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.

YELE'S POV.

I stood behind the curtains, barely breathing as her car eased down the driveway. For two weeks, I’d hidden here like this—silent, unmoving—watching her leave after she knocked on the door, her voice soft with a goodbye I never returned. She always lingered, waiting for a response I couldn't give. 

My gaze flicked to the international passport lying on the table. I hadn’t touched it in days, yet it seemed heavier each time I looked at it

"Yele is such a brave boy," people used to say. "He’s handling his mother’s death so well." They’d praised me for how I carried myself after losing her, how I seemed untouched by grief. But they had no idea. No one saw the coward standing here now, torn between rage and fear.

Now, I felt hollowness creeping back in, the same helplessness I tried to avoid. A mix of anger and fear twisted inside me. I wanted to forgive her, to break the silence and close the distance between us. But the fear... it was always there, lurking just beneath the surface. What if everything fell apart? What if I couldn’t hold on to her?

I lowered myself to the floor, leaning against the wall. My knees pulled to my chest, my mind racing with everything I couldn’t say aloud. Yadah’s name slipped through my thoughts like a plea, but the words stayed trapped, just like me.

I glanced at my phone, the screen bright with notifications—missed calls, messages piling up in WhatsApp. My thumb hovered over Yadah’s name, her unread texts stacking one after the other, untouched for days. I could picture her typing each one, waiting for a response that never came. If I responded, I knew it would pull me back into the tangled web of lies, or worse, stir the fear that had been quietly growing inside me, now starting to claw its way to the surface, I wasn’t ready for that.

Jire’s messages were no different, blaring like alarms. “Guy, you no show again for this week's meeting.” The words stared back at me. If I called him, I knew he’d see through the lie I’d told him the first time—about being too busy with work. Work—something I had barely focused on, yet kept throwing out as an excuse. It was the one thing I could still pretend to rely on, a hollow comfort, but it was losing its hold on me.

I scrolled further, Lotanna’s message catching my eye. "How are you bro?" Simple, just like him. I had sent him the same vague reply, not wanting to engage. He’d even sent voice notes from the meetings I missed, but I didn’t press play. The past few weeks, I've craved only one thing: solitude. I didn’t want to engage. I didn’t want to explain. I just wanted to be alone.

And God? He feels distant—like a faint echo, far off, barely there. I haven't talked to Him in days, and honestly, I don’t feel like trying. No urge. No desire. Just... nothing. It’s like I’m standing in a fog, knowing He’s out there somewhere, but I can’t see Him, can’t reach Him. Every time I think about praying, my chest tightens, the confusion swirls, and I just shut down. The weight of everything—the lies, the silence, the fear—it’s all pressing down, and I can’t find my way out of it.

Years ago,He’d urged me to deal with the fear—pushing me toward it—but each time, I buried it deeper. I ignored the voice, pretended not to hear till the voice became silent. Now, the weight of avoidance sits like a stone in my chest, making me feel small and distant. My eyes drifted back to the international passport sitting on the table, untouched. A heavy reminder of all that was hanging in the balance, of choices waiting to be made.

_______________________________________________

                        YADAH’S POV 

I walked into the house, my legs dragging as if each step took extra effort.Today’s work felt like going through the motions—my body was there, but my mind and spirit were somewhere else. I trudged through the hours, barely finishing anything on my desk. As I stepped into the house, I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. Everything felt heavy, distant, like I was floating outside myself, just existing.

As I dropped my handbag onto the couch, the absurdity of the office meeting we had replayed in my mind, and warmth crept into my cheeks. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block out the memory of my absent-mindedness. My fingers had been tracing the rim of my notebook, lost in thought, when a sharp tap on my arm pulled me back to the moment where we all sat round the table.

I had blinked and found my HOD leaning slightly toward me, a knowing smile dancing on his lips.

"A penny for your thoughts, Mrs. Cardoso."

The room had fallen into an awkward hush, the weight of every gaze pressing down on me. I could still feel the tension in the air, thick with anticipation, as I stumbled for words. The earlier buzz of conversation faded into the background, leaving me to grapple with the embarrassment of being caught adrift in my own head. Now, at home, the memory lingered, making me cringe at my moment of distraction.

As I stepped into the kitchen, the breakfast container clattered against the sink.I hadn’t touched much of my meal—just a few carrot slices scattered around the plate—while the bread sat there, untouched and stale, mocking my half-hearted attempt at a meal.

