WALKING ON WATERS CHAPTER 12

                              CHAPTER 12

It’s been two weeks and five days. I let out a low sigh, shutting the door of our bedroom with a force that seemed to echo through the quiet house. The atmosphere feels different—thick, heavy, as if even the walls are holding their breath. My heels click sharply against the floor, breaking the silence, a lonely sound that only makes the emptiness feel more pronounced. I bite down on my lower lip, frustration simmering as I walked down the hallway alone in the stillness.

Two weeks and five days since Yele and I stopped speaking. My heels strike the hallway floor with a more steady rhythm,each click feeling louder in the silence, as if the house itself is listening, waiting for something to break the quiet.

Two weeks and five days since he moved from our bedroom into the guest room. I halted in the middle of the hallway, gripping the handles of my handbag until my knuckles turned pale. My gaze lingered on the closed door down the hall—our room. Or, at least, it used to be.

My eyes flicked to the right, toward the door of the guest room, where he’s been staying. It’s just down the hall, but on the far side, as if he wanted to put as much distance as possible between us.

I took a small, hesitant step forward, and then another, but stopped again in the middle of the hall. The distance between the two doors seems longer today. My fingers drift to my stomach, resting there as if to anchor me. The space between these doors feels like it holds more than just the quiet. It holds all the things we haven’t said, the void that has grown between us, and the walls that now separate him from me—and our baby.

Standing frozen in the hallway, my eyes drifted toward the guest room door, a wave of memories washed over me. That night, I had waited for him. My steps had worn a path in the living room floor, glancing at the clock every few minutes, hoping to hear the front door open. But instead, I’d woken up hours later, tangled in the couch cushions, a blanket tucked around me. I hadn’t put it there. I hadn’t even realized I’d fallen asleep.

My feet carried me to the window before I even realized it. There it was—his car, parked as if it were any other night. I felt a brief wave of relief, but it quickly twisted into confusion. The blanket he'd draped over me earlier was proof he'd come home. But why didn’t he wake me?

I shook off the thought and headed for the bedroom, hoping to find him there. The door swung open to an empty bed. My heart raced. I darted to the restroom—nothing. The closet—still no sign of him. Panic swelled as I hurried down the stairs, moving from room to room. His study, the kitchen, even the pool area—all deserted.

I had paused, realizing just how ridiculous I must have looked, running around like one of those Zee World actors in their dramatic slow-motion scenes. Finally, it hit me—I hadn’t even thought to call him. My fingers had fumbled for my phone, dialing his number.

                  No answer.

I redialed and redialed but each came with an abrupt end. With every unanswered call, the confusion in my mind thickened, each layer suffocating my attempts to make sense of it all. Blanket tucked around me, car in the driveway... but the bed empty? Did he leave the house after coming in?        

Then, a notification buzzed through the haze, his message short and blunt:

"Go to sleep. I’m at home... in the guest room."

Relief came first, but it was fleeting, quickly swallowed by a strange twist of uncertainty. Guest room? My fingers moved instinctively, typing, "What guest room?”

That night,I climbed the stairs slowly, the sound of my heartbeat echoing in the silence. When I reached the door, his ringtone became faintly audible from behind it. My hand lifted, my knuckles rapped softly against the pvc door, but the quiet on the other side stayed unmoved.

"Yele, open the door," I said, my voice shaky as I knocked again, the silence behind the closed door stretching between us. When there was no response, I pressed on, my mind already made up—I’d drop to my knees the moment he opened, hold his legs, beg. Anything to stop the storm I could feel, hovering over us, threatening to take over.

"Yele, please, just open the door." I whispered, my hand resting flat against the door, as though the contact could somehow bridge the growing chasm between us. The knock was softer and desperate.

While at it, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out and stared at the message glowing on the screen:

"Just go to bed. Don’t make this night harder for either of us.”

I stared at the words, trying to process the flood of emotions rising in me. Anger? Sadness? Fear? I couldn’t put a name to it, but I knew it didn’t feel good. With a deep sigh, I turned and walked back to our room, my head bowed in defeat. I had hoped we’d talk things through the next day, but that day never came. He hadn’t looked me in the eye since, let alone sat down to resolve anything.

