A

RENEWED
KIND OF LOVE

Adesuwa O’man Nwokedi

A Renewed Kind of Love
By Adesuwa O’man Nwokedi
Copyright ©Adesuwa O’man Nwokedi, 2024.
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, or
transmitted in any form by any means, electronic,
mechanical, photocopying or otherwise, without the prior
permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief
quotations embodied in reviews.
The right of Adesuwa O’man Nwokedi to be identified as
author of this work has been asserted by them in
accordance with the Copyright, Design and Patents Act,
1988.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, events, and
incidents are either the products of the author’s
imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual
persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. It is based in
an ideal world where the COVID-19 pandemic totally didn’t
happen.
It is not to be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or
transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical,
photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written
permission from the author.
©Adesuwa O’man Nwokedi

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 DEDICATION

To Onyeabor and our sixteen years of love.

Book made for [email protected]

Contents
DEDICATION
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
EPILOGUE
AUTHOR’S NOTE
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
PLAYLIST
THE 6-PART MALOMO HIGH REUNION SERIES
BOOKS BY ADESUWA
ABOUT THE AUTHOR

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 CHAPTER ONE
A WISH…A PRAYER

APRIL 2020

Morin
Why should I be the one to pray for our marriage? He’s the
one who messed up. Let him pray!
These were the words that echoed in Morin head as she sat
through the online prayer session from the link her mother-
in-law sent, without fail, at 7am in the morning, and always
with an accompanying text message.
Make sure you join today, Omorinsola. There is
nothing God cannot do. He is already answering our
prayers.
That was today’s message. As the charismatic pastor on her
screen prayed with rising intensity, Morin sighed,
wondering if her beloved mother-in-law was also sending
these links to her son, Mofe. Almost a year since their
separation, if her metric of God answering their prayers
was Mofe’s return to town after months of frolicking with
his mistress, then her mother-in-law dearest, and indeed
anyone of that mindset, had another think coming.
Unable to focus, Morin exited the YouTube prayer session,
navigating instead to the two Instagram accounts she had
avoided like the plague in months gone by but which she
had taken to stalking in the last couple of weeks; her
estranged husband’s and Keji’s, the woman he left for - his
ex-girlfriend…and her one-time best friend. But while
Mofe’s page hadn’t been updated since his perfunctory post
on their tenth wedding anniversary a year before, Keji’s
had yet another picture of her with arms wrapped around
Mofe, with the caption I Miss My Man, in line with the
throwback pictures she had been sharing for a few weeks.
Morin’s lips pursed as she looked at the image on her
screen, her chest constricting at the sight of Keji’s face
nuzzled in the crook of Mofe’s neck as she took the selfie.
Never one for pictures, Mofe’s smile was awkward and
almost reluctant, but the hand resting on Keji’s waist
looked anything but unwilling. So, unlike his mother
thought, there didn’t appear to trouble in paradise between
the lovers.
Deciding she’d had enough self-torture, Morin blocked both
accounts again. Blowing out air from her mouth, she set
her phone on the nightstand, shut her eyes, and tried to
will away the familiar feelings of despondency and despair
that arose when confronted with the reason her decade-
long marriage had collapsed; her husband’s infidelity. It
was easier when he was away. It was easier to work
towards recovery when she didn’t have to see him. After
blocking and muting any social media account that could
have updates about him, it was easier to begin her journey
to self-recovery. But with Mofe’s return to Nigeria, it was
going to be a whole lot harder.
And that was proven the one and only time she’d seen him
since his return. After intentionally avoiding any occasion
of running into him since his return in February – having
her cousin, Bimbo, in the house with the kids when he
visited – her mother-in-law’s seventieth birthday party two
weeks ago was the first time she’d set eyes on him in
almost year. And if the panicked look on his face was any
indication, he was just as unenthusiastic about seeing her
as she was about seeing him. Their greeting had been
awkward and brief and had left her with a racing heart that
triggered an anxiety attack the moment she was alone in
the bedroom they’d once shared when she got home that
night. But, for some reason, that same meeting had given
Mofe’s mother hope, and even though the woman had been
sending her the daily prayer link since Mofe moved out a
year ago, after her birthday, these came with prompts to
‘pray against the forces of evil around Mofe which have
started weakening’. The image of Keji’s latest post flashed
in her head and Morin scoffed.
Weaken indeed.
It wasn’t ‘forces of evil’ that made Mofe do what he did
exactly a year ago. No.
He’d done that willfully.

