WALKING ON WATERS CHAPTER 9

 CHAPTER 9

"Hmm." The sound slipped from my lips as I stood, close enough for my breath to fog the edge of the mirror. The soft,warm light of the fitting room cast a gentle glow over my reflection smoothing every edge. 

The lace mesh lingerie shimmered softly, clinging to every curve with a delicate, perfect fit. This was the tenth piece I’d slipped into, each one a silent conversation with the woman in the mirror.A smile tugged at my lips, unbidden yet persistent, as the lace followed every curve, as if tailored just for me.

 My hand lingered on the soft, snug lace, a faint blush warming my cheeks in the quiet intimacy of the boutique, where the air was sweet with vanilla and the gentle rustle of fabric. As I traced its intricate patterns, I felt the lace curve around me like a whispered secret.It was strange, seeing myself like this—so exposed yet so... elegant. The mirror reflected more than just my body; it unveiled a version of me I hadn’t quite met yet.

Grazing my fingers over the bow tied at the front of the lingerie robe, I felt a playful thrill bubbling inside me. 

This shopping spree was no ordinary outing; it was a mission born in the cozy warmth of Hans and Rene Ice Cream Parlor, where laughter flowed at first, followed by some heated discussions over rich, creamy scoops. Each delicate piece of intriguing nightwear I had picked felt like a step closer to an exciting adventure—one I had carefully plotted despite the arguments that had preceded it.

"‘Yadah Tovie Cardoso, nee Ovieakini,’ Bodisere spat, her eyes narrowing as her voice dripped with disdain. ‘So this is what all these treats are about—from the spa at Oriki to this place at Hans & Rene? All of this for that?’ She leaned forward, her expression a mix of disbelief and anger.

 "‘Bodisere, look at your life,’ she muttered under her breath, a bitter smile curling at the corners of her lips as she reclined. "How nice of your dear cousin to think a spa day and some ice cream can wash away your Hippocratic oath.’ She shook her head, rolling her eyes as if the very idea was absurd, the sarcasm lacing her words like a sharp edge. With a swift motion, she had shoved her cup of Italian Symphony gelato, marbled with zest agbalumo sorbet, to the center of the table. The gesture was sharp and final, as if I had served her a taboo she couldn’t bear to touch.

"Bodi, don’t see it that way, please. It’s not like that," I whispered, my words barely audible as I leaned closer, trying to ensure no eyes were turning our way as Bodisere’s voice had already climbed a notch, sharp and clear.

My insides churned with guilt, gnawing at me as I fumbled to soften the tension, my attempts to win her over feeling painfully weak. 

Bodisere's eyes flicked up, sharp and piercing. She blinked slowly, her head tilting just slightly. "And what does it look like then, cuz?" Her voice was cool, but the way she batted her lashes said everything—mocking, daring me to answer.A sharp hiss escaped her lips, punctuating the challenge.

"With all sincerity, I don’t want you to see it that way, Bodi,’ I said, my voice trembling as I traced the edge of the table, my fingers seeking stability. I looked at her, my eyes wide and pleading. ‘I just want you to see this as a plea from a desperate woman, not me trying to buy your conscience or bribe you.’ I brought my hands together, palms pressed, hoping to convey my sincerity.

‘So glad you used the word “desperate,”’ she retorted, lifting her hands to air quote the word, a mocking grin creeping across her face. ‘Because there’s no way my sane, sweet cousin Yadah would spew this sloppy, unethical idea. All I see here is a desperate woman.’ Her tone dripped with sarcasm, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

“And you know what? I hate desperate people.” She pointed sharply at her abandoned cup of ice cream, her voice rising. “They’re always manipulative and deceitful, just like you are right now.”

Her eyes bore into mine, unwavering. “Do you know what they do?” Her gaze was both innocent and challenging, making me squirm.

“They compromise their morals and values to get what they want. That’s exactly what you’re about to do with this nonsense. I used to think you were smarter than this, Yadah,” she continued, leaning in as disappointment etched across her features. “You could hold your own against anyone. But here you are, letting one overblown aunt turn into a womb watcher, tracking your every move. And those colleagues? You’re letting their jealousy get to you.”

Her words sliced through the air, each one landing with a weight I couldn’t ignore.

“Take a look at me.” She stood, arms wide, her salt-and-pepper curls gleaming under the bright lights, drawing the gaze of others in the ice cream parlor.

“I’m two years older than you—single, no boyfriend, no baby.” She paused, a sharp edge to her voice. “All I can count as my earthly achievements are my career and the assets my late father left me. Nothing else.”

She stepped closer, her eyes locked onto mine, unwavering. “Not once have I let anyone breathe down my neck or fret over the fact that my younger cousin is married, four to five years deep into it. You know why? Because it’s our lives.”

Her voice softened, yet the intensity remained. “We have just one life to live on this planet, and we shouldn’t be living it to please irrelevant people.”

"Glad you said you're single." The words came out quieter than I intended, my fingers tracing the edge of my cup. I took a slow breath, my head dipping slightly as if the weight of what I was about to say had settled there.

“I used to think like you,” I continued, voice tight but steady. Another breath—deeper this time—yet still, my chest felt heavy. “But marriage… it changes things.” I paused, my hand tightening into a fist on my lap. “You don’t just live for yourself anymore. It’s not that simple.” My words hung in the air, fragile but full.

I swallowed hard, my eyes lowering, as if admitting the truth out loud might somehow undo me. “Children… they’re part of it, part of what makes a marriage. It’s something I… ache for, even when I try not to.”

I bit down hard on my lower lip, staring at the slow drip of melted ice cream running off the edge of Bodisere’s cup. She had settled back into her chair, arms crossed, eyes fixed on me. The silence felt thick, like a weight pressing down on my chest.

 “You and Yele probably think I’m just chasing this whole baby thing because Aunt Ibiyemi won’t stop nagging,’’I finally said, my voice quieter now, but edged with something sharp.“Or because of the snide remarks from my colleagues.” I paused, the weight of those unspoken judgments hanging heavy between us.

“But it’s more than that. It’s always been more.” I looked up, meeting her eyes briefly, before dropping my gaze back to the table. 

“Even before marriage, I could see it—my life as a mother. Not just a wife. A mother. Children who need me, who… love me,who call me their own.”I said, pressing my hand firmly against my chest, as if trying to hold the vision in place. 

