WALKING ON WATERS CHAPTER 13.

 

CHAPTER 13

The soft, rhythmic drip echoed in the room, each drop stretching seconds into something heavier, more loaded. My fingers gripped the edge of the chair, my nails pressing into the plastic as my gaze bounced between the thin line of fluid and Yadah’s still face. Her chest rose and fell in shallow intervals, her skin pale against the stark white of the hospital sheets. 

A knot tightened in my throat with each pulse of the IV, the silence around us thickening with every unanswered tick. My mind kept circling back, unwilling to settle, haunted by the question that clawed at my chest. The thought twisted deeper with each passing second, What if…?

What if Molawa’s call hadn’t come in? The thought gnawed at me, each repetition sinking deeper, unraveling my composure. What if I hadn’t given in to his plea to pass my phone to her, what if I hadn’t stepped out of the room ?

“Just what if” The thought looped in my mind, each echo pressing harder than the last. I could almost hear his voice from that call: "Bro, just let me talk to her through your phone."

“I’m sure she’ll pick up soon. She’s inside, probably in the kitchen,” I had replied, forcing a casual tone, careful not to let anything slip that might make my younger brother suspect something was wrong.

“Look, she’s around,” I had said, trying to mask the frustration creeping into my voice.

"You keep saying she’s around, yet she’s not picking up my call. Just help me move around the house and give her your phone, or tell her to pick up!" Molawa’s voice rose, frustration seeping through. I bristled at his tone; I hated how he commanded me like I was some errand boy instead of his brother.Sometimes, I swear that commanding tone comes with his job as a lawyer, slipping into conversations as if every word needed to be directed.

"Ologbeni, I’m not in the witness box for you to be commanding me like this," I snapped back, the irritation bubbling to the surface.

A pause hung between us before he sighed. “Sorry, bro, if I sounded too harsh. It’s just... I gave up my class for today’s meeting, and if we miss this opportunity,we might as well kiss goodbye to getting that girl here on a scholarship.”

His words had hung in the air, heavy with urgency and he hadn’t just been asking for a favor—it was more than that. I knew what was at stake, what that scholarship could mean for someone who’d never had a chance.

But his request had come with its own cost. It meant facing Yadah, being close enough to look her in the eyes after weeks of silence. It meant crossing a distance I’d let grow between us, step by step. I remembered standing up, my hand brushing over the back of my neck, feeling the reluctance twist in my stomach.

Even now, the thought left me rooted in place.I glanced at Yadah’s still form, the slow drip of the IV, each drop a reminder of how close we’d come—of how one ignored call could’ve changed everything.

"It's been... wait, it's been—I’ve even lost count of the hours since she woke up," I thought, the ticking of the wall clock blending into a dull hum.Time blurred together as I sat there, the weight of each second pressing down on me. Yadah lay awake, her gaze fixed somewhere beyond the sterile walls, yet she hadn’t spoken a word since she opened her eyes. Her lips remained sealed, a wall between us, but I could feel the change—her body stiffened as the news sank in, as if she were bracing herself against a wave too strong to hold back.

The memory hit me again like a wave, pulling me back to that moment in the doctor’s office. “Mr. Cardoso, unfortunately, your wife suffered a miscarriage.” The words had hung in the air, heavy and irreversible, and I’d stood there, unable to respond. The sterile scent of antiseptic, the coldness of the room, —they all came flooding back, details seared into my mind as if they’d only just happened.

And now, here I was, still tangled in confusion. I couldn’t settle on how to feel. Anger bubbled up, anger at how Yadah had tricked me. But as much as I resented that, fear crept in right alongside it. I feared what this pregnancy could have cost her. I couldn’t imagine seeing her body change, growing a life, knowing what lurks in the shadow. And yet, as much as I told myself it would have been safer if this hadn’t happened, a part of me couldn’t bear the thought of the loss-I never for once wish Yadah will lose the baby.

"You killed the baby” The words slithered through my mind again like poison.”Just like you killed that poor woman.”It echoed, relentless, threading guilt through every thought.I let out a breath, my gaze drifting back to Yadah.Her eyes still maintained its posture, unblinking, unfocused.it was an unblinking stare that seemed to reach somewhere far beyond the room, far beyond me.

I couldn’t bring myself to tell her the news. The words lodged in my throat, refusing to break free. “That’s because you killed the baby.” the voice in my head taunted, a relentless whisper. 

The moment Yadah had woken up,Her hand had drifted towards her stomach, a tentative movement that danced between hope and dread. But halfway there, her hand stilled, and I saw the tightening of her features—a silent acknowledgment of what my lips couldn’t utter. Right then, she seemed to grasp the weight of the truth, even without my confirmation.