Mofe
Mofe sat contemplative in his apartment, the prayer link
from his mother reigniting, yet again, the memory of seeing
Morin at his mother’s birthday party two weeks before,
after so many weeks of trying, but failing, to even if only
get a glimpse of her every time he went by the house to see
their children. He didn’t click open the link, neither did he
turn on the TV as had been his intention when his eyes
opened. Instead, he lay awake in the dark room, the room
quiet but his loneliness as loud as tolling bells, mourning
everything he’d lost on the eve of what would have been
him and Morin’s eleventh wedding anniversary.
Wishing he could go back in time to change it all.
After lying in bed for another hour, he reluctantly pushed
himself off it and set off to shower and prepare for his
meetings. He had already lost his marriage, he couldn’t
afford to lose his livelihood as well. He was getting dressed
when his phone vibrated from where it lay on the bed.
Walking over to it, he frowned when he saw Keji’s name
flashing on the screen. He knew he should block her, knew
he should severe this frayed thread of communication that
still existed between them, but he couldn’t bring himself to
do that to her. Even if all her phone calls followed the same
trajectory of begging him to return to Geneva.
“I can’t talk,” he said as he answered the call.
“I wouldn’t have to call you if you were here. I miss you.”
He sighed and massaged his forehead, having exhausted all
the words to let her know they were done. Permanently.
“I have to go,” he said instead.
“How many times do I have to tell you I’m sorry? I’m sorry!
Not a day goes by that I don’t regret the things I said to
you…”
“Keji, you and I both know this was over long before that,”
he answered, his exasperation rising. “This never should
have happened in the first place!”
“Don’t you say that! Don’t you dare say that to me, Mofe!”
Keji wailed. “Don’t you dare say that about the beautiful
thing we have.”
Mofe rolled his eyes and sat on the bed. It was the same
song and dance every single day.
“I’ll send back the money…” Keji said.
“No. Please keep it. It’s your well-earned finder’s fee and I
should have paid it ages ago.”
“But it’s too much…”
“Please, just keep it and leave this thing be,” Mofe said, his
head beginning to ache. “I’m not moving back to Geneva.
We’re over, Keji. I don’t want to have to block you but
please, just…” his words faltered as he sighed, wishing
words were all it would take to not only make her
understand what he was saying but to undo the last year,
wiping it entirely from existence. “Just let me get my head
in the right space. Please.”
Not waiting for a response, he ended the call and
contemplated tapping the red Block Caller prompt at the
bottom of his phone’s screen. But as exasperated as Keji’s
persistence made him, as frustrated as he was by his
solitude in the small short-let that was his temporary
abode, as frustrated as he was by the destruction of his
marriage, he knew Keji wasn’t the villain in his story.
No, that was a title meant for only him.

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 CHAPTER TWO
HOW TO RUIN A MARRIAGE

Before 2019

Morin
Like the weight that crept on her body over the years, their
marriage hadn’t ended overnight. Even though Mofe’s
infidelity had been the dagger, their relationship was
comatose before he’d plunged it into its already failing
existence.
They had wonderful years in the beginning, wonderful
years that not only strengthened the pairing that had taken
both of them by surprise but during which they welcomed
their two children; Michaela in 2009 and Malachi in 2011.
But as their lives changed…so did their marriage.
And not in a good way.
She didn’t quite know when she started to feel more
tolerated than wanted, more endured than desired. But
over time, that was how she felt in their marriage. As Mofe
pursued one business idea after the other in the years
following his resignation from the stable bank job he had
when they’d married, as his ability – or inability – to make
money consumed him, Morin lost the man she’d fallen in
love with. In his place was a man focused on everything but
her.
And after many years of giving and loving and nurturing,
she soon had nothing to pour from.