“Maybe,Just maybe…”I took a shaky breath, my fingers trembling slightly as they curled around the napkin in front of me. “Aunt Ibiyemi’s pressure, the looks, the comments… maybe they’ve only woken something up,stirred up what was already inside me. I want children. I’ve always wanted them. And whether or not it proves something to her or anyone else… That desire is real. It’s burning inside me.”

My voice cracked, not from tears but from a raw truth I could no longer ignore. “And I can’t cool that desire in the waters of when Yele thinks it’s the right time to be parents. I just… I can’t wait anymore.”A deep sigh escaped me, like I’d just released something heavy, long buried beneath the surface. The relief felt strange, but freeing, as if I had finally let go of a secret that had weighed on me for far too long.

A long silence settled between us, thick and heavy, only broken by the faint hum of the AC and the quiet chatter of a few other patrons nearby.

Bodisere finally stirred, her lips curling into a small, wry smile. “You know, cuz, you almost had me there,” she said, her voice soft but cutting through the silence like a sharp blade.

She rose slowly from her seat, straightening her posture. “But to be honest,” she continued, a hint of finality in her tone, “I still can’t do it. Removing the IUD without Yele’s consent? It's a fraud. Deceit. A betrayal.” Her words grew sharper, each one landing like a blow as she pulled from a string of vocabulary to hammer home just how wrong she believed my request was.

Bodisere’s brows knitted in concentration, her expression unreadable for a moment. When she spoke, her voice was measured but unyielding. “You and your husband both agreed to the IUD,”she began, her eyes locking onto mine. “I’m trying—God, I’m trying—to see it from your side.”

She paused, taking in a deep breath before continuing, her hand brushing against her collarbone as if grounding herself. “But I can’t do this. Not without both your consents. To remove it without his agreement? That’s a line I can’t cross. It’s more than just wrong—it’s professional misconduct.”

She placed her hand lightly on the table, her tone softening, but the resolve still clear. “So no, cousin. I won’t oblige. Go talk to your husband. If he changes his mind, you know where to find me. I’ll be here, ready, at your disposal, but until then, my hands are tied.” 

As she stood upright, adjusting the strap of her black Saint Laurent Envelope Chain Bag, the deep ochre of her keyhole neck split-sleeve blouse contrasted beautifully with her olive green sailor pants, emphasizing her poise.

I sat there, unsure of my next move, a tightening knot of guilt coiling in my stomach for my weak attempt to sway Bodisere. My eyes were fixated on her heels as they clicked against the floor, each step steady and confident, leading her toward the door and leaving me behind.

Halfway to the door, she paused, tilting her head slightly as if a thought had just crossed her mind. Opening her Saint Laurent bag, she pulled out her phone, her fingers dancing across the screen.

“Wait a sec, almost forgot,” she called over her shoulder, eyes still on the screen. “You’ll see an alert soon. I refunded everything—this,” she waved vaguely at the gelateria, “and the spa. Even gave back a little extra.”

I stared at her, blinking rapidly, my mouth slightly agape in disbelief. “You didn’t.”

She nodded, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips, her confidence radiating. “Oh, I did. Just so you know, my conscience isn’t for sale. Not for ice cream, not for a massage.”

With that, she strutted out, her heels clicking against the floor, each step a sharp, confident beat that lingered in the air long after she was gone. I was left sitting there, the weight of her refusal settling heavily on my shoulders, a swirl of confusion and regret taking root in my chest.

It feels surreal, standing here,this moment in the soft light of the fitting room, cladded in the intricate lacework of the nightwear as the events of that day at Hans & Rene Gelateria replayed in my mind. Gosh, I had gone home with a heavy heart after Bodisere’s cold rejection of my request, her words cutting deeper than I’d anticipated.

 The weight of it all had me teetering on the edge of another fight with Yele, but I couldn’t bring myself to spill out the humiliation I’d faced. Confusion clouded every thought—what to do next, how to fix it—mixed with anger that bubbled beneath the surface.The shame had crept in slow, like ice spreading through my veins—shame not just at being denied but at wondering whether Bodisere could even look me in the eye again.

The lacework of the fabric , whispered promises of quiet rebellion, yet nothing too bold, just enough to remind me of the power I still hold within me,my lips curled up at this.

"Ehhhh ehhhh, Yadah! Are you not done with the fitting?" Bodisere's voice echoed through the fitting room, breaking my trance. I turned toward the door, where she peeked in, her head just visible above the curtain.

"Almost!" I called back, forcing a smile while I continued to admire the delicate nightwear draping over me. 

However, my confidence wavered as Bodisere stepped fully inside, her expression morphing from casual curiosity to one of shock. Her eyes widened, taking in the lace mesh that clung to my form, and I could almost feel heat rising in my cheeks as her bewildered gaze swept over the outfit.

“What happened?” I asked, feeling her gaze linger as she took in my figure from head to toe, her eyes wide with surprise.

“What's wrong?” I pressed again, my voice tinged with concern as she grasped my elbow gently. Her lips curled into a disapproving pout, and she examined me with an intensity that mirrored the scrutinizing gaze of a traditional African mother inspecting her daughter in a dress deemed too daring.

“Nothing, oh,” she said, her voice stretched as she shifted back a step, eyes roaming over my outfit like she was deciphering a puzzle. 

“I just thought we were coming here to shop for some nightwear. All the nighties you’ve picked out so far don’t seem like the usual conservative ones you'd wear. And then there’s this…” Her gaze widened, disbelief painting her features.

“What about this?” I asked, cutting in before she could finish.

“This one feels so extra and unlike you,” she admitted, her brow furrowing as she took in the sheer fabric and delicate lace. 

“It’s giving off a vibe I don’t think it should be giving. It looks nice, sure, but I never thought I’d see conservative Yadah embrace something like this. Not even for your wedding night did you go all out for nightwear. I remember you practically tossed aside that Victoria’s Secret set I got you. So, seeing you in this has me completely shocked.” She shook her head, her expression a mix of shock and incredulity.

“Do you know the only thing I heard from everything you said? That it looks nice. That alone is enough,” I said, a grin spreading across my face.

“Ehhhhh, Yele don enter this one, oh!” she exclaimed, her hands coming together in a mock clap, her laughter ringing through the fitting room. She slung a bra over her shoulder, the playful glint in her eye amplifying her teasing. “Look at you, channeling your inner diva! I never thought I’d see the day!” Her voice was a blend of disbelief and delight, clearly relishing this unexpected twist in our shopping adventure.

“Na you sabi! Last I checked, there’s no written or unwritten rule against seducing your husband or spicing things up in your marriage,” I said, shrugging with a feigned nonchalance.

