffened and scolded herself.

No. Never.

She would not let another human make her feel any emotion she didn’t want to feel.

“Congrats then on the nuptials and the baby,” Julia said and righted her clothes and picked up her bag and weekender.

She turned to leave, just as Liam called her name. She flipped him the bird and walked out.

A vice clamped onto her airflow, threatening to choke her. Her heart pounded in her chest, threatening to burst as Rebekah’s words rang in her head.

No, Julia. You aren’t going to cry. She chanted in her head as she opened her car and got in. She looked at Liam’s front door. He didn’t even chase after her. She ground her teeth and started her car.

To hell with this nonsense. I was even bored with the stupid relationship gan sef.

She turned on the stereo, put on her Breakup Playlist and cranked the volume up. Meghan Trainor’s No Good for You filled her car, and she let the lyrics wash over her. She was better than Liam. She deserved better, and she was going to get better. Her mind concocted the perfect revenge in her head, and she smiled at her plan. He’d rue the day he asked her to be his girlfriend. No one hurt her and got away with it. A name came to mind, but she shooed it away. She hadn’t seen him in over a decade, and chances were that she would never see him again.

She definitely didn’t want to see him again.

I’m sorry, Julia, but I can’t do this anymore.

His words, unsolicited, flew to her mind, and she kissed her teeth.

She believed everything happened for a purpose. Derin’s betrayal taught her one thing, though she failed to stick to the lesson taught: men are scum and undeserving of your time, love and affection.

Her phone rang beside her, the apple chime playing over the music. The traffic light turned red, and she glanced at the phone in its holder to check the caller ID—Salma.

“You must be tripping if you think you’re not coming to my house party!” Salma barraged Julia as soon as she answered.

Julia chuckled.

“Yeah. I realised I was tripping by believing there’s any good guy out here,” Julia said before filling Salma in on her experience with Liam.

Salma consoled her and advised her to come to her house party. “There’ll be hot guys, and you know, the best way to get over one man is to―”

“Get under another,” Julia completed, laughing. “Thanks, babe. I’ll definitely turn up.”

“That’s the spirit, jare.”

They chatted a bit before ending the call. Julia pulled down the visor and looked at her reflection for a few moments. She didn’t need anyone to tell her she was beautiful. If Liam was stupid enough to lose her, it spoke a lot about his taste in women. She smirked at her reflection as she thought of the perfect outfit for Salma’s house party.

It would be a pepper-them night; no doubt. Everyone would know that Julia Onoja was back on the market.

Prologue

2017

Julia relished male attention. Regardless of the age of the man showering it on her, she remained flattered. The look of appreciation in Alhaji Husaini’s eyes was not lost on her, though she pretended not to notice. She flashed him a smile her friends nicknamed “gunshot to the heart”. The man could go ahead and fantasise about her becoming his fourth or fifth wife for all she cared, so long as he scheduled her for a meeting with him.

Julia’s smile widened as he handed her a card with his private number and asked her to call him on Monday. Mission accomplished. She thanked him as she snuck the card into her clutch and flirted, moving her shoulders in a little shimmy to Olamide’s Bobo playing from the speakers at the grand wedding reception and tapping her heeled feet lightly. Her body was itching to get on the dance floor, but that could wait. She hoped to convince the man to introduce her to Senator Odafe Oyinvwi, a close associate of his, before calling it a night.

Her eyes roved over the hall as Alhaji spoke, scanning the dignitaries she convinced Rayan, Salma’s older brother, to introduce her to. She had managed to secure three meetings already with potential investors and partners thanks to the array of VIPs Salma’s parents had invited to their daughter’s wedding.

“Alhaji Husaini,” a voice called from behind them.

Julia and the middle-aged man turned to face the owner of the voice. Julia’s heart sank to the depths of her pelvis as she took in the man before her. Her heart stopped, and ice took the place of blood in her veins. Goosebumps like carpet grass covered the length of her long arms.