That night was the first of many. The first night he didn’t come to bed. The first night he didn’t speak to me. I found myself standing outside the guest room again this morning, the same as I had every morning for three weeks. My hand curled into a fist, but the knock was barely a tap on the door.

"I’m off to work," I said quietly, though I wasn’t sure if he was even in there. I stood for a moment longer, hoping—waiting—but the silence answered for him.

Dropping my hand to my side, I turned and walked away, down the stairs, the weight of his absence hanging over me like a shadow that wouldn’t leave.

Walking into the kitchen, I placed my handbag on the sleek, cold marble countertop, its surface smooth beneath my fingertips. I found myself wandering to the side-by-side refrigerator, my hand lingering on the door handle before I pulled it open. The soft hum of the fridge filled the quiet space as I stared inside. Rows of colorful fruits and neatly packed leftovers lined the shelves, each container full of food that once excited me. The cucumbers gleamed under the fridge light, the watermelon still looked juicy, but my stomach turned at the thought of eating them.

I opened the other side, hoping for something to change, but everything inside felt too much—too fresh, too organized, too untouched. My appetite hadn’t shown up for days, and as I shut the door, the emptiness inside me lingered just as stubbornly.

I yanked open the fridge, grabbing a sliced loaf of bread and pulling out a few slices without really looking. My fingers fumbled, and the bread felt limp as I tossed it into a plastic container. Next came a handful of carrots, their bright orange a stark contrast against the dull, dry bread. I stared at the mismatched meal, and my chest tightened—a reminder of just how wrong things had become.

I tried to enclose the plastic container with its cover,fitting in the carrots on top , but it didn’t cover, no matter how I arranged them.

Frustration bubbled up, and before I knew it, tears welled in my eyes. Was it the container? Was it pregnancy hormones? No, it wasn’t just that. It was the thought of doing mornings like this without Yele. The Yele who had become a stranger to me. Unresponsive, distant.

“Just give him time.” Bodisere’s words echoed in my mind. I had been trying to give him time—two whole weeks of silence.

I wiped my eyes, but the tears kept coming. Yele’s absence echoed in every small task. The meals we no longer shared, the conversations that never happened. Two weeks of silence, two weeks of pretending everything was fine when everything was falling apart. His car was parked outside, his clothes still in the closet, but he was nowhere to be found—not in our bed, not in our life.

I looked down at my stomach, resting my hand lightly as if I could somehow shield the baby from the weight of my loneliness.

“Just two more days,” I muttered to myself. Two more days before I’d be forced to bring someone else into this mess—before I’d ask Jire to intervene, something that tasted bitter even in thought. The idea of dragging someone else into this—into our situation—felt wrong. The thought of sitting people down to discuss our child, our life, made my stomach churn. I didn’t want to get to that point. I needed to find a way to talk to him before then.

With a heavy sigh, I closed the container, packed up my strange meal, and tried to steady my breath.

WALKING ON WATERS CHAPTER 11

 

                           CHAPTER 11

                           YADAH'S POV

Hours had passed, but it felt like no time at all. I pressed the power button on my phone, eyes skimming over the glowing numbers on the screen, yet they meant nothing. They blurred together, as distant as everything else around me. Only his voice echoed clearly, looping in my head.

His words cut deeper each time they resurfaced.

"You deceived me."

The sharpness of his voice lingered in the air, even though he was gone. His face, twisted with hurt, the red in his eyes flaring like embers—it all replayed, vivid and unrelenting.

I hadn’t planned for Yele to find out this way. My hand rested on my still-flat stomach, my mind scrambling for a plan I should’ve had by now. The conversation with Bodisere echoed in my head.

“How do you plan to tell him?” Bodisere had asked, her eyes curious, as I sat across from her desk, excitement and fear battling inside me.

I’d laughed nervously, shifting in my seat. “I’ll tell him... I mean, I will.”

Her brow furrowed, her eyes searching mine. “You haven’t even thought about that yet, have you?”

I’d averted my gaze, fiddling with the corner of my bag. “Of course I have,” I’d lied, my voice too light, too shaky.

“Really?” Her tone had been sharp, yet kind. “You’ve planned all this, but you don’t know how to tell your husband he’s going to be a father?”

I’d felt a wave of embarrassment then, heat rising to my face. “He won’t react badly, will he?” I’d muttered, more to myself than her.