“True, Madam Spice! But which spice are you adding?” Bodisere’s eyes danced with mischief. “Is it Royco, chicken flavor, or Lasor chicken? Come on, spill! I need to know so I can take notes for when I finally meet Mr. Right,” she continued, her grin widening as she made mention of some Nigerian seasoning spices.

 “Because this spice is going to roast Yele! Oh, Holy Mary, pray for one of your son’s sons!” She made a dramatic cross sign over her forehead and chest, as she threw her head back, laughter bubbling out, and the room filled with her infectious energy, making it impossible not to join in her mirth.

_______________________________________________

"So what next?" Bodisere asked, her voice lively as I fastened my seatbelt after indulging in a spree at the sshhh lingerie boutique.

I adjusted my Persol sunglasses, their cool tint shielding my eyes from the afternoon sun. "Down to the fragrance boutique," I said, a grin creeping across my face at the thought of exploring new scents.

“Which one is the fragrance boutique again?” Bodisere asked, her brow knitting together in confusion. She tilted her head, a playful glint in her eyes as she scratched her temple with her left finger, trying to piece together my shopping plans. Her lips curled into a teasing pout, clearly intrigued yet unsure about what lay ahead.

“You know,” I began, my hands resting on the steering wheel as I turned slightly to look at her, a playful smirk creeping onto my face, “sometimes I wonder if my late uncle wasted money sending you to one of the best Ivy League schools in the world. But I choose not to believe that.” I leaned in a bit, my tone teasing as I continued, “The fragrance boutique, as the name implies, is where they sell perfumes.” I raised an eyebrow, the corners of my lips lifting, challenging her to keep up with the banter.

“You know, don’t mind me. Na hunger dey wire me,” she admitted, her stomach rumbling softly, betraying her playful demeanor. 

She leaned forward slightly, using her thumbs to indicate the direction of the popular amala joint at Lekki. “You promised me a treat at that new amala place, remember? The one everyone’s talking about!” Her eyes sparkled with anticipation, a wide grin spreading across her face as she envisioned the rich, spicy sauce mingling with the fluffy, black amala.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take you there after picking up some body fragrances. And we’ll definitely make a stop at any pastry outlet we see on the way,” I reassured her.

“Ehhhhh, Mama niyen! That’s our mama!” she exclaimed, throwing her hands up in the air like the street thugs who theatrically beg for money. Her laughter filled the car, infectious and bright, as she leaned back into her seat, excitement bubbling over at the thought of our delicious detour. Her enthusiasm was as palpable as the scent of fresh pastries that lingered in my mind, stirring a sense of adventure for our little outing.

“You’re such a foodmonger,” I teased, rolling my eyes playfully.

“That’s me, oh! A highly acclaimed title I refuse to share with anyone,” she declared, puffing her chest out with mock pride. I couldn’t help but chuckle softly at her enthusiasm, a stark contrast to the serious conversation we’d had at Hans & Rene Gelateria.

A smile crept onto my face as I recalled her earlier words: “my conscience isn’t for sale. Not for ice cream, not for a massage.” The memory made my heart flutter with warmth, reminding me how, despite everything, my cousin and I were back to our goofy selves, sharing this light-hearted moment together.

The morning after the whole ordeal at the ice cream parlor, her WhatsApp message had jolted me from sleep: “Meet me at the clinic by 12 PM sharp. One minute late, and forget about it all.” I had seen it around 6:30 AM, and the urgency made me bolt upright in bed, the rush of adrenaline coursing through me. 

My fingers danced over the screen as I typed, “I don’t understand?” hoping for clarity.

“If you don’t understand, then don’t come,” she replied, her words tinged with teasing finality. 

The anticipation of the day stretched before me like an unwrapped gift. Every minute felt like a countdown, my heart racing with excitement. Yele nearly caught me smiling at my phone, but I quickly shifted my expression to one of faux concentration, burying my joy beneath a layer of office tasks.

The funny thing was, I arrived at her workplace long before our scheduled time, excitement buzzing like electricity in my veins. I leaned against the wall, glancing at my watch, but she made me wait. The seconds ticked by like hours, the anticipation twisting in my stomach until she finally opened her office door precisely at noon.

After the IUD removal, a mixture of relief and nerves coursed through me. As we walked back toward her office, I noticed her extend her empty right palm towards me, fingers splayed wide.

“What?” I asked, eyebrows knitted in confusion, my discomfort from the procedure still nagging at me.

“My money! Refund the money I sent back to you, plus the extra,” she said, her face a mask of seriousness, unwavering and firm.

Her words hung in the air, and I blinked, processing the absurdity. “If I’m really going this way with you, then I must be ready to dive into the dirt. That means selling my conscience for a cup of Hans & Rene and a body massage.”

A laugh bubbled up in my throat, but it quickly turned into a quiet sob. Tears trickled down my cheeks, not from the physical pain but from the weight of her intentions. Bodisere’s quirks might baffle many, but the lengths she went to for those she cared about struck a chord deep within me. I felt a swell of gratitude for having her in my life, her unwavering support a constant reminder of the love we shared.

As I maneuvered through the chaotic streets of Lagos, the hustle and bustle around me faded, leaving only the warmth of her presence and the realization that I was never alone in this journey.

 

WALKING ON WATERS CHAPTER 8

 

CHAPTER 8

                           YADAH'S POV

"Should I swing by to pick you?" I asked Bodisere through the AirPod nestled in my left ear, my fingers dancing across the laptop's keyboard as I toggle through the windows.

"I think that would be nice," Bodisere's cheerful voice chimed in from the other end. Excitement radiated in her tone, mirroring my own anticipation. We were gearing up for a ‘lil girls treat’, this afternoon, courtesy of my invitation.

"So, I should be done with work in the next hour, and then we can head out," I said, toggling through the last of my windows. "Just make sure I don't arrive at your clinic to find you still with patients, okay?" I added in a playful tone, but the hint of the warning was clear.

"Did I hear you say patients?" Bodisere's voice rose in exaggerated shock. "Girl, just for this treat, I've cleared every medical appointment I had for the day.”

"Really?"

"Yes!" Her voice sparkled with excitement. "Do you know how long I've been longing for this kind of treat?

A short laugh escaped me, harmonizing with hers.

"What's funny?" she asked, playful curiosity threading her words as our conversation flowed on.

