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Majestically… or at least that’s how I felt in my head… I walked into my tiny one room apartment that Friday evening. In reality, it was less “queen entering her palace” and more “tired student dragging herself home after an exam that drained her soul.”

I dropped my bag like it had personally offended me and brought out the beans and corn my adalu customer had given me. I was starving. Proper starving. The kind that makes you consider eating while standing, without even blinking.

It wasn’t unusual. After exams, hunger used to come for me like it had a personal vendetta.

But this day was different.

It was my last paper of the semester and for once, I felt good. Confident. Like I had actually used my school fees wisely. I was already imagining going home the next week, receiving praise, maybe even cooking without being sent on errands every five minutes.
And to top it all, my boyfriend was coming over for the weekend.

I smiled to myself.

That evening was supposed to be perfect.

I had plans. Big plans. After devouring my adalu, I was going to cook his favourite… egusi soup. Love, in my life at that time, was measured in spoonfuls of egusi and the amount of meat you put inside.
I had just taken two proud, victorious spoons of my meal when my phone rang.

Mummy.

I picked up immediately.

We exchanged the usual greetings. I excitedly told her how well I believed I had done in my exams and how I couldn’t wait to come home.

Then she sighed.

Not a normal sigh.

That kind of sigh that travels through the phone and lands directly in your chest.

“What’s wrong, mummy? Why did you sigh?” I asked, already sitting up.

“I have something to tell you,” she said. “I should have told you since last week, but I didn’t want to make you sad because of your examination.”

My heart skipped.
Not one beat.
Two.

“What happened?” I asked, after a silence that suddenly felt too loud.
“It’s Blacky,” she said.

Pause.

“Blacky died last week Saturday.”

I blinked.
Once.
Twice.

“Blacky is… dead?” I asked, hoping maybe… just maybe… I misheard.

“Yes.”

And just like that, something inside me broke.

Tears didn’t ask for permission. They just came. Full force.

Blacky.

My Blacky.

The small, stubborn, beautiful local puppy I had fallen in love with almost instantly. The one I proudly bought for 5000 naira like I had just invested in real estate.

He had only stayed with me for five days before my landlord called a meeting as if I had committed a national crime.

“No dogs in this house.”

Just like that.
No negotiation.
No appeal.
No mercy.

So I took Blacky home to my parents. It wasn’t perfect. The other dogs acted like he was a new student that didn’t belong. But I loved him. Deeply.

And now… he was gone.

Apparently, he had been sick.

Nobody told me, they tried to care for him, but he didn’t survive.

I cried.
And cried.
And cried.

From noon till evening.

My adalu sat there, abandoned, probably wondering what it did wrong. The egusi plan? Completely cancelled. Even the pot was judging me from the corner.

When Nedu arrived, he met a completely different version of the girlfriend he was expecting.

Not the happy, “I think I passed my exams” girl.

But one human waterfall lying on the bed.

He sat beside me and listened as I explained everything between sobs.

He tried.
He really did.
But you could see the confusion on his face.

To him, it was just a dog.

To me, it was not just a dog.

It was Blacky.

Still, he pulled me close and held me tightly.

“I hate seeing you cry,” he said softly.
Then he made a promise.

“I know.i dont like dogs but when we finish school, we’ll get a place that allows dogs, we’ll get another puppy, we can name him Blacky… and I’ll learn to love him.”

Now that… that meant everything.

Because Nedu did not like dogs, At all.

So for him to say that?
It was huge.
It was the kind of promise you hold onto with both hands.

It was our eighth year together, and he had never been the kind of person to say things he didn’t mean. If he could do it, he would do it.
So I believed him.
Completely.

The thought of a future with him… and a new Blacky… slowly stitched my broken heart back together, it always comforted me in a way I can’t fully explain.

And in that moment, I held onto that promise like it was already my reality.

If only I knew then…

That life has a way of writing its own stories.

And not all promises get the ending we imagine.

I came out of the patient's room at few minutes past 4am in the morning, this patient had needed a full bed change at every round so I kept him for the last, as i walked into the sluice with the red bag or soiled beddings, Sandra walked right in with her face full of beam and brighteness

"I told you Joke, my husband just sent me a romantic message for mother's day, come have a look" she hapilly brought her phone closer to my face to see

I read the lovely drafted message obviously drafted by ChatGpt, it was very nice and she dashed off to show someone else, standing there in the sluice, I smilled because I knew I was not getting any message from my husband myself as my daughter is way to small to send me messages or anything

I smilled because once upon a time, I used to be Sandra, just that it wasn't mother's day messages but I was so used to getting random love messages sent to me for no reason but like I have been advised severally not to dwell on my past.

As I finished my shift and headed home, I couldnt help but start to think to myself about how nice it would be to get romantic messages once in a while, I dont even have the idea of how a mere hug from a lover feels anymore or a kiss of passion, well I had to remind myself that I didnt have a lover anymore, I only had a husband

" if you keep messing this up Joke and I end of leaving, no one can ever love you the way I love you" my ex has said to me a decade ago and I had laughed but look at me today, I had messed up and would/ might have to pay for it for the rest of my life because no one had loved me completely like he did, but like I have been told severally, to stop dwelling on my past.

As I stared onto the wide beautiful road of ilu oyinbo, my mind drifted a little bit, maybe I am an ingrate or I just want the wrong things or just cant stop dwelling on my past, my husband had brought me here from the ghetto of lagos, he has been an amazing father to my daughter, he cares for us, helps with all the domestic work of the house, I hardly do anything at home, he is a nice and wonderful father and a husband .... the only thing missing is love, we are not passionately involved, even intimacy is just about getting in and getting out, no deep sexual desire.

I will always want more, i will have that hole in my heart, as ny love language is romance, touch, words and I lack all of that, I know I will always feel unloved in this marriage but like I did earlier in life, I dont want to mess this up so I dont lose such a great father to my kids.

Less than an hour later, I was home gisting about my shift to my husband ...

"Its mother's day," I said
"I know" he replied
" you couldn't even upload my pic on your social media" I jokingly added
" I didnt even add my mother's own", he replied " when did I meet you, that you would take priority " he jokingly added

I smiled, we have been married for over six years and he said it like we met yesterday.

When i settled to get a rest, I started to think

Maybe the problem is with me, I should learn to live without love, even though I have felt love before and i dont think I will be having that feeling again but I do have an empty space in my heart, an ache that would always be there

Could be fiction or non fiction, you can decide , there would be a lot of grammatical errors and spelling mistakes, bear with me ....

Hello,

I have a small personal writing project and I need a writer to help me out, I am not wealthy so I would appreciate à writer who would not chargé me too much. I also would like à writer who can add humour to stories, à great deal of humour would be appreciated.

Thank you