Bodisere had leaned forward, her gaze piercing through my uncertainty. “You’re not asking me. You’re hoping.”

Now, sitting on the edge of our bed, the reality of my foolishness settled in. Yele’s voice from earlier still rang in my ears, sharp and cold. My eyes drifted to the door where he’d stormed out, his anger palpable in the lingering silence of the room. The joy I had imagined sharing with him—crushed in a single moment.

I wrapped my arms around my stomach, my thumb absentmindedly tracing small circles as if I could protect our baby from the fury that had exploded. My heart clenched as the memory of his words clawed at me, his voice laced with a hurt I hadn’t anticipated.

The air felt thick with everything unsaid, and I inhaled deeply, trying to breathe through the heaviness sitting on my chest.

The weight of the moment settled heavily on me as I replayed the past two weeks in my mind, sifting through every failed plan, every attempt to tell Yele about the life growing inside me. Our baby, now almost six weeks old, nestled within my womb, and yet the right words, the right moment, still eluded me. My hand instinctively rubbed my stomach again, but nothing felt right. Everything went sideways before I could even muster up the courage.

“What if I tell him on his birthday?” I had floated the idea to Bodisere a few weeks ago, as Yele's birthday approached.

“That’s an insane idea! A terrible birthday gift," Bodisere had responded over the phone. "Not your baby, of course — the baby isn’t the problem. But springing that news on him on his birthday? No. Just don’t.”

Biting my lip, I asked, “When should I tell him then? Honestly, I don’t think he’ll make a fuss. The only reason we’ve been holding off on more kids was because of our future goals. He’s not exactly against it.”

“But what if he thinks you got pregnant because of pressure?”

I had exhaled slowly at that, relieved that at least Bodisere understood the complexity. “I thought getting pregnant was the hard part, but no. Turns out, it’s telling my husband. Maybe I’m the irrational one here, but I can’t regret this baby.”

“I just have to find a way to explain to Yele how much I wanted this,” I had said to Bodisere then, full of conviction. But now, looking back, those words felt like trying to mop up spilled milk. I knocked my temple in frustration, feeling utterly foolish. All this time, I’d been nothing more than a desperate woman caught in a web of her own making.

Placing my hand on my forehead, I tried to soothe the dull ache creeping in, but all it did was amplify the echo of his words: “You deceived me.” A deep sigh escaped my lips as I sank deeper into the edge of the bed. The room felt heavy with unspoken truths, and I could almost hear the weight of my guilt pressing against the walls.

 How had it come to this? I bit down on my fingers, a nervous habit I thought I’d shaken off. My mind raced back to that day in Bodisere’s office. I had resolved to tell him today, after all. She had insisted that revealing my news on his birthday would be insensitive, and I had reluctantly agreed. But with each passing moment, the urgency to confess grew like an unshakable itch.

The memories of our small birthday gathering flooded back, the little get-together I had planned for his birthday had been filled with some comments on how I was glowing, how I had “the look” of a pregnant woman—each remark had felt like a ticking clock, counting down to the moment I had to confess. Oyinkan, with her usual lack of subtlety, had even asked outright in front of Yele if I was pregnant. Her audacity had sent waves of panic through me, and the pressure her bold question left in my soul had been unbearable.

Today was supposed to be different. I had planned a lovely evening—just the two of us—where I could sit him down and lay everything out, no more hiding. But now, hearing his accusation, “You deceived me,” twisted like a knife in my gut, the reasons I’d convinced myself were valid now felt flimsy and selfish.

I wrapped my arms around myself, willing the world to quiet, the shadows of my intentions swirling chaotically around me.

“So, I’m going to tell him today. I’ve decided—today,” I’d said to Bodisere over the phone earlier, pacing within the confines of our bedroom. My voice had wavered just a little, but I forced confidence into it. “You saw how everyone at the party kept going on about me glowing like a pregnant woman.”

Bodisere’s laughter crackled through the speaker, though it felt distant, her usual reassurance not quite landing the way I hoped. “What do you mean ‘everybody’? It was just a few people, and that loudmouthed friend of yours, Oyinkan. One of the reasons I’ve never been a big fan of hers,” she replied, her tone edged with her typical disapproval of Oyinkan. But today wasn’t the day to delve into that.