The confirmation of the news, however, came from the hospital counselor. She didn’t mince words but launched straight into condolences and counseling, as if the news had already been spoken aloud. My fists clenched as frustration and helplessness battled within me. This wasn’t how I wanted Yadah to find out—not in such a blunt, clinical way. But all I could do was sit there, rooted in place, as I heard the only word Yadah had spoken that day: 'Okay.' Her face remained indifferent, a mask I couldn’t see past.

The door swung open suddenly, and Bodisere burst into the ward, her presence slicing through the suffocating silence. “Yadah!” she called, her voice trembling with urgency. I felt my heart race, the abruptness jolting me from my daze and grounding me back to the moment.

Bodisere rushed to Yadah’s bedside, her feet barely touching the floor as she flew across the room, eyes locked onto her cousin. I couldn’t help but notice how she leaned in close, her hands hovering just above Yadah’s, as if she feared disturbing the fragile space between them. The emotion on her face was palpable—worry mixed with fierce determination—radiating like a beacon.

“Yadah, I’m here!” Her voice carried the weight of concern, layered with the strength of family, yet no tears stained her cheeks. It was as if she embodied hope itself, a force against the stark reality that surrounded us. In that moment, nothing else mattered to her but Yadah, her world narrowing to the figure lying on the bed, while I lingered in the shadows, feeling forgotten.

I had called Bodisere as I drove away from the house, urgency lining my voice as I explained the situation. “Just bring her to the nearest hospital around you, not mine,” she urged, a promise to meet us there hanging in the air.And she kept her word. She was a constant presence, flitting between the nurses and the waiting room, her energy a stark contrast to the heaviness in my chest.

Once the doctors finished stabilizing Yadah, I noticed a shadow pass over Bodisere’s face, a flicker of something I couldn’t quite place. It was as if she already knew about the loss before the doctor uttered the words that would change everything. I saw the doctor pull her aside, their conversation hushed, her expression tightening with each passing second. And when she left the hospital abruptly, her footsteps echoing down the sterile hall, I felt a knot in my stomach—she had known long before I was told.

“Hi, Yele.”The greeting slipped out suddenly, as if she had just remembered I was in the room. It felt odd—almost forced as she quietly rubbed the backside of Yadah’s hand, her fingers gliding over the skin as if trying to soothe away the heaviness that hung in the room. In the chaos of the past few hours, we hadn’t exchanged pleasantries, and her voice held a hesitance that mirrored my own discomfort. I was the villain here, the one who had threatened her with consequences, who had raged against her authority as a doctor some weeks back. 

I watched as her gaze shifted back to Yadah’s face, brows furrowed in concern. Bodisere leaned in closer, her breath barely above a whisper, as if speaking too loudly might shatter the fragile moment they shared. The weight of their unspoken bond enveloped them—a silent promise of support amidst the chaos of loss.

In that moment, I felt the palpable reminder that my presence was unwelcome. I slowly dragged myself from the chair, the movement heavy with reluctance. “I need to get water,” I murmured, despite the three unopened bottles staring back at me from the bedside cabinet next to Yadah’s bed.

“Okay,” Bodisere replied softly, her attention still focused on Yadah as I slipped out of the room, leaving them in their cocoon of grief and solidarity.

The door clicked shut behind me, and almost instantly, a low, trembling sound filtered through—a choked gasp, then a shaky, broken rhythm of sobs. I froze, my hand still on the handle, breath catching as I realized she was finally letting go. Relief settled in my chest, thick and heavy, until another sound broke through—a soft voice, steady and soothing.

“It’s okay. I’m fine.”

It was Yadah’s voice.

My grip tightened on the handle, confusion pooling in my stomach. The sobs continued, but so did her words, like a thread pulling in two directions. In that instant, the lines blurred, and I couldn’t tell who was comforting who. I stood there, caught between relief and bewilderment, shut out from a grief I somehow didn’t belong to, even though it was mine too.

I leaned closer, straining to hear through the door, and that’s when I caught it—a muffled, uneven sob that seemed unmistakably Bodisere's. My stomach twisted. She was the one crying? The realization made me feel even more adrift, as though I’d slipped deeper into an abyss where nothing made sense. My mind couldn’t wrap around it, her reaction more unsettling than anything I’d expected. And then Yadah’s voice, eerily calm, floated back to me, “I’m fine.” Her words felt so hollow they seemed to ricochet off the walls, like a stone dropped into a bottomless pit. I felt like I was slipping down with it, lost in the vastness of her detachment, grappling with emotions that had no shape or place.

A light tap on my shoulder pulled me out of my daze. I turned around, almost startled, to see a petite nurse in navy blue scrubs, her dark eyes studying me with a hint of concern.

“Is everything alright, sir?” she asked, her tone professional but edged with curiosity.

I cleared my throat, trying to pull myself together. “Yes... my wife is admitted. She has a visitor, so I thought I’d give them some space,” I replied, avoiding her gaze.

She gave a polite nod, but her eyes lingered a moment longer, as if she were sizing me up. “Perhaps you’d like to wait in the lobby instead of standing by the door?” Her tone was gentle but firm, the way one might coax a lost child out of hiding.