"You are ,you are funny,in short You amused me," I chuckled, teasing her gently. "Anyone listening to you rave about this little treat would think you've never been to a spa before. You're acting like you can't afford it, you bush girl," I teased, our banter flowing effortlessly.Bodisere would never cease to amaze me. Her voice, filled with excitement, painted a picture of a grand adventure rather than a quick visit to Oriki Spa and a stop at Hans and Rene Gelato Bar we are to have this afternoon . It was as if she had never experienced anything like it before, her enthusiasm turning a simple afternoon into an anticipated event.

"Abeg, leave me to my excitement," I hear her say as she exclaimed, her voice bubbling with joy.

"Do you know the joy that comes from enjoying awuf, the thrill of spending money that's not yours? And it's not just anybody's money; it's Mr. and Mrs. Cardoso's! Abeg, permit me to be happy," she pleaded earnestly, her words infused with enthusiasm and warmth as she referenced my husband and me in her last phrases. 

"See your mouth like awuf, Dr. Bodi, a whole Dr. Bodi herself happy about awuf," I teased, a grin spreading across my face.She laughed, her voice light and playful. 

"What is wrong with Dr. Bodi enjoying some awuf?"

"You, the main money spender yourself, money printer, oil money madam, the rich doctor herself," I shot back, It was no news that Bodisere is well-to-do in her career as a gynecologist and comes from an oil-rich family. Her late father was a king in one of Bayelsa's oil-rich communities, and her elder brother now reigns as the current king. Their family owns acres of oil fields, making her an 'old oil money' conglomerate daughter. So don't be deceived by her sugar-coated lips singing the praises of my husband and me as the money bags, because she is the bag herself.

"Tarhhh, leave that one," she retorted, her voice dripping with mock indignation. 

"Nothing sweet like money wey dem import over the Atlantic Ocean. I beg, permit me to enjoy this awuf bestowed upon me by you. Make I taste and enjoy these Cardoso's American papers," she said, her words filled with a happy excitement as she reveled in the thought of spending dollars.

"Please don't kill me with your whinings," I pleaded, laughing. 

"Kill you keh? God forbid I kill my benefactor," she shot back. I could almost see her thumb and finger snapping together in the classic "God forbid" gesture, the sound punctuating her words as she rambled on the phone.

"I don hear you," I replied, slipping into pidgin English. "Let me get back to work so I can finish on time and avoid any delay.”

"Abeg, do," she said, excitement bubbling in her voice. "I'm already counting down the minutes. I can't wait for those masseuses to work on my body. I think I would even prefer a male masseuse."

"Sister of God!" I exclaimed, picturing her with a sly smile.

"Abeg, leave Sister of God," she shot back, her tone playful. "I'm single and ready to mingle. Na you be the married woman."

"With just anybody? I cover your mind with the blood of Jesus," I replied, shaking my head with a smile.

"Amen, amen," she responded, her voice dripping with mock repentance.

"Anyway, let me get going now," she continued, her voice softening. "Once again, thank you for this little treat. You don't know how much I needed it. May God continue to bless you and Mr. Cardoso. You will continue to have plenty money," she said, her tone turning playful and childish as she offered her prayers.

"Amen. Okay then, bye," I replied warmly, ending the call.

As the call disconnected, a wide smile spread across my lips. Bodisere's voice, mixed with her childlike prayer, lingered in the air. It wasn’t just her funny, childlike prayer that lingered in my mind, but the way her gratitude shone through. Bodisere had a way of making you feel like you’d given her the whole world for even the smallest gesture.

Whether it was buying her something as simple as roadside puff-puff or getting her the most luxurious gift you could imagine, she would sing your praises to everyone around her. Her appreciation was so heartfelt that you’d feel compelled to do more for her.

But this time, her gratitude felt like a weight. The outing felt like an unknown bribe, a way to steer her for my own purposes. Shame crept in, making me shift uncomfortably in my chair. I sighed, my gaze drifting to the ceiling of my office, wishing there was another way to achieve my aim without feeling like I had manipulated her into doing what she might not want to do on an ordinary day.

I clenched my fists, feeling the weight of the path I had set for myself. It was a course I despised but seemed like the only way to silence the doubts and fears swirling around us—especially Aunt Ibiyemi's. The thought of her made my brow furrow.

Was my plan even viable? Would Bodisere go along with it? My teeth grazed my lower lip as uncertainty gnawed at me. 

Yet, giving up wasn’t an option. I needed to use every ounce of wisdom and every available strategy to reach my goal. The thought of having to stoop so low made my heart heavy. I wished conceiving a child with Yele was as straightforward as it seemed for other couples.

 My fingers traced the edge of the framed photo of Yele and me on my desk. In the picture, Yele wore a white long-sleeve shirt tucked into white trousers, while I was dressed in a white ruffled gown. We sat close together, his arm wrapped around my shoulders while my head rested gently against his. Our legs were slightly angled, touching at the knees, and our hands were intertwined, resting on my lap. Smiles plastered on our faces, we looked every bit the happy couple—so happy, so carefree—nothing like the strained and worried faces of the past few weeks.

"So what stunt did you just pull this evening?" I asked, watching Yele saunter into the living room. I stood by the couch in my sleeping robe, arms folded, my lips pressed tightly together.

"Finally, you showed me your true colors. Finally, you have done your worst. Hope you are glad that my nephew has beaten me with a rod for trying to help you and your unfortunate destiny, ni iwo omo omoburuku yii." Aunt Ibiyemi's words from the phone call she placed on me some minutes ago echoed in my mind, her voice dripping with sarcasm and fury. The sharpness of her tone stabbed at my thoughts, each word laced with bitterness and accusation.

 Yet I knew she hadn't been literally beaten; it was just the dramatic language elders use when a younger person challenges them. Still, the weight of her anger hung heavily in the air, and my frustration simmered beneath the surface, tangible and raw.

 My eyes narrowed at Yele, disbelief mingling with my anger. He tossed his car remote onto the table, his eyes avoiding mine. His shirt was untucked, and the tension from his visit to Yaba was written all over his face. 

He had driven all the way to Yaba just to stir up more trouble, leaving me to handle the fallout. I couldn't believe the lengths he went to create this chaos, and now I was left to pick up the pieces.

"Did you really have to go back to Yaba at this late hour?" I asked, my voice tight with frustration. Yele sank into the couch, his expression blank, fingers absently stroking his beard.

"Was it necessary to go to Aunty’s house tonight? What did you achieve by going there?" The questions spilled out, my tone sharp and probing, cutting through the thick silence between us.

"I pleaded with you not to go to your aunt's place, Yele. I really pleaded," my voice cracked as I paused, taking a deep breath. "But you still decided to go." 

Yele's face remained stoic, but I could see the flicker of irritation in his eyes.

