The plan was set into motion that very evening. Ngozi went to her wardrobe and took out a long, elegant yellow gown that she had been saving for a special occasion. It had been lovingly sewn for her months ago by Amaka, but she had never found a reason to wear it. Amaka brought out her professional makeup kit. “If we are going to do this,” she said, her eyes gleaming with determination, “then we are going to do it properly.”
“I don’t want to look loud or like I’m trying to upstage anyone,” Ngozi insisted. “I want to look peaceful, but powerful. Unshakeable.”
“Say no more,” Amaka grinned. “You will look like God’s own living proof of redemption.”
They ordered brand new, custom-made outfits for the boys: matching yellow shorts with crisp white shirts and tiny, adorable bow ties. Amaka used a connection from a friend to book a sleek, black Rolls-Royce Phantom for the day. The luxurious car would arrive on the morning of the wedding and wait discreetly down the road from the venue until Ngozi gave the signal. They even practiced how the boys would hold her hands and walk calmly beside her. The older twins were a little playful and distracted, but the youngest always watched her intently, mimicking her steady steps. “I want to be very clear, Amaka,” Ngozi reminded her as they folded the children’s new clothes. “I am not going there to fight or to cause a scene. I am going as a guest.”
“I know,” Amaka said, her grin widening. “But trust me on this, your mere presence in that room will be enough to scatter that man’s entire world.”
On the night before the wedding, Ngozi found she couldn’t sleep. She sat once more by the window, watching the silent, twinkling stars. Emeka came and stood behind her, placing his strong, comforting hands on her shoulders. “You know you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” he said softly, his voice a gentle rumble. “Your peace is what matters most.”
“I want to do this,” she replied, turning her head to look up at him. “Not to prove anything to him, but to remind myself of how far I have come. To look that chapter of my life in the eye and show myself that I not only survived, but I thrived. I am still standing, Emeka. I am stronger than I ever knew.”
He leaned down and kissed her cheek tenderly. “Whatever you decide, I am with you, one hundred percent.”
Ngozi turned and wrapped her arms around his waist, leaning into his solid strength. “Thank you. You have given me what no other man ever could—true, unwavering peace.”
Emeka smiled, holding her close. “And you, my love, gave me back my joy.”
The morning of the wedding arrived, and the entire city seemed to buzz with anticipation. Social media was flooded with pictures and updates. The hashtag #ChaikAndAdaeze was trending. Everyone was talking about how this wedding was set to be the social event of the year. The venue was a massive, opulent hall near the waterfront, with long red carpets covering the entranceway. Camera flashes popped like fireworks everywhere. Guests arrived draped in glittering fabrics and oversized sunglasses. Important politicians and wealthy business moguls were seated prominently at the front.
Inside the hall, Adaeze stood before a full-length mirror in her private hotel suite, her white gown sparkling and shimmering like a sheet of ice. Her best friend, Uju, carefully adjusted her long, flowing veil. “You look absolutely stunning,” Uju gushed. “Chaik is going to fall in love with you all over again the moment he sees you.”
Adaeze offered a weak, strained smile in the mirror’s reflection. “I hope so,” she murmured. But in her heart, she carried a heavy, cold stone of fear. No pregnancy, no answers from Chaik, and the growing certainty that she was marrying a man who refused to even confront a simple possibility.
Chaik stood nervously at the ornate altar, his eyes constantly scanning the crowded hall. He was resplendent in a white agbada heavily embroidered with gold thread, his shoes polished to a high, mirror-like shine. He kept checking his gold wristwatch, his restlessness growing.
Kunal came to stand beside him, trying to offer a calming presence. “Why do you look so restless? Everything is perfect.”
“I’m just waiting for someone,” Chaik said vaguely, his eyes darting towards the main entrance.
“Who?” Kunal asked, confused.
Before Chaik could answer, his eyes caught a sudden, distinct movement at the entrance. A sleek, black Rolls-Royce Phantom, a car even more luxurious than his own, pulled up smoothly. The uniformed driver stepped out and opened the rear passenger door. And then, she emerged. Ngozi stepped out gracefully, dressed in a radiant yellow gown that made her look like a queen. Her face was a mask of perfect calm, her steps were sure and deliberate. And flanking her, holding her hands, were three small, handsome boys, dressed like little angels in their matching outfits.
The entire hall fell into a stunned, deafening silence.
People began to gasp. Phones were immediately whipped out. “Who is that?” someone whispered loudly. “Wait, is that his ex-wife? Ngozi?” “She has children… she has three children!” The whispers spread through the room like a sudden, uncontrollable fire.
Chaik felt the air leave his lungs. He couldn’t breathe. He grabbed onto Kunal’s arm for support, his knuckles white. “Kunal… tell me I am dreaming. Tell me this is not really happening.”
Kunal blinked rapidly, his own jaw slack with shock. “Bro… she has children. Triplets.”
Chaik stepped down from the altar platform, walking forward as if in a trance, his eyes locked on Ngozi and the three boys. Ngozi walked slowly, with an impossible grace, holding her sons’ small hands securely in her own. Her eyes met his across the room, but they didn’t waver; they held no anger, no malice, only a deep, unshakeable peace. She offered him a soft, simple, knowing smile. The crowd instinctively parted as she moved, creating a path directly to the front row. She walked to the very seat Chaik had reserved for her and sat down quietly. Her boys clambered up onto the plush chairs beside her, and one of them whispered loudly, “Mommy, we made it!” She nodded, leaning over to kiss each of their heads lovingly.
Adaora made her entrance into the hall shortly after, her long veil covering her face. She immediately sensed the strange, tense silence. She noticed the frozen expressions on the guests’ faces. She saw Chaik standing stiff and pale at the front of the room, his eyes glued to a point in the audience. She reached the altar and whispered to him from behind her veil, “Chaik, what is going on? What is happening?”
Chaik seemed unable to speak, as if his vocal cords had been severed.
The pastor, looking deeply uncomfortable, cleared his throat loudly. “Shall we… shall we begin the ceremony?”
But Chaik wasn’t listening. His entire world had narrowed to the sight of Ngozi and her three living, breathing sons.
Back in her seat, Amaka, who had accompanied them, leaned over and whispered, “Do you want to leave now? We can go whenever you’re ready.”
Ngozi shook her head calmly. “No. We will stay until the very end.” Her voice was even, her heart was steady. She had not come here to destroy anything. She had come to be seen, to be a silent witness to the truth, without uttering a single, defensive word.
I like that