Mofe
With his dwindling ability to financially support his family,
Mofe began to feel unseen, irrelevant not only in the dog-
eat-dog world he was struggling to make something out of
anything but, worse, with his wife.
After his bank job started to feel like shackles around his
neck, hands, and creativity, he and Morin agreed it best for
him to quit. Unfortunately, the logistics business he’d
believed the better option hadn’t worked out, and neither
had the real estate, recycling, diesel peddling, and
currency trading hustles that had followed. Morin, on the
other hand, rose through the ranks at the consulting
company where she worked, making partner at age thirty-
two, five years into their marriage. With Mofe’s epileptic
earnings, she became their family’s breadwinner, which
was fine and good in the beginning.
Until it began to silence his voice.

Morin
She hated how Mofe sugar coated things. She hated his
propensity to exaggerate and embellish, a trait of his that
made her believe the stories he’d spun about the viability of
many a business idea, causing her to trust his unrealistic
timelines and ambitious promises. When he’d told her how
lucrative the package delivery business he was starting
with most of their savings would be, she’d believed him.
When he’d told her recycling was the future and how the
first year of his business was bound to generate at least a
billion naira in profit, she’d recalibrated their family’s
finances in anticipation. But both these businesses had
failed woefully, leaving him, and their family by extension,
financially worse off. So, by the time he was trying to
convince her how middlemen were the real money makers
in the marketing of petroleum products, she’d learned how
to take what he said with a pinch of salt.
But the even bigger tragedy was the withering of their sex
life, with him never in the mood when she wanted it…and
vice versa. His libido only kicked in when she’d fallen
asleep while hers raged in the early hours of morning when
he was too tired to be aroused by anything she did.
Considering the significant changes to her body after
having children - her waist thickening and her hips
widening by several inches - her diminished confidence
made Mofe’s rejection sting even more.
And soon, they stopped trying.
“What did you do to him to make him lose interest?” her
late Aunty Abike asked when Morin confided in her about
their dried-up sex life.
What did she do to him? The question was what had he
done to her?!

Mofe
It wasn’t the timing of Morin’s preference for sex that
turned him off. There were many times he’d fought through
his mental and physical fatigue to have sex with his wife at
5am in the morning. But as her imposed limitations grew –
he couldn’t touch her stomach because she said it was too
big, her arms because she said they were too flabby, her
thighs because she said they were too thick, or even her
breasts after a while because they were apparently now
saggy – not to mention how she would rush him if they went
longer than thirty minutes so she could start preparing
herself for work and the kids for school – his overall
enjoyment of the act declined. After a while, resorting to a
good wank was more appealing to him than the rushed,
checked, sleep-interrupting ordeal that was copulating with
his wife.
That and the fact he hated…really hated…how small she
made him feel. He hated how inconsequential she made
him feel when she made unilateral decisions just because
she could afford to. He hated how he was told - on an FYI
basis only - of the change of their children’s school from a
small private one near their house to the more expensive
and prestigious Saint Clara’s in Ikoyi. He hated that he had
no input in anything and that she made it crystal clear to
everyone who was wearing the pants in their family.
She made him feel diminished and belittled…and he hated
it.