My mind wandered to the call from our local church earlier. The follow-up caller's concerned voice echoed, asking why I had missed Sunday and midweek services . How could I explain that my absence was tied to Yele’s? That the first excuse about him being busy with work was just that—a convenient lie, one even I couldn't believe anymore.The memory of that first Sunday resurfaced. I had been dressed, waiting to go to church together like we always did. But instead, his message came: I’m having service at home today. A knot had formed in my stomach, and after a moment of hesitation, I put on a brave face and went alone, the unfamiliar pews feeling colder without him beside me.

And then it happened again the next week. The way I felt the familiar weight of sadness settle on my chest as I chose to stay home, retreating into the silence of our house instead of seeking solace in the congregation.

It wasn’t just the silence between us now, the cold tension of shared space without connection. We had stopped worshiping together, and somehow, that felt like the heaviest blow. As I rinsed my hands under the faucet, I felt the weight of it all, larger than our home could contain.

The highlight of the day flickered to life in my mind as my lips twitched—just slightly—Bodisere's voice.Not just today, but for weeks now, her voice had pierced through the fog that clung to me, a vibrant note in the otherwise muted symphony of my days.

"Yadah, don’t make me remind you again about your antenatal visits," Bodisere’s voice played in my mind, the familiar sharpness cutting through the fog. I could almost hear her pacing on the other end of the phone. “This is your 8th week, and you’ve missed every one so far!”

I had muttered something about forgetting, knowing how absurd it sounded even as the words left my mouth.

"Slipping your mind? Can you hear yourself?" Her laughter had bubbled up, but the reprimand was still there, just beneath it. "You’re the first pregnant woman I’ve ever heard say that. Make sure you stop by the clinic tomorrow."

I’d tried to apologize, but she wasn’t done.

"How are you supposed to know which supplements to take, huh? Or maybe you think I’ll just prescribe them over the phone? No chance. You two want to take my license, abi?" Her laugh softened the scolding, but I could feel the concern behind every word.

I had mumbled another apology, but her voice had already shifted to something more tender.

"It’s okay, Yadah. I know things aren’t easy right now, but don’t let us forget to take care of my godchild," she had said, her tone softening like the warmth of a hug through the phone. "Yele will come around soon, I know it. Don’t worry about him. And don’t go moping around either. I’ll send someone over later with whatever you’re craving."

I took the stairs slowly, my mind tracing every step Bodisere had walked with me. Her laughter still echoed in the corners of my memory, soft but steady, always there to calm me when my panic bubbled over. I could see her face now, eyebrows drawn as I pushed her to remove the IUD, yet she never said a word about what made her change her mind.

I remembered the way she’d stayed calm when I had thrown a fit after just a month of trying, convinced something was wrong with me. I had stormed into her office, demanding Clomid, my voice trembling with frustration. But instead of matching my panic, she placed her hand on mine and gently reminded me I didn’t need it.

Even after Yele’s harsh words, she hadn’t snapped at me. When I thought she might turn her back, she stayed. Through my tears and misguided plans, she was there, her presence steady, like a balm for my worn-out heart.

I reached the top of the stairs, a quiet resolve settling over me. I couldn’t let her down.  

        

YELE'S POV 

"She's home. Call her," I said, my hand gripping the phone tighter than I intended. Molawa's voice buzzed in my ear, but I barely registered his words.

"Just call her directly," I repeated, my voice calm despite the tension building in my chest. The room felt smaller, every sound amplified—the ticking clock, my uneven breathing. I forced myself to speak again, keeping it light.

"Okay, I'll tell her," I said, trying not to let the tightness in my throat slip into my words. As I ended the call, I rubbed my face, hoping Molawa hadn’t sensed anything off.

 

YADAH’S POV

I unclasped the bracelet, the soft click breaking the silence in the room. My fingers moved slowly, almost hesitantly, as I placed it on the dressing table. Standing there, I stared at the simple piece of jewelry, its shine dulled under the dim light. The reflection in the mirror showed a face I barely recognized—tired eyes, lips pressed in a thin line. I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding, my shoulders sagging slightly as if that small action had lifted more than just the bracelet off me.

A familiar chime pulled me from my thoughts, and I glanced at the phone screen. Bridget. I didn’t hesitate as I swiped to answer. It had been a while.

