“Yes, oh!” someone would inevitably reply. “And she has even opened a successful new restaurant. Her new husband is both kind and prosperous.” Some people smiled with genuine happiness for her. Others simply shook their heads in stunned regret. But Ngozi was no longer preoccupied with the past. She was too busy holding her sons, kissing her loving husband, and feeding her babies in the quiet, early hours of the morning. She smiled at their tiny, perfect hands and their soft, mewling cries. Her emotional scars were still there, a part of her history, but now her life had been utterly transformed. She was no longer the broken woman crying on a dark street. She was a mother. She was whole. She was finally, completely free.
While Ngozi was happily learning the intricate logistics of holding one baby while simultaneously feeding the other two, far across town, Chaik was sitting alone in his lavish office, slowly spinning in his expensive leather chair and staring blankly at his phone screen. On the surface, his life appeared to be a success. His business had, in fact, grown larger. The company’s fleet of cars was newer and more impressive, his wardrobe was more expensive than ever, and the numbers in his bank account had swelled. But there was one gnawing, persistent void in his life that all his money could never fill, a trouble that haunted his heart. He was still without a child.
After throwing Ngozi out, he had fully expected his life to improve instantly. He was convinced that once he found a new woman, one who was young and healthy and could give him the children he craved, everything would effortlessly fall into place. But it hadn’t. Over the past three years, he had seriously dated three different women. Not a single one of them had gotten pregnant. One of them had even left him after a year, confessing that she couldn’t bear to live in a house where his mother treated her less like a person and more like a baby-making machine. His mother, Mama Chaik, was now older, but her tongue had lost none of its sharpness. “You are not a serious man,” she would often chide him. “You are choosing flashy women over building a real family. When I picked Ngozi for you, I told you to be patient. You were the one who ran that good woman off with your foolish pride.”
Chaik would always react with anger. “Do not ever mention that woman’s name to me again!” But late at night, when the large house was empty and silent, his mind would inevitably wander back to her. Where was she now? Had she remarried? Did she ever find the happiness he had denied her?
One morning, while idly scrolling through Instagram, he saw a picture that made his blood run cold. It was a close-up of a baby’s tiny, perfect foot. Then another photo, of small fingers wrapped around a woman’s thumb. He stared at the images, his heart hammering against his ribs, trying to convince himself he was mistaken. But the woman’s hand in the photo… the skin tone, the shape of her fingers… it looked unmistakably like Ngozi’s. It couldn’t be. No, it was just a cruel coincidence, he told himself firmly. But he couldn’t shake the unsettling feeling. In an attempt to block out the disturbing thoughts, he threw himself into the pursuit of yet another woman.
That very same week, his friend Kunle called him. “Guy, there is someone you really need to meet,” Kunle said over the phone, his voice upbeat.
“Who is it now?” Chaik asked, his tone lazy and disinterested.
“Her name is Adaeze. She just moved back to the city from Lagos. She’s a successful fashion designer, from a very wealthy family. Very fine, very classy. And guess what? She says she is tired of all these unserious Instagram boys and is looking for a real, established man to settle down with.”
Chaik laughed dryly. “You are trying to sell her to me like she is a new car model.”
“I am completely serious,” Kunle insisted. “She is different. I know you will like her.”
Chaik sighed, the emptiness in his life making him acquiesce. “Fine, set up a meeting.”
They met two nights later at an upscale, expensive restaurant. Adaeze was exactly as Kunle had described—tall, strikingly beautiful, with long, flowing curly hair and fingernails painted a shimmering gold. She wore a designer gown that looked like it had been flown in directly from Paris. But what truly captured Chaik’s attention wasn’t just her physical beauty; it was her aura of unshakable confidence. She spoke with a bold, self-assured clarity, like a woman who knew exactly what she wanted from life. “So, you are the famous Chaik I’ve been hearing so much about,” she said with a small, knowing smile, swirling the wine in her glass.
“And you are the Adaeze that everyone seems to be talking about,” he replied, matching her tone.
They spoke for over two hours, covering topics from business expansion to international travel, from art to life philosophies. But the topic Chaik found himself steering the conversation towards, almost compulsively, was that of family. “I’ve been ready to have children for a long time now,” he declared confidently. “I just haven’t been fortunate enough to find the right woman to build that future with.”
Adaeze raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “You were married before, weren’t you?”
“Yes,” Chaik said quickly, dismissively. “But she… well, she couldn’t give me a child. We tried for years. It just wasn’t meant to be.”
Adaeze said nothing for a moment, simply nodding slowly. Then she smiled her charming smile again. “I’m not in any particular hurry myself. But I do want children eventually. Maybe two. Or even three.” Chaik’s heart gave an involuntary leap of excitement.
“Same here,” he said, a little too eagerly.
Within a month, they were a very public couple, seen together at every high-profile event—at society weddings, at business launch parties, even attending church services together. People began to whisper with renewed interest, “It seems Chaik has finally moved on for good.” He began to spoil her lavishly, buying her expensive designer dresses, the latest smartphones, and even gifting her a brand new car. One day, Adaeze turned to him and said with her characteristic directness, “Let’s not waste any more time. If we are both serious about this, then let’s just do it.”
“Do what?” Chaik asked, slightly taken aback…
I like that