Morin
“Would it kill you to compliment me even once?” Morin
snapped one morning when, after losing a very noticeable
ten kilograms and finally having the confidence to wear a
fitted dress instead of what had become her go-to attire of
loose shirts and pants, all she’d gotten from her husband
was an indifferent glance and a mumbled wish to have a
good day. “You don’t say nice things to me, but when it
comes to criticizing, you’re first in line for that one!”
“Stop exaggerating. I don’t criticize you. Me bringing to
your attention the shitty things you do and me criticizing
you are two completely different things.”
It was the beginning of yet another argument, the kind of
arguments that had become their norm after years of
suppressed anger and resentment. On both their parts, it
turned out.
“How will I know the difference when you’re always
shouting?!”
“It’s the way my voice is, and you know this, Omorinsola!”
“I never get any love and tenderness from my own
husband! When you’re not yelling at me, you’re ignoring
me!”
“For God’s sake, this is how my voice is!” Mofe exclaimed.
“The same way a woman craves tenderness is the same way
a man craves respect. And we both know how much of that
I get here!”
Just like it happened when they started to argue, when it
got too heated, Morin would retreat into her shell, her
emotions too sensitive for the raised voices and caustic
words. Mofe, upon realising she was no longer responding
would himself shut down, and the silence that followed was
often more lethal than the yelling and screaming.
And the resentment grew.
On the morning of September 15th, 2018, her thirty-sixth
birthday, as Mofe walked into their kitchen as Michaela
and Malachi sang the birthday song for her, from the look
on Mofe’s face, Morin knew he had forgotten. Even though
he forgot all their birthdays and relied on her for important
dates, the cluelessness on his face more than grated, more
than stung. It broke her heart. And even though he had
immediately joined the children in song and sent her a
bouquet of flowers at work later in the day, it was yet
another demonstration of his apathy towards her.
Mofe
In the grand scheme of things, he didn’t even feel like he
mattered to his own wife.
“In the hierarchy of things that are important to you,” he
said during yet another argument. “Your house is number
one, the children are number two, your parents and cousins
are number three, you are number four, and your job is
number five. All of these before I have any hope of even
ranking!”
“That’s because these people and things show me love and
give me joy. You give love when you get love,” she retorted.
“It’s that simple. You don’t give me any of your time so how
will you rank?”
“I’m busting my ass trying not to have another failed
business, and you know this. I’m trying to make something
of myself so I can be the one to provide for us.”
“Provide for us yet kill our marriage at the same time!”
“What exactly do you want from me, Omorinsola?” had
been his exasperated response. “You want me to hustle, yet
you want me at your beck and call. You resent me for not
having enough to contribute yet also resent me for trying to
do my damned best to take that burden off you. How can I
compete with the unrealistic vision of a man you expect me
to be?!’
Just like she did when things got heated, she clammed up,
the flattening of her eyes and thinning of her lips the visual
giveaways of her shutting down from their argument.
“Why do you do that, Morin? Why do you blank out when
we’re talking? Don’t you know it makes me feel like a fool?
Like I’m talking to myself?” Mofe would always lament.
“That wasn’t talking. That was you yelling. And you know
yelling upsets me.”
“You can’t just clam up after you’ve said your piece! What
happens to what I have to say?!”
But Morin was done talking and, as her silence always did,
it marked yet another abrupt end to their conversation.
It was this emotional distancing, this silent communication
that he wasn’t worth an emotional reaction that hurt Mofe
even more than any of the words they exchanged.

Morin
It was a circular reference. She withdrew because he
stopped giving her attention…and he stopped giving her
attention because she withdrew. Morin didn’t even know
which came first.

Mofe
They were sinking…and he knew it. But he was desperate
to keep that from happening, desperate to keep them from
drowning.
“How won’t we sink when you’re doing the barest
minimum?” Morin retorted when he brought it up in
conversation. “How many times have I tried to get us to
spend more together? How many times have I suggested
we leave the house at least once a week, just you and I, to
try to bond and revive what we once had?!”
“We need to build a friendship first, Morin. That’s what’s
lacking. We need to be friends first. If we’re friends,
everything else will flow. But as we are now, even if we go
out ten times a week, we’re just going to argue.”
“We’re not friends?!” Morin exploded. “My husband of nine
years is saying to my face that he and I are not friends?!”
Mofe covered his face as Morin ranted, disappointed about
her take away from what he’d said, disappointed about her
refusal to put down her own reservations for a moment and
just listen to reason for once, disappointed how quickly she
was to jump to conclusions about him, disappointed how
she chose, instead, to be blind, deaf, and mute to anything
she didn’t want to see, hear, or say.
That was when he stopped trying. That was when he also
resigned himself to the fact that this was what they had
become and what their marriage had degenerated to.
A union of people who loved each other…but didn’t like
each other very much.