Bridget was part of the airline staff Yele and I always used for our trips to America. We’d come to prefer their services, especially for trips across the Atlantic, and it didn’t hurt that Yele had worked on some of their aircraft software. But more than that, Bridget had become our go-to, our inside person whenever we needed something quickly—a last-minute ticket, a favor when things were tight. She was Nigerian too, which made the connection even easier. Sometimes, when she had the chance, she'd even help us grab a few things while abroad.

So when her name flashed on the screen, I couldn’t dismiss it. A smile tugged at my lips as I picked up the call.

“Hello, Bridget,” I greeted, my smile widening as I heard her familiar voice on the other end.

“Hey, Yadah! It’s been a while,” she replied, her laugh carrying that mix of American and Nigerian accents that always made me smile.

“Yes, it has,” I admitted, feeling a slight pang of guilt. “Sorry I haven’t called in a while. Work has been... overwhelming.”

“No wahala. I should have called too,” she replied easily. "How are you?"

I ran a hand through my hair, more out of habit than nerves. "I’m good, just trying to keep my head above water. You?”

"Work’s busy, but we’re managing. " her voice brightened, as if a weight had lifted just mentioning them.“Actually, speaking of work, something happened in my office, and I thought I should call you.”

“What?” I asked, curiosity piqued. I couldn’t imagine how anything from her office could involve me.

“Why didn’t you tell me you guys were moving?” Bridget’s voice pierced through the room.

I blinked, confused, my fingers gripping the edge of the dressing table. "Moving? What do you mean?”

She sighed, the sound of papers shuffling on her end. "Yadah, my boss just mentioned booking a flight for Yele to America—between today and Friday."

The words hit like a sucker punch. My stomach clenched as I stared blankly at the tiles underfoot, Bridget’s voice fading in and out as if she were miles away.The world tilted. What flight?

 

Bridget kept talking, unaware of the turmoil stirring within me. "I was surprised too, honestly. You both usually handle things through me, but no big deal, I guess.But here’s the kicker—he’s renting my boss’s condo for a year.”

“A condo?” 

Bridget’s voice was distant now, more of a hum than actual words. "I mentioned before that my brother and I run business overseas. you know,”

A sharp pain tightened in my chest. I clutched my phone tighter, suddenly feeling the weight of it like a stone in my hand. Yele? Renting a condo? In America? For a year?

I swallowed hard, but my throat felt like sandpaper. Perspiration began to bead on my forehead, and I could hear my own pulse thrumming in my ears. Bridget’s voice droned on about condos, high-tech features, she or her brother running an estate business, but I couldn’t focus.

My heart raced. Yele was planning to leave. No—he was planning to leave us.

“Yadah? Are you there?” Bridget’s voice crackled through the phone, jolting me back to reality.

"Yeah..." My voice barely made it out. I cleared my throat, forcing the words. "I’m here."

“Good. I’ll send you some property options you can discuss with Yele. Trust me, you’ll thank me later.”

I nodded even though she couldn’t see me, my hand hovering over the 'end call' button. "Sure. I’ll talk to him about it."

“Great! I’ll call you later, then."

“Yeah… later,” I mumbled, finally pressing the button and staring at the blank screen.

My heart pounded so hard it felt like it would leap out of my chest, the headache spreading like wildfire across my temples. My hand trembled, barely able to hold on to the edge of the dressing table as I tried to steady myself. The room seemed to spin, and my legs threatened to give way beneath me.

I stumbled back into the stool in front of the mirror, sinking down as my breath came in shallow gasps. My hand instinctively reached for my head, massaging my temples as if that would ease the thudding ache. But it was useless. The pressure in my chest tightened with each thought that raced through my mind.

Yele. The flight. The condo. Leaving.

I pressed my palm harder against my forehead, as if I could push the swirling chaos back. But my breath only hitched higher, the weight of it all suffocating, making it hard to think, hard to breathe.

The ache in my stomach came out of nowhere, a dull throb at first, then growing sharp and insistent. Heat crawled through me, tightening my muscles as I pressed a hand against my abdomen. My breath caught as the pain flared again, stronger this time, like a fire spreading beneath my skin.

I tried to steady myself, but the edges of the room began to blur. The walls twisted, bending inward, and my legs wobbled beneath me. I reached for the dressing table, my fingers trembling as they brushed against its surface, but the floor tilted beneath my feet.

A sudden rush of dizziness hit me like a wave, and I swayed, my vision flickering. My knees buckled, sending me crashing toward the ground, my body folding in on itself.

The voice calling my name was distant, fading. The pain twisted deeper, and then everything went black.