“Some people, everyone—it's all the same,” I retorted hastily, anxiety prickling at the back of my mind.

As I sat down on the edge of the bed, I caught sight of my reflection in the mirror—still glowing, still carrying the weight of a secret too heavy to keep. The room, usually a place of comfort, now felt like it was closing in on me with each second I delayed telling Yele the truth.

I twirled the hem of my shirt, my mind running through every scenario, every possible reaction he could have. But none of them prepared me for the moment ahead.

“Baby girl, calm down. So, how do you plan to tell him? Could you run me through the plan script, if you don’t mind?” Bodisere’s voice had shifted to a serious tone, cutting through my racing thoughts.

I hesitated, the weight of her question settling over me like a thick fog. The plan? A script? Do I even have one? Yeah, I do. I quickly rambled about the simple date I had arranged for us, nervously pacing around the room.

"Then later, I’ll just tell him. I’ll tell him everything," I said, my voice shrinking like a child confessing to sneaking candy from her mother’s purse.

“One sec—what exactly are you going to say? I mean, how are you going to say it?” Bodisere pressed, her voice slicing through my fragile resolve. If only she hadn’t asked me to rehearse it out loud. If only I hadn’t recited those words aloud ... 

“Baby, what did you just say?” Yele’s voice cut through the air like a thunderclap, freezing me in place. He stood at the doorway, eyes narrowing in disbelief, catching the very words I had been turning over in my mind, as if I’d summoned them into reality.

I turned slowly, my heart crashing against my chest. Everything unraveled in that instant—the careful plan, the timing, the hope that I could ease him into the truth. All of it shattered in the wake of his question, hanging heavy in the air between us.

Yele’s voice cracked through the air, his words sharp with disbelief. “What do you mean you’re pregnant? Did I hear that right?”

My breath caught in my throat. I tried to steady myself, but the words tumbled out in a soft, shaky whisper. “I can explain, babe.”

His eyes flared with confusion, his posture rigid as he took a step closer, hands planted firmly on his hips. “Explain? We had an IUD, you had an IUD. What do you mean by pregnancy?” His voice, once bewildered, was growing taut, the realization creeping into his face. 

I could feel my heart racing as I dropped the phone, Bodisere’s voice disappearing into silence. “I can explain,” I stammered again, grasping for anything to make this right.

His nostrils flared, veins visible along his neck as he faced me, his hands trembling at his sides. “Don’t make me believe what’s going through my head right now is true. Did you have it removed?” His voice cracked, straddling the line between anger and hurt, as his eyes pleaded for a different answer, one that wouldn’t betray the trust between us.

The silence weighed heavy. His eyes bore into mine, searching for a flicker of something that could undo what was already unfolding. I could see the desperation in his eyes, the hope flickering behind them that I would say something to make this all a mistake, a misunderstanding. I wanted to lie, to weave some story about a medical error, a malfunction with the IUD. The thought danced on the tip of my tongue, but I swallowed it back. Lying would only make it worse, and deep down, I knew that.

My throat tightened as the truth pressed against my lips. It was heavy, crushing. 

“Yes,” I whispered, the word barely escaping my lips, fragile and small.

The air between us seemed to shatter. Yele’s face twisted, hurt colliding with fury as the truth settled in, a truth neither of us could undo.

"Why did you do it?" His words came out barely louder than a whisper, but they cut through the air like ice, chilling me to the bone.

I opened my mouth to answer, but the weight of his question pressed down on me. It wasn’t just the words themselves—it was the disappointment laced in his voice, the shock in his eyes. I could see the way his shoulders slumped ever so slightly, like the strength had been drained out of him.

“Because… because I wanted it,” I whispered, my hands trembling as I avoided his gaze, my eyes finding the floor.

Yele’s brows knit together, confusion etched in every line of his face. “Wanted what?” His voice, though calm, carried a weight that made my heart sink.

I swallowed hard, the words caught in my throat, but they tumbled out anyway. “I wanted a baby. Our baby.” The air between us thickened, and suddenly everything I’d held back—Aunt Ibiyemi’s sharp comments, the whispers, the stares—rushed out like a dam breaking. “I couldn’t take it anymore, Yele. The pressure… the words... all of it. I just wanted...”