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 CHAPTER THREE
GHOSTS

APRIL 2019

Morin
With their tenth wedding anniversary coming, Morin was
determined to not just celebrate the milestone but work
towards the recovery of their marriage.
The party was scheduled for a week after their high school
reunion weekend and even though her default inclination
would have been to decline attending, Mofe was excited
about the reunion which also marked twenty years since
their graduation. Because she hated having to explain to
their old classmates that she was the one Mofe married and
not Keji, his girlfriend for almost the entirety of their school
years who just also happened to have been her best friend
at the time. She hated the looks of confusion, surprise, and
often even judgement, most of them unable to mask their
contempt over her ‘stealing’ her friend’s man. So she
avoided those occasions when she could. But since Mofe
was eager to attend, she reckoned twenty years was
enough time for everyone to have moved on from the past
and accepted what was now reality.
But as she and Mofe prepared to leave for the weekend
reunion, having sent their kids to her mom’s house for the
weekend, Morin’s phone vibrated with a message from her
cousin, Bimbo, as she added yet another dress to her
suitcase for more options for the planned ‘Prom’ the
following night. Picking up her phone and sliding it active,
Morin was already smiling in anticipation of reading a
cheeky message from her cousin who could not
comprehend why Morin and Mofe would want to spend an
entire weekend with people they had barely been in contact
with in two decades. But the forwarded post from her
cousin not only wiped the smile off Morin’s face, it
blanched it.
Isn’t this Keji? was Bimbo’s message beneath the
Instagram post of a beautiful woman holding a suitcase and
pouting before a full-length mirror.
Morin’s heart stalled before accelerating into a frenetic
beat. It was her first sighting of Keji in two decades, her
one-time best having vanished with no online presence
whatsoever. For years, Morin had searched with every
keyword possible, tried all variations of Keji’s name in
every search engine, every social media platform, but with
no luck. Keji had disappeared into thin air…save for the one
and only time she did re-emerge. Goosebumps formed on
Morin’s arms as she remembered the email she received
months into her and Mofe’s marriage from a sender listed
as K Max, a cryptic email which read How could you,
Omorinsola? How could you do this? I will never
forgive you. Distraught, Morin had typed a lengthy email
in response that was both parts defending her marriage to
Mofe and pleading for her friend’s forgiveness, but the
email had bounced back with a Mailer Daemon message for
an unknown user. After that, as the years went by, apart
from the occasional mention by people who knew them in
high school, Keji faded into the background of their lives.
Which was why seeing her on her screen, an even more
beautiful and glamorous version of the girl she once knew,
bottomed out Morin’s stomach.
But worse than her one-time best friend’s re-emergence
was the caption of the picture which read Reunion Ready.
Reunion Ready?
Keji was coming for the reunion?
Turning to Mofe, who was scrolling through his phone as
he waited for her to be ready, she handed him hers.
“Did you know she was coming?”

Mofe
Mofe was already trying to stem his rising irritation. They
should have long been on the road. In the last hour, Morin
had packed and unpacked her suitcase several times while
exchanging messages and calls with Tara, the planner of
their tenth anniversary party, a party he thought not just
unnecessary but a damned waste of money. Finding out
just how much money Morin was spending on the party had
confirmed that, indeed, his wife danced only to the beat of
her own drum. Because it made absolutely no sense.
Taking the phone from her, nothing prepared him for the
image he would see on her screen. It took a few seconds for
recognition to set in, time having dulled the memory of
those angular features. But as the pixels on the screen took
form in his brain, as he recognised the smiling woman as
the first girl he fell in love with, a smile formed on his face
as he stared. Tall, slender, and with dark, dewy skin that
still glowed almost reflective, she looked exactly how he
remembered. Even though her face was contoured and
glossed in places it was once bare, even though the fingers
of the hand that held her phone were pointy and red where
they had once been short and plain, even though her
breasts were rounder and her hips curvier, she was still the
same Keji he had fallen head over heels in love with as a
thirteen-year-old boy.
“Tuck your tongue back into your mouth, Mofe,” Morin’s
retort snapped him out of his reverie.
He looked up to see his wife glowering at him.
“Well? Did you know she was attending?”
It was only then he saw the Reunion Ready caption on the
post.
“How would I know? I haven’t heard of or from her in
years, as you’re well aware,” he retorted in response as he
handed Morin back her phone.
“You’re sure you’re done undressing her with your eyes?
Should I be worried?”
He looked at Morin, not even knowing if she was serious or
joking.
“That’s not funny,” he muttered, rising to his feet. “What
you should be worried about is all the money you’re
throwing away on a pointless party.”
“There’s nothing pointless about ten years of marriage,
Mofe. There is everything to celebrate about being married
for a decade.”
“There are a thousand ways we could celebrate a decade of
marriage that doesn’t involve spending eight figures.”
“Don’t worry about the budget, Mofe. Leave that to me.
Let’s just focus on celebrating the occasion with the people
closest to us.”
He glared at her, wondering if she ever took the time to
listen to herself, if she realised just how patronizing and
emasculating her words often were.
“Let’s just leave,” he said, picking up his bag. “As it is, we
might not even get to the mixer on time.”