"Do you know the kind of message you've sent by your visit this evening? Do you?" My words came out sharper than intended, the silence that followed was thick and suffocating.

"See, babe," Yele began, his voice cutting through the tension in the room.

Who is this one babe now? I thought within, the word grating on my nerves, though I couldn't deny part of me still liked hearing it from him. Get a grip, Yadah, I scolded myself.

Yele stood tall, his posture rigid. His eyes, hard and unyielding, bore into mine. "I don't care about the message my visit to Aunt's house might have sent." His tone was resolute, leaving no room for doubt. 

"What matters is that she now knows to stay out of my business, to stay clear of my marriage, my family, and especially you."

His voice was firm, each word landing with the weight of a stone, the room still and silent in the wake of his declaration.

"Can you truly hear yourself, Yele?Are you listening to yourself?" My voice wavered, each word laced with frustration. 

"Did you even consider how this ridiculous visit of yours would be seen as rude by any sane person? Or how dangerous it was to go to and fro to her place?"

Yele's expression darkened, his jaw clenched. "Ah, so now you care about the danger and harm that could occur to me?" His voice was thick with sarcasm. "You should have thought of that before lying to me about your whereabouts and following her to that unknown prophet's house." His eyes bore into mine, his tone sharp. "God knows what they've hypnotized you with to make you act this way, tonight." 

"Maybe the next thing I need to be on the lookout for is how to take you for a deliverance program," Yele spat, his eyes narrowing as his face twisted in a sneer. 

 "Since this is the path you and my aunt want us to go down, perhaps I should start searching for a deliverance center."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I asked, my voice edged with irritation.

"I'm not insinuating anything, dear wife," Yele replied, his tone dripping with sarcasm. 

"It's just infuriating to see you subjecting yourself—and our marriage—to my aunt's whims, to societal expectations about when we should start having kids. His voice grew louder, frustration evident as he paced the room. “It's really not pleasant seeing you go against the very things we promised we'd never subject ourselves to."

"And you think desiring a child is me breaking that promise, right?" I shot back, my voice unsteady as I tried to hold back the tears.

"Desiring a child isn't wrong," Yele said, his gaze piercing through me. "But doing it for the wrong reasons is." He stepped closer, his voice unwavering. "You're letting their pressure dictate our lives, and I won't bring a child into this world because of what others think." His words hung in the air, the weight of his conviction impossible to ignore.

I blinked, my mouth opening and closing in disbelief. "Wow," I finally said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "Just... wow," I repeated, a bitter laugh escaping my lips as I crossed my arms tightly over my chest.

"So, I'm the one who desires a child in the wrong way? What a great way to describe my wish to have a baby," I shot back, the sting in my voice unmistakable.

Yele's shoulders slumped, his face softening as he sighed deeply. "I didn't mean it like that, Yadah."

"You didn't have to mean it," I said, my frustration evident in my tone. "Just like the way you'll never see things from my perspective. And the very same way ,you'll never understand whether my desire for a child is genuine or influenced by others' opinions because you're too pigheaded."

I paused, my voice trembling with emotion. "And you know what? If you think standing up to Aunt tonight has magically shielded me from her criticism, you're mistaken," I continued, turning to leave the room without even glancing at him.

That night, the space between us in bed felt vast, the warmth of our bodies no longer intertwined. Our usual bedtime rituals were absent—no tender goodnight kisses, no whispered prayers together. The following morning, I slipped out of bed quietly, leaving before Yele stirred.

Within the walls of our home, an uneasy silence settled, punctuated only by brief, strained conversations. Then came the unexpected family meeting called by Aunt Ibiyemi which only escalated the awkwardness to a new level. It was a gathering I hoped never to witness again in my lifetime. The details are too painful to recount, but suffice it to say, Aunt Ibiyemi didn't hold back in subtly humiliating me. With her typical African flair, she accused both me and my husband, even shedding a few tears for dramatic effect. It felt like we were caught in the middle of a soap opera, with emotions running high and tensions simmering beneath the surface.

 To add to the ordeal, my father-in-law also reprimanded Yele, putting further strain on our already fragile relationship. In the end, Yele reluctantly apologized to his aunt, but not without politely asserting our boundaries.As the days passed, we knew we couldn't continue with the strained conversations and all , we had to sit down and finally resolve the matter once and for all. Despite our efforts to mend things, Yele remained resolute in his decision—we weren't ready to start a family. Reluctantly, I accepted his stance, burying my own desires beneath a facade of understanding. But beneath the surface, a storm raged within me, fueled by the growing realization of what lay ahead.

WALKING ON WATERS CHAPTER 7

 

 

CHAPTER 7

The leather steering wheel, cool and unforgiving, pressed into my palms despite the absence of sweat. My thumbs stabbed repeatedly at the unresponsive remote, each impotent click echoing in the car's suffocating silence. It was a feeble attempt to silence the relentless loop playing in my head: Aunt Ibiyemi's voice, dripping with malice, replayed her accusations. "Riverine area girls," she'd sneered, "hardly any good comes from there. Ogbanje, wami mata, water child – all Yele's fault for his stubbornness!" Trapped, I jabbed at the buttons again, a futile effort to quiet the storm within and the one raging outside.

Had I been so blind? The realization hits me like a tidal wave, crashing over the fragile foundations of my understanding. Aunt Ibiyemi's disdain for me, her thinly veiled hostility, it was never about the absence of a child in our marriage. No, it ran much deeper, rooted in something far more insidious.

As the gate groans open in reluctant submission, my mind races back to the conversation that unfolded with chilling clarity. The words, like poisoned arrows, still pierce my heart with their venomous intent.

Yele had shielded me from the harsh reality of his Aunt's hostility, his love a comforting veil that obscures the truth. I had always brushed off Aunt Ibiyemi's behavior as merely strict, attributing it to the typical demeanor of African aunties. It wasn't until today, in the wake of her revelations, that I could no longer deny the depths of her animosity

She never wanted me. From the moment Yele chose me as his bride, I was an unwelcome intruder in her carefully constructed world for her nephew. Her disdain for my riverine heritage, hidden behind a facade of familial duty, now stands exposed in all its ugliness.

And the bitter irony of it all? The cruel twist of fate that mocks our union? The absence of a child, our indecisiveness to conceive, only serves to amplify Aunt Ibiyemi's scorn, to validate her belief that I am unworthy of her nephew's love.