I stopped, my breath coming in shallow gasps as if the weight of my confession had knocked the wind out of me.

Yele’s silence was worse than any anger. He just stood there, arms folded, staring at me like I’d turned into someone he didn’t recognize. His jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing.

“Wow.” The word escaped his lips, slow and deliberate, like he was forcing himself to speak. “You’re saying this… because of them? You let their voices get to you? You let them push you into this?” His voice remained calm, but his body stiffened, every muscle tense.

I opened my mouth to explain, but the words died before they could form.

“And you...” he continued, his voice growing tighter, harsher, “you deceived me. You went behind my back. We decided together, Yadah. Together.”

The air between us shifted, heavy and thick. His hands fell to his sides, and his eyes—those eyes that once held warmth—looked at me as if I’d shattered something precious between us.

“I trusted you.” His voice cracked, just slightly. “But you deceived me.”

The words hung in the room like a dark cloud, pressing down on my chest, making it hard to breathe.

“You got what you wanted,” he said, his voice now cold, cutting. “But you have no idea what you’ve just done.”

With that, he turned sharply, the door swinging open before slamming shut behind him. The sound echoed in the silence, leaving me standing there, my hands still trembling, his words—you deceived me—repeating over and over in my head like a cruel mantra.

CHAPTER 10

 

     CHAPTER 10

The rim of the glass felt cool against my fingertips as I traced it slowly, the scent of mint and lime rising with each idle swirl of my virgin mojito. I took in the quiet hum of the hotel lounge as I leaned back in the soft armchair, the muffled chatter from distant conversations blending into the soft clinking of glasses.

The energy from our Bromance in Christ meetup had faded, leaving the room behind me dark and still, like the echo of something powerful yet fleeting. Across the room, shadows stretched from the dim lighting, long and lazy, as if the night itself had settled into the lounge to wait with me. I lifted the glass to my lips, the cold tang of lime teasing my tongue as the drink slid down smooth, easing away the tightness that had clung to me all day.

Jire’s words from earlier replayed in my head: "Wait for me. I won’t be long." But time felt like it was stretching with each glance at the clock. He was still holed up with Lotanna and the other execs, probably knee-deep in discussions that always seemed to carry a certain weight. I wasn’t in a rush though. I let my gaze drift around the room, taking in the polished floors, the soft murmur of the hotel life going on around me, the faint scent of wood and leather from the furniture.

I sighed, leaning back, feeling the plush of the chair pull me in deeper. It wasn’t so bad, this waiting. In moments like these, everything else fell away, leaving just me and the quiet thoughts I’d pushed aside during the meeting. Still, curiosity lingered. What could they be talking about? I flicked a glance at the hallway where they’d disappeared, wondering how much longer I’d be left in this peaceful limbo.

A small smile tugged at my lips as I lazily traced invisible circles on my temple, my finger moving without thought. The faint coolness of the mojito lingered on my tongue, refreshing as my mind drifted. Who could’ve imagined I’d actually be here? I shook my head, almost laughing at the irony. After dodging Jire’s invites more times than I could count, I’d once thought this meetup was just another thing to shrug off. Yet here I was, barely missing a single week.

I glanced around the lounge, still replaying the moments from earlier—men leaning in, their voices steady, sharing more than just stories. The weight of God’s word seemed to hang in the air, a presence you could almost feel. Each prayer, each scripture spoken, felt like a lifeline, pulling us closer to something real. It wasn’t surface-level chatter, but something deeper—edifying, sharpening one another like iron on iron. Not the empty small talk you’d find elsewhere. No, this was different. We weren’t meeting for mundane things. Every word, every moment stirred something deeper, pushing us to be more, to believe more. It felt surreal. A gathering of men—not for sports, not for business, nor binge drinking but to stir each other up toward good works and faith. 

I took another sip, the tang of lime and mint washing over me, and felt a quiet pride swell in my chest. Men rising up, not for themselves, but for something greater. The thought flickered through my mind like a spark. Maybe that’s what Jire had seen all along—this shift, this generation of men coming together for a purpose that made heaven smile.