“Hans-Okubo,” Alhaji greeted the man garbed in a white Niger Delta senator outfit, a black bowler hat, holding an ornate walking stick he didn’t require for mobility.

The men exchanged greetings. Julia watched in dread as words from nearly a decade ago resounded in her left ear as though they were just being whispered to her for the first time. She lifted her shoulder to hit her ear, hoping to chase the voice away, but it lingered, echoing in her head. She swallowed as the man turned to her. The unabashed appreciation in his eyes as he took her in from the closure of her Peruvian weave to the peep toe of her platform stilettos made her shiver. Julia hoped to see shame and fear, but his lecherous stare remained.

“Who might this dazzling beauty be?” he asked Alhaji Husaini, without drawing his eyes away from her.

What?

The ice in Julia’s veins thawed as confusion kick-started her heart. Did he not recognise her? Had he forgotten her face? Anger took the place of confusion, and her blood rolled to a boil. She frowned at him, and he lifted a brow in query.

Did he really not recognise her? How dare he forget her face?

Recognition painted his face as Alhaji Husaini introduced her as Julia Onoja. Julia waited for the shame that would cloud his face and send him scurrying away, but it didn’t come. Instead, a smug smirk pasted itself on his dark, blubbery lips.

Julia didn’t know which angered her more—his obliviousness or his impudence. The way he stared at her like a conquest made Julia clench her fists.

Alhaji excused himself to talk to someone, leaving her alone with the monster before her. He stalked closer to her. A part of her wanted to run away, but she stood her ground. Danfos would have to disappear from Lagos before she gave him the satisfaction of seeing her cower from him.

“You’ve grown. Like fine wine, you’ve aged well,” he said and reached out to stroke the curly wisps of hair framing her face.

Julia slapped his hand off, and he chuckled.

“Still as feisty as I remember,” he said, and Julia clenched her teeth to hold back the ball of saliva she wanted to hurl into his face.

“How about I take you up to my suite and show you a good time?” he stated as he closed the gap between them.

“You pig!” Julia spat the insult at his face instead.

“Don’t pretend you didn’t enjoy it then. If I recall, it wasn’t your first time.”

Julia shook her head. “You’ll pay. I swear on my life. You’ll regret it and suffer for what you did to me. I’ll make it my life’s mission to make you pay,” she gritted.

The man scoffed. He had heard those words before. Back then, they were meaningless threats, but now, she’d make sure he rued them.

Part One

The Reaction




‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬

We love because God loved us first.

1 John 4:19 CEV

BLURB:

Stone hard. Armour tank thick.

Julia Onoja has developed a skin so tough nothing ever hurts her. Not her boyfriend getting his co-star pregnant, and not her best friend cutting her out of her life.

She couldn’t care less.

When her father passes on, it’s just another death and just another funeral.

Except it’s not.

Not when she sees Derin again.

Aderinsola Cole has only loved one woman his entire life. Back then, she wasn’t the tough, rigid and depraved woman she is now. No, the Julia he fell in love with was sweet, kind and had a smile for everyone.

When he’s invited to her father’s wake, he expects to find a way to make amends for the hurts he caused her, and maybe, he can show her the path to the God who saved him.

The problem is God and Derin aren’t exactly Julia’s favourite people. And she’s not ready to forgive either.

Hello!

It's been eons. I really hope some people don't stone me.

This is a new story. Don't roll your eyes yet. It's complicated so you have nothing to worry about. I'll be putting up the links to where you can purchase it when the time comes!

I hope you love it as much as I do.

....

Hiii...

So I'm in the second stage of editing my first book, Love's Direction, a contemporary christian fiction novel set in Nigeria. It's the first book in a series, and I'd love the opinion of potential readers to fine-tune my draft.

I'll be selecting a handful of people, so if you don't make the cut, please don't get angry. There are still five books in the series and you might get prior consideration for those books if you indicate interest.