As the car inches forward, the weight of Aunt Ibiyemi's words still heavy in the air, I am left to grapple with the harsh truth of our reality. In a society where motherhood is revered above all else, the absence of a child in the marriage is not just a personal tragedy, but a glaring indictment of my worth as a woman.

In the silence that follows, broken only by the hum of the engine, a million questions churn in my mind, unspoken and raw. I can't help but wonder: how do I move forward from here? How do I navigate a future tainted by Aunt Ibiyemi's prejudice? How can I muster the courage to confront the truth, to tear away the veil Yele has woven to protect me all this while against the harsh reality of what Aunt Ibiyemi truly thinks of me, especially regarding his decision about having a child? These questions gnaw at my mind as I bite on my nails, brows furrowed, still seated behind the wheel.

The question of having a child, is a gaping hole in our dreams, in our lives,a jigsaw puzzle that can only be solved by Yele ,I thought as I pursed my lips, my mind drifting back to the con prophet words

“even a hundred years of her union with your nephew won't yield a single child.” If not for anything,Yele and I must prove to that half baked prophet how his words are spread of lies,how I do not belong to any occultism,demonic group He manufactured in his head ,am nothing but a fruitful woman in all aspects,even in childbearing,I thought exhaling loudly,as if I was making my point clear to an invisible mockery audience.

As I glanced up and spotted Yele's car nestled in the compound, a wave of bitterness washed over me. His return from the men's fellowship, a routine he'd adopted in recent weeks, signaled his presence. But instead of relief or anticipation, bile rose in my throat at the sight of the sleek gray Porsche Cayenne. It was as if the car embodied Yele himself, and if my fury could manifest, it would consume the vehicle in an instant.

My anger towards Yele simmered on multiple fronts. The primary source was his guardedness about his aunt's main motive for her dislike of me, which fueled my disdain. Then there was his stubbornness regarding our family plans, his inability to see the importance of starting a family at this period of our lives. And intertwined with it all was his penchant for indulging in luxuries,Yele's already affluent status provided us with a life of luxury. 

Yet, paradoxically, this very abundance sometimes left me feeling like a mere accessory to his wealth.The parade of flashy cars, the endless stream of material possessions—it all seemed to paint me as a doll in a plastic world, where appearances trumped substance.

Yes, I enjoyed the comforts he provided, the lavish gifts like the brown Hermes Birkin bag displayed on the car seat beside me. But in this moment, surrounded by opulence, I found myself loathing it all. The very things I once cherished now felt suffocating, creating a sense of discontent.

Feeling adrift in a sea of uncertainty, I exited the car with a deliberate gentleness, the door creaking open in sync with the weight of my thoughts. My handbag, a familiar weight on my hand, offered a semblance of stability amidst the tumultuous currents of my mind. With each step towards the house, my head remained bowed, lost in a labyrinth of contemplation and recollection. The events of the bizarre day replayed like a relentless loop, leaving me grappling with questions of where to direct my energies and how this tangled web would ultimately unravel.

                     YELE POV

My fingers danced across the screen of my phone as a soft beep reverberated in the air, shattering the silence of the room. I glanced up, drawn by the familiar sound emanating from the code access door. Its mechanical melody echoed through the quiet space, signaling Yadah's return. With a gentle whirr, the door swung open, framing her silhouette against the subdued glow of the hallway. In that fleeting moment, anticipation intertwined with the comfort of her presence, setting the tone for the moments that lay ahead.

"Hello, Babe, welcome," I said, rising from my seat and extending my arms as she approached from behind the couch. 

"How was your day?" I asked, peering into her eyes. They lacked their usual sparkle, the vibrant glow replaced by a tranquil calmness, like the serene surface of a placid lake at dusk. 

"She must be tired from her outing," I surmised silently, noting the subtle shift in her demeanor. 

"Fine," she whispered, her voice barely audible as she quickly pulled away from my embrace. Her swift, uneasy retreat felt like water slipping through my fingers, an unfamiliar and unsettling demeanor.

My eyes traced her every movement as she settled onto the couch, each subtle shift resonating in the silent room. From the muted thud of her bag meeting the floor to the gentle whisper of fabric as she adjusted her posture, every action seemed magnified. Her movements were deliberate, laden with an unseen burden, her fingers hesitating on the strap of her bag before releasing it. Questions swirled in my mind: Was it the congestion of traffic that weighed her down? Or perhaps an uncomfortable encounter with her long-lost friend? What mysteries unfolded during her absence? With discretion, I observed her as she unclasped her sandals, each motion deliberate yet devoid of its usual vigor. My gaze lingered, absorbing the subtleties of her demeanor, a silent conversation echoing between us.

"I hope you had a great time catching up with your long-time friend. Was it enjoyable reconnecting after so long?" I asked, easing onto the couch beside her. I could feel the uncertainty gnawing at me as I rephrased the question, hoping it would draw her out. 

My mind raced, trying to be the supportive husband she needed. I forced a sheepish smile, my eyes conveying a silent plea for her to open up.

God, to be a husband is no easy task. Being a caring and present husband is even harder. 

Inching closer, I brushed my hand against hers, hoping to create a safe haven around her. Gently, I touched her hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. Tilting my head slightly, I offered a warm, open expression that said, "Talk to me, baby," without uttering a word and my entire being spoke volumes:”I'm here listening”

 My touch lingered, an unspoken invitation to share whatever was weighing on her mind.

"I just told you, the outing was okay," she said, her voice flat. Her right thumb and index finger traced the golden bangle on her left wrist, her eyes fixated on the delicate jewelry, avoiding my gaze.

“Okay” A defeated sigh escaped my lips. My head pivoted like a spotlight shifting beams, darting away from her. My fingers instinctively reached up to rub the back of my neck, massaging a knot of tension that mirrored the one tightening in my gut. The brilliance of my earlier plan to pry more information out of her fizzled in my mind, replaced by the dull ache of realization.

"Anyway, my day went well," I began, eager to share the positive experiences. "I had fun and learned a lot at..."

"Yele, could we talk about your day at the Bromance gathering later?" she interjected as she rose from the couch, effectively shutting down my attempt to lighten the mood. My efforts to create a brighter atmosphere seemed to dissipate like smoke.

"I should go get dinner ready. It's almost time," she said, tapping her wrist with her finger to indicate the time.

"Okay," I replied, pursing my lips slightly as she picked up her handbag and sandals, making her way upstairs to change, I assumed.

                         YADAH'S POV

                          ______________

The bedroom door slammed against the wall with a bang. My bag hit the bed with a thud, the contents erupting in a chaotic sprawl. My breaths came in ragged gasps, each one sharp and shallow. My hands shook so violently I could barely keep them fisted.