Morin
The drive to the hotel owned by their former classmate and
billionaire business mogul, Nonso Aguta, where the reunion
weekend was happening was longer than Morin expected.
As they journeyed past Ajah, Sangotedo, Awoyaya, and
Lakowe, Morin started to regret not pushing back hard
enough. By the time they got to Epe, not only was it almost
an hour into the reunion’s first agenda item, the mixer, she
felt anything but fresh.
“It might be best to leave our luggage in the car and check
in later,” Mofe said as he navigated the car to a parking
position when they arrived. “Let’s see if we can meet up
with the mixer. We’re late enough as it is.”
“But I need to change. I’m stale and sweaty. I need to
freshen up first,” Morin moaned. After an almost two-hour
commute, her white chiffon blouse and red faux leather
skirt outfit no longer seemed like a good idea.
“Sure. Be my guest. Go get changed and get to the hall
when everyone has left. That sounds like an ingenious thing
to do.”
Her nostrils flared, his sarcasm the last thing she needed.
Fishing out her makeup bag from her tote, she dusted on
some powder and reapplied her lipstick, making the best of
a bad situation.
“Ready?” Mofe asked when she put away her makeup.
Morin didn’t respond, instead zipping her bag shut and
getting out of the car. Mofe grunted as he turned off the
ignition and disembarked, and as they walked towards the
hotel, he surprised her by holding her. She turned to look
at him and he smiled at her as he squeezed her hand, and
the simple act was enough to make long forgotten
butterflies in her stomach flutter.
“No need walking into the place looking like we’ve been
arguing,” he said as they walked.
This was enough to restrain the fluttering butterflies inside
her, the realisation that he was only holding her to put up a
show cooling everything that had started to kindle. Pulling
her hand from his, they followed the signs to the hall where
the mixer was taking place. Getting there, it was already
filled with chattering people, confirming just how late they
were. Plastering on a smile as they walked in, Morin felt
curious eyes on them as they wove through the room and
could imagine what their old classmates were murmuring
amongst themselves; the woman who stole her best friend’s
boyfriend…and the man who allowed himself to be stolen.
As if sensing her anxiety, Mofe held her hand again,
squeezing it in silent reassurance. This single act was
enough to calm her, and she squeezed back, praying the
night wouldn’t prove to be the train wreck she now feared.
“Ah, see your boyfriend over there,” Mofe chuckled,
pointing across the room and Morin smiled when she saw
Bonju Adalemo, the guy she had briefly dated in fifth form,
waving from where he sat with Nonso Aguta, and their
former head boy Omoruyi Idemudia.
She raised her hand in a wave and her spirits further lifted
when she spotted a table with some of the more level-
headed girls in their set, girls not quite as prone to gossip.
Squeezing Mofe’s hand so he could stop walking, Morin
smiled at the women on the table; their head girl Ogugua
Ejiofor, the beautiful and shy Alero Gboye that Bonju had
dumped her for, and three of the smartest girls in their set
– Eva, now married to Omoruyi, Zinna Aniche who worked
for the World Bank, and the tomboyish Tomi Aguda who
didn’t look any different from what she did twenty years
before. As Tomi was the one looking at her with the biggest
smile, she reached for her first.
“Tomi, you look exactly the same!” Morin exclaimed,
hugging her. “Some of you are so blessed, while some of us
are carrying around an extra thirty kilos!”
“Nonsense, you look amazing,” Tomi gushed, before
smiling at Mofe. “Mofe, right? Aww, it’s so lovely that you
two stayed together all these years. You both look so