“Indeed, a new generation of men that will make God proud on this earth is on the rise,” I thought, the idea wrapping around me like a quiet hope.I pulled out my phone, thumb swiping through the screen aimlessly. My WhatsApp chats opened up, the familiar icons lighting up the list of unread messages. A couple stood out—quick responses, nothing too pressing. My fingers moved fast, tapping out replies, but the others? I skimmed over them, too much to handle right now. With a flick, I left them untouched.

Once done, I let out a small breath, the screen now clear of red notifications. Without thinking, I tapped into the status updates, letting the stories roll by one after the other.

As I scrolled through the status updates, a soft chuckle escaped me, a meme flashing by, drawing out a smirk. Another flick, and my smile faded, replaced by a slight furrow of my brow—this one hit deeper, a post on life's truths that had me pausing, thinking. My thumb moved again, and a small smile crept onto my lips. There she was, a face I’d recognize anywhere—the one that always made my heart skip, even on the screen. Her eyes, her smile... my wife.

This time, my grin stretched wider. It wasn't just her usual warm smile that lit up her eyes; it was everything about the picture. She stood tall, exuding grace, her curly bob wig perfectly framing her face. The emerald green and gold floral brocade of her high-neck pencil dress hugged her figure, its structured shoulders accentuating her poise. Every detail whispered elegance, capturing my heart all over again.

I recognized the dress from yesterday, the same one she wore to work, and I had thought she looked beautiful then. But seeing it in her status made my praise feel utterly insufficient. What in the world was this beauty before me? I leaned closer, my eyes roaming from her radiant smile down to the way the dress hugged her figure, every seam tailored to perfection.

 The burgundy ombre nails caught my attention, each one a little work of art, and those pointed toe pumps? They added a chic elegance that turned the whole outfit into a masterpiece. My heart raced—she was stunning, and it felt like she had just elevated her beauty to another level.

"Looks like I need to pay another bride price," I typed, my fingers moving before my brain could catch up, a grin tugging at the corners of my mouth as I hit send.

It’s not like Yadah didn’t always dress well—she did. But over the past few months, something has shifted. Her style, her attention to detail, everything about her seemed more intentional. It wasn’t just her outfits, though. It felt like every part of our marriage had deepened—our love life, the way we connected—and somehow, that change had spilled over into her wardrobe, too.

Do I like what I see? Absolutely. I love it, especially since she’s not crossing any lines—nothing revealing, always knowing what’s appropriate for the public and what’s reserved for the privacy of our bedroom. No issue there. What leaves me astonished is the shift. I’ve seen this woman change so many times in our five years of marriage, it almost feels like I’m meeting her again.

I remember her as the outspoken, bold woman who first caught my attention, the one who held her own in any situation. But after marriage, she started pulling back—keeping her voice down. It bothered me, no, it frustrated me. Aunt Ibiyemi’s harsh words echoed in my head, reminders of times she belittled Yadah, and I couldn’t help but get pissed. Was marriage really changing her, stripping away the very parts of her I fell in love with?

It wasn’t just her voice that changed. The way she addressed certain things became...different. When I pointed it out, she’d give me the standard response: "I’m a married woman now; this is how I should act." Sure, I get that. I’m not against adapting to marriage, but I didn’t want her losing herself in the process.

But now, looking at this picture of her on my screen, I see the old Yadah again—only more. There’s boldness in her again, a spark, as if she’s reclaiming herself, and adding layers to who she’s becoming. She was becoming something greater—reclaiming the boldness she once had, and it was making me look twice, realizing she wasn’t done evolving yet. 

Just that, this evolution was more than I had anticipated, something deeper, almost like there was an unseen force behind it. Something had shifted in Yadah, something I couldn’t quite pin down. Lately, in our quiet moments—the ones where words didn’t need to fill the space—there was a newfound spark in her eyes, a boldness that spilled into everything. I couldn’t quite name it, but it was as if she had unlocked a part of herself she had kept hidden for too long. It was both familiar and unfamiliar, like I was seeing her with new eyes, and yet it was the same woman I had always known. And this has stirred curiosity in me, a nagging question I couldn’t quite answer: where was this coming from?

Who—or what—was behind this quiet transformation? The answer seemed just out of reach, like a word on the tip of my tongue that refused to form.

I lifted my head from my phone, catching movement in the corner of my eye. There they were—Jire and Lotanna—walking toward me with that easy stride of theirs, like they’d just finished discussing some weighty matters. 