"Arghhhhh," The guttural roar ripped from my throat, a primal sound that echoed in the confines of the bedroom. My fists clenched so tightly my nails dug into my palms, leaving crescent moon indents.

 Yele’s carefree happy attitude echoed in my mind, a grating reminder of his blissful ignorance and I envisioned his face crumpling if only I had unleashed the torment his aunt had inflicted on me. My heart raced with the urge to abandon this charade of the virtuous wife and daughter-in-law, my sanity teetering on the edge under the crushing weight of Aunt's expectations, Yele's desires, and my own unspoken longings.

My fingers pressed into my temples, applying deep pressure in a futile attempt to quell the throbbing ache that radiated from behind my eyes. Each pulse sent a wave of nausea washing over me. Echoes of past conversations filled with concern about Yele and me having children crowded my thoughts, swirling around and adding to the ache.

 "So, when are you and your heartthrob planning to start giving me my godchildren?”Oyinkan's voice, laced with pointed cheer, echoed in my head. The question, a persistent itch I couldn't scratch, had burrowed into my mind.Her eager question had surfaced soon after my second marriage anniversary.

"I just added you to the Hannah Prayer Group meeting on WhatsApp," Mrs. Onuorah's voice echoed, drowning out Oyinkan's, each word heavy with concern. 

"They pray every Wednesday evening, fervently asking God to grant them children of their own. I believe it's something you'll appreciate later because this year, you will carry your own Samuel.”

The old deaconess, always watchful and presumptive, had made it her mission to inquire if I had taken in every time she laid eyes on me. To her, attending church after four, almost five years of marriage without a noticeable pregnancy bump was a cause for concern.Her determination to put the devil to shame led her to add me to the enigmatic Hannah Prayer Group. Was I really part of Hannah's group now?

"You girls need to be careful about how you use that word, 'God when ?,'" That was Mr Odewale declaring, his voice overshadowing Mrs Onuorah echoed words in my mind as his gaze settled on two female colleagues while he held his coffee cup aloft like a scepter.

"What word, Mr. Odewale?"The woman on his right tilted her head, curiosity flickering in her eyes,as she leaned in.

"That 'God when?’ you use whenever Yadah shows off a new car," he said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that traveled surprisingly well. "Always top of the line, never a child in the backseat. Doesn't that set off any alarm bells?"

"What are you implying?" The other woman frowned. 

"Use your head! No children, yet a string of expensive cars? That screams 'money ritual' to me. Sacrificed to the dark arts for wealth, perhaps?" Mr. Odewale scoffed.

"Don't be ridiculous," the woman on his left countered, shaking her head. "Yadah and her husband are devoted Christians. They wouldn't do anything like that. Maybe they're having trouble conceiving."

Mr. Odewale snorted. "Christians? Don't make me laugh! Haven't you heard the stories from our line of work? Pious facades hiding all sorts of wickedness. And that house they built, those cars… young people like them don't acquire that kind of wealth honestly. Only juju can explain it!"

Their words pierced through the thin barrier of the door, each syllable a jab at the pit of my stomach. Even as I stood in my bedroom, changing into a casual shirt, it felt as if I were in the tea room with them, hearing their gossip about my fertility. Though I had been eavesdropping, the sting of their conversation was all too real.

Has Yele and I's decision to delay starting a family really driven people to such bizarre conclusions? Their voices echo in my mind—speculations about being godparents, joining the Hannah Prayer Group, even whispers of money rituals. Each theory, more outlandish than the last, as if the absence of a child in my marriage is a mystery they must solve. It's even baffling to recall the bizarre narratives others had constructed.

“even a hundred years of her union with your nephew won't yield a single child.” The words echoed in my head, a malicious loop replaying that baal's prophet pronouncement. Fury coiled in my gut, tightening with each repetition. I slammed the wardrobe door, the wood protesting with a resounding thud that seemed to echo my own outrage. Ignoring the throbbing in my hand, I squared my shoulders, my gaze hardening with resolve. Time to shut down this idiocy. I marched out of the room, determined to refute the bizarre insinuations.

____________________________________________

"Sorry about the beef. I found out too late that we were out of frozen chicken," I muttered, handing him a plate of white rice topped with pepper sauce and a chunk of beef. He sat at the dining table, looking up as I took my seat.

"No worries," he mumbled, shoveling rice into his mouth. My own plate of rice remained untouched. With a sigh, I pushed a single grain of rice around my plate, I stole a glance at Yele, his shoveling of rice the only sound emitting from him. 

Steeling myself, I took a deep breath and lifted my head.

"Yele," I said, my voice barely a whisper.

He grunted in response, finally tearing his gaze from his plate. I saw a flicker of surprise in his eyes.

"I... I have something I'd like to talk about," I stammered, placing my fork down on my napkin.

Yele set down his own fork, a crease appearing between his brows. Leaning back in his chair, he took a long drink from his glass, his eyes fixed on me. 

"Sure," he said finally, placing the glass down with a soft clink. "Go on."

"Alright, Yele," I began, forcing the words out. "First things first, I owe you a huge apology for acting so weird tonight. To be honest, I had a really messed up day that just got to me."

Yele's hand reached across the table, his fingers brushing against mine. "I figured, babe," he said gently.

 "That's why I was trying to see what was wrong. You know I'm always here for you, right? Like you always say, I’m your guy. So, you up for talking about it now?" His voice was warm and inviting, and I felt a sliver of hope pierce through the knot of tension in my chest.

Taking a deep breath, I met Yele's gaze. As I spoke, I tucked a stray tendril of hair from my braid behind my ear. "Actually," I uttered, my voice soft but firm, "I think what I'm about to say is probably more important than how my day went."

“Okay,if you say so, shoot,” Yele uttered, squeezing my hand gently, his eyes searching mine with concern.

"I have decided…” I paused, my mind racing to find the right words. I didn’t want to sound harsh, but I needed Yele to understand how important this was to me.

“I think I want..." My voice trailed off.

"No, scratch that," I muttered, my hand clenching into fist in my lap.

"I have decided I want a baby," I uttered firmly, not breaking eye contact with Yele as I waited for his reaction.

Yele's hand recoiled from mine as if struck.

 "A baby? Like, a baby?" His voice shot up an octave, disbelief etched on his face.

"Yes!" I blurted, urgency lacing my tone. "A baby! I want a baby. I want us to build a family, with children. I'm ready to be a mom, to have our child, and maybe even..." My voice trailed off as I saw a wave of confusion wash over Yele's features.