Thank you �❤️

Blurb

Stone hard. Armour tank thick.

Julia Onoja has developed a skin so tough nothing ever hurts her. Not her boyfriend getting his costar pregnant and not her best friend cutting her out of her life.

She couldn't care less.

When her father passes on, it's just another death and just another funeral.

Except it's not.

Not when she sees Derin again.

Aderinsola Cole has only loved one woman his entire life. Back then, she wasn't the tough, rigid and depraved woman she is now. No, the Julia he fell in love with was sweet, kind and had a smile for everyone.

When he's invited to her father's wake, he expects to find a way to make amends for the hurts he caused her and maybe, he can show her the path to the God who saved him.

The problem is God and Derin aren't exactly Julia's favorite people. And she's not ready to forgive either.


https://forms.gle/aLdneG9bxuhAQYsg6[/quote]

...

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

Lol what?

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.”

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.

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.

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?

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

Hi. Do you have any books on dyslexia?

Hello, sir.
I'm interested.
This is my WhatsApp number: 09011259790. I can forward samples of my work to you once we establish contact.

So beta readers are more lie readers cum editors who help the writer tie up loose ends in a work in progress before the final editing. So they point out mistakes and errors in the plot, plotholes, grammatical errors and help with character development amongst other things.

Thanks to those who put up their email addresses. I'll be sending you a link to a google form once I'm ready.

Till then, stay well.

hi guys.
I'll be in need of beta readers soon. Anyone interested can send me a mail.

hi guys.
I'll be in need of beta readers soon. Anyone interested can send me a mail.

Reva1:
All caught up. Finally!
@Bukolaberry referred me to this story yesterday and every other thing faded in importance. Mind blowing!

Numerous subplots, all awesome. My favorite parts, in no preferential order -
*Felicia's relationship with her dad.
*Jaiyes family relationship with God.(Most times I found them haloed, like 'I love that'. Other times it was amusing as it appears the holy spirit was emotionally blackmailing them)
*Felicia's dad rapport with dapo.
*How Tomini and Temi's relationship got mended after the essay.

And others that I can't remember rn. I'll edit as I recollect.

You're an amazing writer, among the top 20 writers I've read their work (excluding funny African childhood and comedy writings). And I've read thousands or even 10s of thousand.

Please get a reputable firm, like Rose's , to publish this. Don't deprive the world of this masterpiece.

Thank you @Millieademi for the story and @Bukolaberry for the refferal. Now let me go pacify my boss for missing 12+ work hours

Thanks love. Sorry about your work.

Hi guys.

Raises a shelf and white flag.

I know it's been a while. Yeah, like I said I was doing a soul searching and I've found it. So I apologize for the silence. Please forgive me.

So officially I'm placing the story on an indefinite hold.

Why?

I want to focus on rewriting book one and editing and then publish.

I hope you understand. I'll be in need of beta readers. So anyone interested can send a mail.

Thanks.

hottadiva:
@millieademi. You have a very healthy imagination , impeccable grammar also made for an exciting read for me. I guess as a couple of short reads, this is a thriller but as a story the plot is totally unbelievable and unrelatable for me.

Hope you don't take this the wrong way and get some sort of feedback which was the intent

Hi hon. I love the honesty. Thanks for the review.

Please, what did you find unbelievable about it? And can you kindly send me a mail?

For example.

My nomination for YA

Dibz and Fola from Moura7's Undecided.

Reason: I found their relationship cute and funny. Dibz is strong and a really determined man, who happens to know what it is he wants. Fola on the other hand is a hard lover, pretty judgemental but loyal to her heart.

purity23:
I think A son for three days AKA Jerry and Ariana will go for comedy.

It's a wonderful story written by silver

Reason for nomination, please.

kelvyncruz:
For thriller and suspense, I nominate Kings.

Please include the couple's name and why you nominate them.