“No,” she replied simply. “But I’m used to managing on my own.”
There was a comfortable silence for a moment. Then he spoke again, his voice softer. “Forgive me if I’m being too forward, but… are you married?”
The question sent a familiar jolt of pain through Ngozi’s heart. She looked away, focusing on a distant point. “I was,” she said quietly. “Once.”
Emeka nodded slowly, his expression understanding. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up anything painful for you.”
Ngozi sighed softly. “It’s not your fault.”
He stood quietly for a few more seconds, then cleared his throat gently. “Well, just so you know, you strike me as someone with a very good heart. And you’re clearly strong. I truly admire that.” Then he gave her another warm smile, waved, and walked off towards his office.
That evening, Amaka noticed the pattern. “So, who is this fine man who has become such a regular at your stand?” she asked, her eyes sparkling with mischief.
Ngozi shook her head, trying to appear nonchalant. “He’s just a customer, Amaka. That’s all.”
“Are you sure?” Amaka pressed, a knowing grin on her face. “Because the way that man looks at you when he thinks you aren’t watching… it’s not the way a man looks at a jollof rice vendor.”
Ngozi rolled her eyes playfully. “Don’t you start now.” But Amaka’s intuition wasn’t wrong. Over the following weeks, Emeka’s visits evolved. He didn’t just come for the food; he began bringing small gifts—a bunch of ripe plantains, a bag of fresh onions, sometimes a case of bottled water. He said it was to support her business. And slowly, cautiously, Ngozi began to open up. She told him about her journey with food, about how she learned to cook from her mother, about her old, long-held dream of one day opening a proper restaurant.
One afternoon, Emeka sat on a plastic stool beside her stall. “Ngozi,” he began, his tone serious yet gentle. “Forgive me again if I’m overstepping a boundary, but I see something truly special in you.” Ngozi looked down at her hands, unsure of how to respond. “I was married once, too,” Emeka continued. “Years ago. My wife… she passed away in a car accident. I haven’t tried to open my heart to anyone since then. Until recently.” Ngozi’s eyes widened slightly at his confession. “You remind me of what real peace looks like,” he went on. “Not the loud, showy kind. But the quiet, steady kind that settles deep in your chest and makes you feel like you’re finally home. I don’t want to rush you or scare you away. I just felt you should know.”
Ngozi didn’t reply for a long time. She looked at her hands, then at the large pot of rice, then finally back at him. “I’m scared,” she whispered, admitting her fear for the first time.
“I know,” Emeka said gently. “But I am not Chaik. I promise you, I will never break your heart.”
It took months of patient, gentle courtship. But eventually, Ngozi said yes to having coffee with him. Then to a quiet dinner. Then to long, meandering walks on Sunday evenings. And one day, as they sat together on a bench under a large, shady tree near the park, she looked at him and asked the question that had been burning in her heart. “Why me, Emeka? You are a good man. You could have chosen any woman.”
Emeka smiled, a deep, heartfelt smile that reached his eyes. “Because you are the most real person I have ever met. You carry your pain with grace, but you still find reasons to smile. You were broken, but you refused to stay down. That is the kind of woman I want by my side for the rest of my life.” Ngozi’s eyes filled with tears, but this time, they were tears of healing and hope. She reached for his hand and held it tightly. “Then,” she said, her voice firm and clear, “I want to try, too.”
They were married six months later in a small, intimate ceremony. There was no extravagant, multi-tiered cake. No loud, blaring music. Just a small gathering of their closest friends and family. Amaka was the loudest and happiest person there, dancing with unbridled joy as if she had just won a massive lottery. “I told you!” she shouted to Ngozi over the cheerful noise. “I told you that good things were still coming your way!”
Their new life together was peaceful and filled with a deep, abiding contentment. Emeka was consistently gentle and considerate with her. He made her laugh effortlessly. He listened intently to her stories and her dreams. He used his own savings to help her expand her small food business into a proper, brick-and-mortar restaurant. Every morning before he left for work, he would kiss her forehead and whisper, “I love you, my queen.” For the first time in what felt like a lifetime, Ngozi felt truly, completely safe.
And then, the most unexpected and wonderful thing happened. One morning, she woke up feeling strangely unwell. Her body felt heavy and weak. She found she couldn’t stand for long periods without feeling dizzy. The rich, aromatic smell of her own stew, which usually brought her comfort, now made her feel nauseous. She tried to brush it off, assuming it was a simple case of malaria. But when the symptoms persisted for two full weeks, Emeka grew concerned. “Ngozi, we are going to the hospital,” he insisted. “I won’t take no for an answer.”
At the clinic, they ran a series of routine tests. Ngozi waited on a bench in the hallway, nervously biting her nails. When the nurse returned, she was beaming, her smile stretching from ear to ear. “Congratulations, madam!” she exclaimed joyfully. “You’re pregnant!”
Ngozi froze, certain she had misheard. “Pregnant?”
“Yes!” the nurse nodded enthusiastically. “About three weeks along.”
Ngozi covered her mouth with both hands, tears of pure, unadulterated joy pouring from her eyes. Emeka jumped to his feet. “Pregnant? Are you serious? Is this real?” The nurse laughed happily. “Very real, sir!” He turned to Ngozi, pulled her up from the bench, and wrapped her in a tight, spinning hug. “You’re going to be a mother,” he whispered into her hair, his own voice thick with emotion. “We… we are going to be parents.” Ngozi couldn’t stop the flow of tears. The joy was so overwhelming, so profound, that she clung to his shirt and cried like a child, all the years of pain and longing finally washing away.
The months that followed were a whirlwind of happy preparation and excited anticipation. But the biggest surprise of all was still to come. During one of her routine ultrasound scans, as the doctor moved the probe over her growing belly, his eyes suddenly widened in surprise. “Madam,” he said, a note of amazement in his voice. “I am hearing three distinct heartbeats.”
Ngozi sat up on the examination table. “Three?”
“Yes,” the doctor confirmed, a huge smile spreading across his face. “You are carrying triplets.”
She let out a scream of pure, shocked delight that probably echoed through the entire hospital wing. When they arrived home with the news, Emeka was so overwhelmed he knelt right there in their living room and wept tears of gratitude. “God,” he prayed aloud, “you have done too much for us. Three children at once? This is more than I ever dared to ask for.” They prepared for the birth with meticulous care. Emeka personally built a special nursery with three cribs. Amaka moved in temporarily to help with the final preparations. Neighbors and well-wishers brought gifts of tiny clothes and diapers. And on a calm, serene Saturday morning, Ngozi gave birth to three healthy, beautiful baby boys.
Tears of joy flowed freely in the delivery room. The nurses clapped and cheered. The doctor smiled with satisfaction. And Emeka couldn’t stop laughing and crying at the same time as he held one of his sons. “He looks just like you,” he said to Ngozi, his voice filled with awe. “But I’m claiming this one,” he added, pointing to another, “his ears look exactly like mine!” Ngozi held all three of her sons to her chest, crying silent tears of victory and profound gratitude. “I’m not barren,” she whispered to them, to the room, to the world. “God has proven them all wrong.”
The news spread through the city like wildfire. People from her old neighborhood came to see the “miracle babies” for themselves. Even some of Chaik’s old friends and associates heard the incredible story. “She had triplets?” they would ask, their voices laced with disbelief. “That same woman that Chaik threw out of his house?”…
I like that