I slipped my phone into my pocket, eyes following their approach. Behind them, the remaining four men from the meeting were already making their way out, offering a few waves and nods from afar as they headed to the exit. Their “goodbyes” echoed in the air, each one a reminder of the brotherhood we had just shared. I gave them a nod in return, watching as they disappeared one by one, leaving behind the lingering sense of camaraderie.

"My one and only friend," Jire's voice rang out, just before I felt his arms wrap around me in an unexpected embrace from behind.

My eyes widened, and I threw him a side glance, raising my brows in mock surprise. He chuckled at my reaction. Lotanna stood there, watching us with a soft grin, shaking his head slightly at our antics.

“Why the look?” Jire teased, his voice laced with laughter. I blinked deliberately, fluttering my lashes like I was in some over-the-top drama. He caught it instantly, his grin spreading wider, a chuckle escaping as he watched my exaggerated expression.

“Why wouldn’t I give you such a look when you’re hugging me like that, as if there’s something more going on between us?” I replied, feigning an exaggerated gasp. I glanced around, gesturing toward the glaring CCTV camera mounted above us and the few patrons scattered throughout the lounge. 

“Abeg, I take God beg you, I’m a married man, and you can see the cameras watching. Don’t let anyone catch us and use me for their online shine, oh,” I added with a smirk, shaking my head playfully.

“Only one person gets to hug me like that, and that’s my one and only wife,” I said, letting a playful smirk tug at the corners of my mouth. I straightened up, my posture shifting slightly as I shot Jire a mock-serious glare, raising an eyebrow for effect. The lightness in my voice contrasted with the warmth of my gaze, an unspoken promise of loyalty lingering in the air.

“Sir,” Jire called over to Lotanna, his tone mock-serious. “Can you see one of the things I endure at the hands of this man?” He threw his hands up, a playful exasperation lighting up his face. “One of the reasons I’m always grateful to God that I’m married, because if not, this guy for don use intimidation finish me!” He gestured dramatically, his voice rising as he delivered the punchline in a thick Pidgin accent, causing a few heads to turn in our direction.

“And look, sir!” Jire leaned closer to Lotanna, his expression gleeful. “I got married before him. I’m the senior in this marriage game, and yet he acts like he’s the one schooling me!” His laughter rang out, contagious and bright, as he shot me a teasing glance, the camaraderie between us palpable. I couldn’t help but chuckle, the lighthearted banter weaving a warm atmosphere around us.

“Look at the way the two of you are making me jealous for not having this kind of friendship earlier in my life,” Lotanna remarked, a teasing grin spreading across his face as he glanced between Jire and me. “I think right now I need to write an application to join this friendship of yours!” His tone was light, but the warmth in his eyes showed how much he valued the bond we shared.

Jire laughed, leaning back slightly, hands raised in mock surrender. “Don’t worry, sir! There’s always room for one more in our little circle!” He flashed a broad smile, making the moment feel even more inviting.

I chuckled, the connection between us buzzing in the air, a reminder of the brotherhood we were building. It felt good, sharing this lightness, surrounded by men who understood the importance of friendship and faith.

“Anyways, I just came over to say thank you for waiting for Jire and sorry for any inconvenience we might cause. The meeting just had to happen impromptu,” Lotanna said earnestly, his hand giving my shoulder a friendly pat.

I smiled, shaking my head. “It’s okay, sir, really. No problem at all.” I waved a dismissive hand, trying to ease his concern. 

“Honestly, I understand completely. That meeting is far more important than any hangout we had planned. Everything you do is for our buildup.”

“Thanks for understanding,” Lotanna said, his voice tinged with sincerity as he placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “Alright, guys, I should head out now. Please send my regards to all the madams at home.”

He gave us a nod, his smile warm but tinged with the weight of responsibility, before turning to leave.

“Okay, sir. Good night! See you next week,” Jire and I called after him, watching as he strode away, his footsteps echoing softly in the quiet lounge. I exchanged a glance with Jire, both of us feeling the absence of Lotanna's easy presence already.

