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It's goo... Is it really? Is it really good to be back here?The question pulsed through my mind as I crossed the threshold, my feet feeling heavier with each step into this room—the very room where my world had shaken, split apart.
Each step made my heart beat faster ,thrumming, like it was counting down to something I couldn't quite name. I tried to steady myself, but even the air felt too thick, pressing down with the weight of everything this room had held. The courage it takes to stand here overwhelms me.The room stretched out before me—familiar, yet strangely altered.
Trying to steady the turmoil rising within, I glanced around the room, my gaze settling on our bed—it felt foreign, almost staged. The sheets were different now—a rich, silky terracotta, too vibrant for the hollowed feeling in my chest. Its sheen almost mocked me, clean and bright, as though unaware of everything it now covered.
The color felt like a betrayal—a warm tone in a room now chilled by absence. It was nothing like the sky-blue dandelion-printed sheet I had carefully laid down the last time I was here.
I felt a small, sad smile tug at the corner of my lips, the contrast cutting deep. The last time I’d stood here, I had a quiet life growing inside me—a heartbeat that somehow softened even Yele's dark, distant moods, adding warmth where there had only been shadows. But now…now that fragile spark was gone, leaving only the cold edges of absence pressing in on every side.
The longer I looked at that bedsheet, the more irritation bubbled up—it was so wrong for this moment, for this phase of life. It felt out of place, almost disorderly, like it should be something else... maybe something like the dark, navy-patterned adire bubu I wore.
My gaze fell to the adire bubu I’d slipped on without a second thought—the only fitting choice Yele had managed to bring among his rushed, mismatched options. I glanced over at him, busy unpacking the others from the duffel bag. The bubu, in dark navy patterns, wrapped around me like a quiet comfort, as if it understood. If only the rest of this room could match—could somehow fully reflect all that had been lost .
“Babe,” Yele’s voice broke through the stillness, hesitant yet firm. I turned my head slightly, just enough to let him know I heard.
“You’ve been standing since we came in. Why don’t you sit down?” he asked, his steps measured, closing the gap between us.
Before he reached me, my feet moved on their own, carrying me toward the armchair. The cushion sank under my weight as I sat, my gaze fixed on a spot far away. His halted footsteps lingered in the air behind me, but I didn’t look back. The space between us stretched, silent and heavy, as if the room itself conspired to keep it that way.
This moment feels like standing in the middle of a storm, unsure which way the wind will blow. My thoughts spin like leaves caught in a whirlwind, scattering every time I try to grasp them. One thing anchors me, though—the sharp, unyielding truth that I no longer carry a child within me.
And Yele... his behavior feels like rain falling after the storm has already passed. He didn’t want the baby—didn’t want us. He was ready to flee, leaving me and our unborn child behind. But now that the baby is gone, as if it left just to make “Daddy” stay, he’s acting like he cares. Hypocritical, isn’t it? Like a cracked mask hastily patched together.
I watched him fumble with the clothes we’d brought back from the clinic, his hands fussing over the clothes we’d brought back from the clinic. His hands trembled slightly as he folded and refolded a blouse, then smoothed it out on the couch closed to the wardrobe, avoiding words like they were landmines. Each movement he made seemed exaggerated, a pantomime of care, yet his shoulders sagged under an invisible weight. The silence between us stretched longer than it ever had before—a chasm too wide to cross, too heavy to fill. Was this guilt? Or had he somehow caught wind that I knew about his hideous plan to abandon me for America?
The air between us crackled with unspoken words, yet neither of us dared to speak. The longer the silence stretched, the clearer it became that we were no longer standing on the same ground.
A sudden ring sliced through the suffocating silence, sharp and intrusive, like a knife tearing through fabric. Yele’s head jerked toward me, his brows furrowing for a moment as if expecting me to react. I didn’t. Why would I? It wasn’t my phone.
The sound persisted, louder now, insistent. I watched him as he shifted, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out his phone with a practiced motion. His fingers fumbled slightly as he stared at the screen, his expression unreadable, leaving me to wonder what—or who—had broken through this moment.
Yele's voice broke through the quiet as he answered his phone, his tone subdued. “Hello, Ma,” he said, shifting slightly as his gaze flickered toward me.
There was a pause, then, “Yes, we’ve gotten home.” A dry smile tugged at the corner of his lips, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. That must be my mother calling, I mused, my insides tightening with a familiar frustration.
“She’s fine, ma," he added, his gaze landing on me again, as though for confirmation.
Of course, it’s her, I concluded, my irritation bubbling beneath the surface. The woman too dey do sometimes. This whole unfortunate incident has given her the perfect stage to showcase her overprotective nature.
And then, as if fate had a sense of humor, Big Mummy—of all people—chose now to visit Lagos. Not only that, she decided to stay with Bodisere just as everything crumbled. No thanks to her untimely appearance, chaos had a new conductor. If it weren’t for her presence, there was no way my mum would have caught wind of what had happened.
Yele’s brows furrowed as he glanced at his phone. “Oops, I missed his calls. I’ll go get it right away,” he murmured.
Ending the call with a brief “Yes, ma,” he turned toward the center of the room, his movements hesitant, almost unsure.
“That was your mum,” he said, his voice careful.
“Figures,” I replied, the word brittle, like the silence that had pressed between us all day.
“She sent over some soup through a dispatch rider,” he continued, his tone lighter, as if trying to dissolve the tension. “I missed his calls, so I need to go downstairs and grab it.” He lingered by the door, glancing back at me, perhaps looking for some acknowledgment, maybe even permission.
I gave him a short, mechanical nod, enough to hasten his exit. The moment he stepped out, the weight of the silence between us left with him. It wasn’t relief—not really. The grip on my chest remained, tethered to the life I’d carried and lost. But his absence brought a faint reprieve, the suffocating quiet replaced by a solitude I could bear.
Seeing the door click shut behind him, something inside me stirred—restless and desperate. I rushed to the door, my steps frantic, and slid the bolt into place with trembling fingers. The metallic clink echoed, sharp and final. He wasn’t coming back in—not now. I needed this space, this moment, all to myself. I pressed my forehead against the cool wood, letting the stillness settle over me.
I turned and paused in the center of the room, my chest rising and falling. My eyes landed on the bed, and there it was again—that bedsheet. Its bold terracotta tone taunted me, its vibrant sheen too loud for the silence that hung in the air. My brows knit together, and before I knew it, I was lunging at the bed, fists clawing at the fabric.
The first tug sent pillows crashing to the floor. A vase wobbled, then toppled, its sharp shatter slicing through the quiet. I didn’t stop. My hands gripped the edges of the sheet, yanking, pulling, stripping until the bed was bare. A photo frame fell from the bedside table, its glass splintering across the floor. I pulled, tugged, ripped until the bed was stripped bare, the sheets lying crumpled and defeated at my feet
I stood there, chest heaving, staring at the naked mattress. Its emptiness reflected my own. My knees buckled, and I crumpled onto it, the coarse surface scratching against my skin. I closed my eyes, shutting out the broken pieces around me and listening only to the sound of my ragged breathing.
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