Before I could answer, two voices drifted down the corridor, reaching me from opposite directions.

“Hey, Yele.”

“Hey, Omoyele.”

Each word carried a weight I couldn’t quite place, pressing in on me from all sides, drawing me into a storm of emotions I couldn’t escape.My gaze shifted to the right. My mother-in-law was making her way down the hall, her hands repeatedly adjusting the folds of her wrapper. Beside her, a taller woman moved with equal urgency, someone I recognized immediately—Bodisere’s mother. When did she come to Lagos? I wondered, feeling the tension coil tighter in my chest.

On the left, Aunty Ibiyemi appeared, my father walking right behind her. My stomach dropped, a sharp pang of anger settling in.How had they found out? Molawa, no doubt, with his tendency to spill details without thinking.I clenched my jaw,at the sight of Aunty Ibiyemi.The last person Yadah would want to see was the very one responsible for pushing us to this breaking point.

“Yele, how is she?”

“Is Yadah awake? Nurse, is she stable now?” My mother-in-law and Aunt Ibiyemi fired questions in rapid succession, their voices merging into a flurry of urgency and concern.The nurse and I were caught in the middle, her eyes flickering between the two women as she struggled to keep up with the barrage.

Beside them, Bodisere’s mother gently laid a hand on my mother-in-law’s shoulder, murmuring something soothing, while my father, silent but watchful, seemed to draw closer, his brows knitted tightly as he observed the scene.

"Yadah is fine," I announced, my voice raised just enough for Yadah and Bodisere to hear through the closed door. "And she’s awake."

“Thank God,”My mother-in-law let out a shaky breath, her hands pressing over her chest as her eyes glistened with relief. Beside her, Bodisere’s mother raised her hands skyward, a quiet thanksgiving in her gaze. My father’s rigid stance eased, his shoulders dropping slightly, his face softening. Aunt Ibiyemi, arms crossed, nodded and said, “That’s good to hear,” her voice dry, her words landing flat, almost indifferent, as if they lacked the weight the moment deserved.

“Let’s go in then,”My mother-in-law adjusted her wrapper once more, tugging it tight as she stepped forward, eyes set on the door, a fierce resolve in her stride. But before she could reach it, the nurse slipped in front of her, a polite but firm barrier. Her hands rose slightly, a quiet signal, and my mother-in-law paused, her determination meeting the nurse's gentle yet unyielding stance.

"Nurse, wetin nau,”My mother-in-law shifted her weight, eyes narrowing as she clutched her wrapper tighter. Aunty Ibiyemi moved in closer, shoulders squared, as if ready to outstep her and claim the entrance first.The nurse stepped forward, raising a calm hand to stop them both. Her stance was firm, but her face betrayed the strain of having to hold back the determined relatives.

"Ma," the nurse said, voice gentle but resolute,"We can’t allow this many visitors into the ward at once. And, as the patient’s husband mentioned, there’s already someone inside. She glanced toward me, perhaps hoping for backup, “You’ll need to take turns.”

My mother-in-law’s lips thinned, her eyes flashing with that familiar determination. For a moment, she looked like she might push past the nurse anyway, her grip on her wrapper growing even tighter. Aunty Ibiyemi huffed, folding her arms and glancing sideways, clearly annoyed at the delay. My father gave a small sigh, glancing at me with an unspoken question in his eyes, as if asking why I hadn’t tried to smooth things over yet.

I cleared my throat, stepping a bit closer to the nurse. “We’ll wait, Nurse. I understand the need for caution.”

But Aunty Ibiyemi’s patience had already snapped. Her gaze cut through me, a silent challenge that barely lasted a moment before she surged forward. Her shoulder brushed past the nurse with a force that made the younger woman stumble, the door swinging open in her wake.

“Aunty —wait!” I called after her, my hand instinctively reaching out, but she was already halfway inside, her voice echoing through the room.I started, but she was already inside, ignoring the nurse's outstretched hand and my attempts to hold the line.

I clenched my fists, watching helplessly as she strode further in, the quiet space I’d tried to protect broken by her uninvited presence.

As Aunty Ibiyemi marched into the room, I couldn’t stop myself from rolling my eyes, catching my father’s gaze for a brief, exasperated moment. What was he thinking, bringing her here? The last thing Yadah needed was Aunty Ibiyemi’s unfiltered words and endless judgments.

I could practically feel the tension prickling in the air, and all I could think was, Of all people, why her?

Behind her, my mother-in-law clutched her wrapper tightly, inching forward, her hand half-raised as if torn between following and holding back.Without a second thought, I pushed ahead, slipping past her and into the room, ready to block any trouble Aunty Ibiyemi might start. Behind me, footsteps shuffled, a quiet, tense line of relatives following my lead, drawn into the room like silent shadows.