Jire flopped down onto the chair, glancing at his wristwatch with a dramatic sigh. “Oga sir, I know this hangout thing isn’t happening today, looking at the time,” he said, his voice laced with disappointment. He leaned forward, his eyes wide and pleading, reminiscent of a puppy caught in a rainstorm. “So, tell me, how can I make it up to you?

“Anyway, the day’s practically over,” I said, waving a hand as if to dismiss the lost time.“We’ll make up for it another time. But we should at least grab something. On days like this, I do tell Yadah not to bother cooking since she knows I will bring some food for her from our hangouts. Let’s hit the supermarket and pick up some snacks or food on the way.”

“Thanks for mentioning the supermarket,” Jire muttered, running a hand over his face with exaggerated relief. “You just saved me from sleeping outside.”

My brows lifted, curiosity piqued. “What now?”

"Kiki broke his mother’s favorite perfume bottle," Jire groaned, rubbing his temples. 

“The only way I got him out of her fiery wrath was by promising to replace it on my way home.”

"That’s a big one," I chuckled.but Jire was already counting on his fingers, brows furrowed.

"Lily’s diapers… J.J’s bubbles... and oh, Lily’s milk that I promised to get." His voice trailed off as he muttered under his breath, completely absorbed.

I glanced at him, one side of my lip curling up, amused at the sight. He looked up and caught my stare.

“What?” he asked, a hint of confusion flashing in his eyes.

“Nothing, just surprised at how much you’re juggling in the parenting department. I can’t believe you’ve turned into a walking shopping list,” I teased, a grin creeping onto my face.The truth was, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was miles away from ready for that kind of responsibility.The shadow of parenthood loomed over me, a constant reminder of my past. I had never experienced the chaos of bringing a child into the world myself, but the memory of my mother’s death during childbirth haunted me. Though I hadn’t witnessed her final moments, the stories echoed in my mind like whispers of dread, reminding me of the fragility of life. 

Watching Jire navigate the demands of fatherhood left me both envious and grateful. I was relieved to still have the freedom to enjoy life with Yadah, yet the weight of potential loss loomed heavy. The idea of swapping all Yadah and I enjoyed in our marriage in this period of our lives for diaper bags and tantrums seems distant. Would I ever be ready to step into those shoes? 

For now, I watched Jire with admiration, while my heart wrestled with uncertainty.

"Alaye, stay there and keep doing 'dating externship' with your wife,”Jire said, raising a brow with a teasing grin, but his voice carried weight.He leaned back in his chair, shaking his head before casting a pointed look at me. “Better enter fatherhood club quick before you go start with gray hair!”

"Abeg, let my wife and me rest for now," I said, pushing back my chair with a quiet scrape. "No space to handle that yet," I added, rising to my feet, hands sliding into my pockets as I gave him a small nod.

Jire chuckled, leaning back in his chair with a knowing grin. "Keep deceiving yourself, bro. Before you know it, space go open, and you go enter full-time fatherhood, whether you ready or not." He tapped the table lightly. "Just remember, no manual for this thing, but you’ll survive." He added,as he rose to his feet

"Guy, I appreciate it, but my wife and I are good where we are." I kept my tone light, but the moment the words left my mouth, a familiar shadow edged in. Jire’s voice faded as the old scenes stirred—the ones I’d buried deep.My feet felt steady, but my mind wasn’t as a familiar tightness began to form in my chest. Not today, I thought, pushing the thoughts down, not ready to let them unravel.

Jire nudged me with a grin, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "We all know you guys are doing just fine, but come on, we can't wait to see a little Yadah or Yele running wild! Omo, I’m ready to be the cool uncle, spoiling your kids while you try to keep up. Just picture it—perfect mix of beauty and trouble. Don't keep us hanging for too long, bro," he teased, though his eagerness for us to step into parenthood was more than clear beneath the banter.

I shook my head, grinning as I stood up and grabbed my phone. "Alright, let’s get out of here before you come up with more ways to ruin my peaceful life."

Jire laughed, slinging an arm over my shoulder as we made our way to the exit. 

"You know me, I’m just getting you ready for the real deal. It’s all love, bro.”

As we stepped out into the cool night air, his words floated around me, but they barely registered. My steps were steady, but the tightness in my chest hadn’t loosened. I offered a half-smile at his jokes, but my mind was elsewhere, where his excitement and my silence met in a quiet tension I wasn’t ready to unpack.