He held up a hand, the wedding band on it glinting in the lamplight.

 "Hold on a second," he said, his voice low. 

"Why the sudden switch? What sparked this baby talk?"

 "Nothing," I mumbled, averting my eyes. The rice on my plate seemed to mock me with its coldness. 

 "I... I just," I stammered, my breath catching in your throat. 

"I want to be a mom. It just feels like... like it's time, you know? Time for us to start a family. I feel ready." The words rushed out, tumbling over each other in a haste. I wasn't sure if I was giving valid reasons, but I needed him to understand.

Yele's gaze held a mixture of surprise and something else I couldn't decipher. 

"But what about everything we've already talked about?" he finally asked, his voice tight. "What if I'm not ready for this?"

I reached across the table, my hand hovering over his.

 "Yele, honestly," I uttered, searching for the right words, "I don't see how our plans can't include this. We can still do everything we talked about, just... with a little more noise and laughter." A small smile tugged at my lips.

"I just want to be a mother, Yele," I pleaded, my voice soft but your grip firm. 

"Don't you ever want that too?” My hand met his, intertwining his fingers. 

“Hmm” A heavy sigh escaped Yele's lips. 

"I'm not ready, Yadah," he said, his voice laced with trepidation. He gently untangled his fingers from mine.

Disappointment crashed over me, a lead weight settling in my stomach. I forced a smile, the corners of my lips not quite reaching my eyes.

 "Great," I muttered, sarcasm dripping from my tone.

 "So, when exactly is your 'ready' time? One month? Two? Five?"

Yele's brow furrowed slightly, oblivious to the sting in my voice. "Honestly, I don't know, Yadah," he admitted. "But definitely not this year."

The air hung heavy between us. "Alright, fine," I finally said, forcing a smile that felt brittle around the edges. "But listen, could you do me a favor?”

Yele raised an eyebrow, his calm demeanor a stark contrast to the storm brewing inside me. "What's that?" he asked evenly.

"Would you mind telling everyone—our families and friends—about this decision of ours? No, I mean this decision of yours?" I said, my voice tight with controlled anger. "Let's be honest, it's not really a 'we' thing anymore, is it?" The last part came out laced with sarcasm, the smile finally dropping from my face.

Yele's brow furrowed in confusion. "Hold on," he said gently. "What are you getting at? Our decisions have always been personal, right? Why are we mentioning family and friends now?" He shifted in his chair, his gaze lingering on your air quotes. "And what's that about 'my decisions’?... He trailed off, searching my face. "Isn't this something we had talked through together?"

"We might have discussed it before," I said, my voice tight but even, "but right now, this decision isn't something I'm on board with any longer." Yele flinched slightly, but I pressed on. "If it's that important to you, then you should probably let everyone know yourself. Maybe then they would stop pestering me for babies.”

 Taking a deep breath, I pushed back from the table, the untouched foodp⁰ a silent testament to my lost appetite. "I think I'm done here," I said quietly as I stood up, my chair scraping against the floor. The weight of the conversation, the uneaten meal, and my shattered hope settled heavily in my stomach. I turned to walk away, but Yele's hand caught mine, halting my steps.

"What?" I asked, my eyes fixed on his hand holding mine.

"I just..." He hesitated, his eyes searching my face. "I just want to understand. What happened tonight? The change, the frustration... it all came out of nowhere. We were happy this morning, and now..." His voice trailed off, laced with confusion.

"Didn't we agree our marriage wouldn't be about societal pressures?" he continued, his voice gentle but firm. "We said it would be built on God's word and our own choices. So what's going on? Help me see things from your perspective." He squeezed my hand gently, his concern evident.

My gaze dropped to our hands, a bitter laugh bubbling up in my throat. "See things from my perspective?" I finally managed, the humor devoid of any warmth. " I doubt that because from the look on your face, it seems like I just asked you to skydive without a parachute."

Confusion deepened on Yele's face. "What do you mean, Yadah?" he asked, his voice laced with genuine concern.

 "I don't blame you," I voiced. "You can't understand why I snapped. You're not the one everyone's scrutinizing. you're not the one everyone is scanning for a baby bump every time they see you,definitely not the one being added to every Hannah Prayer Group online. And totally not the one subjected to the intense gaze of a weird prophet all day, telling you how demonic you are and that even if I stayed married to you for a hundred years, we'd never have a child." Tears welled up in my eyes.

"Prophet?" Yele frowned. "I thought you were just seeing your friend."

"Look," I said, "there were no friends. I spent the day with your aunt,Aunt Ibiyemi. At some prophet's place, of all things." I said, sighing heavily. I hadn't meant to tell him everything, but he'd gotten under my skin. The damage was done. I took a deep breath, ready to face whatever came next.

“Prophet?”Yele's eyebrows shot up in surprise, his grip on my hand loosening. 

"You followed Aunt Ibiyemi to a prophet?" Disbelief laced his tone. 

"Aunt Ibiyemi, of all people?"

 "I don't know Yele but that's not even the worst part," I continued, my voice trembling with emotion. "Do you know what hurt the most? Aunt Ibiyemi confessed that she was never supportive of our marriage. She expressed her doubts about my ability to conceive, based on some unfounded beliefs about my background. And you never thought it was important enough to tell me. I thought her hostility towards me stemmed from our childlessness, but it runs much deeper. Now, with the prophet's declarations, she has even more reasons to despise me.”I let out.

"Just stop that. Stop!” Yele's voice quivered with fury as he commanded, his face contorted with anger, the palpable frustration hanging heavy in the air. He took a moment to collect himself, his hand meeting his forehead in an exasperated facepalm. 

"I know exactly what to do," he declared with determination, abruptly turning to rush indoors.

"What are you planning?" I inquired, my confusion evident as I followed him cautiously.

"Don't ask me that right now. I'll be back, but I need to address Aunt Ibiyemi's issues first," he stated firmly, urgency lacing his tone.

"Ehhh, don't do anything rash, Yele," I cautioned, my concern furrowing my brow. "Please, don't confront Aunt."

"Don't even say that," he snapped back, frustration boiling over. "She had the nerve to take you, my wife, somewhere without my knowledge? To a God-knows-who prophet, no less? What if something had happened? What if you were in danger? And then all this chaos tonight because of her.”

“And you," he whirled on me, his anger blazing, "you didn't even try to tell me. You lied to me." His words dripped with accusation, his resolve evident as he stormed out of the room, leaving me to trail behind, a knot of worry tightening in my chest.