good!”
Morin could feel every drop of blood drain from her face at
Tomi’s honest mistake. Chatter on their table stopped, and
Mofe’s grip on her hand slackened.
It was going to be a very long night.
“It’s great seeing you guys!” Morin said, the smile on her
face more of an effort to retain. With a final wave, she
allowed Mofe navigate her to a table that had vacant seats.
“You’d think people would have gotten their facts right
after ten years,” she muttered under her breath as they sat.
“Relax,” Mofe said. “You know she didn’t mean any harm.”
Well, that was little consolation for the humiliation she had
just suffered. To her relief, the event’s organiser and one of
the people she’d been friendly with in school, Bioye
Laguda, took the stage, hopefully with enough distraction
to shift attention to other things.
“So, we’ve had our drinks, our cocktails, and have had our
Mixer as we’ve caught up with old faces,” Bioye said. “Now,
it’s time for us to play a game I like to call 1999 versus
2019. Many of us haven’t seen each other in twenty years,
and some of you look so different, I’m still trying to be
convinced you’re who you say you are.” She threw
Omoruyi, who had gained a considerable amount of weight
since they were in school, a look, eliciting laughter from the
room.
“In 1999, Omoruyi was Prom King,” Bioye continued. “Chai,
I remember him from Senior Prom. Who was even his date
back then?”
“Cecila Uduike!” someone in the crowd answered.
“I think it should be unanimous to crown him the Most
Changed in 2019!”
Omoruyi waved, just as good a sport as he was when he
was the most desired boy in school. His outward
appearance might have changed but he was clearly still the
top guy he was back then. As Bioye continued to talk,
Morin’s concentration waned, her mind drifting to the
things she needed to sort out with Tara before their party
the following weekend. Having just secured a large yacht,
things were shaping up for what she hoped would be the
classiest party their invitees had ever attended.
“Now, this category is very dear to my heart,” Bioye was
saying as Morin’s attention returned to the stage. “It’s a
category my beloved Toju and I were nominated for back
then; Most Likely to Get Married. But alas, we, as well as
the other nominees Ogugua and Jachike, lost out to Mofe
and Keji.”
Morin’s heart plummeted all the way to her feet as
attention returned to her and Mofe. Mofe’s hand covered
hers as he smiled up at Bioye on the stage, but if the
muscle twitching in his jaw was anything to go by, he
wasn’t enjoying this any more than she was. Following her
husband’s lead, Morin also aimed a plastic smile Bioye’s
way.
“Morin, on the other hand,” Bioye continued, grinning at
them, “won Most Likely to Travel the World. It turns out
she and her bestie, Keji, decided to trade places, with
Morin marrying Mofe and Keji traveling the world.”
Oh for goodness sake!
Morin’s smile disappeared as she pulled her hand from
beneath Mofe’s, quite done with the embarrassing walk
down memory lane. So Mofe and Keji were an item back in
school, big deal! That was all the way back in 1999 and this
was 2019. It was time for everyone to just fucking move on.
Thankfully, Bioye’s focus shifted to her next set of victims,
and after what had to be the longest hour of her life, a DJ
took over, playing hits from their school days of 1993 to
1999. Even though Mofe got up at intervals to chat with old
friends, Morin was content to just sit at their table, busying
herself with the nibbles that were served and smiling
politely at anyone whose eyes she met, all the while willing
the event to be over already. The reminder that there was
still another full day of events wasn’t a pleasant one. Left to
her, she was ready to leave now.
She was biting into a spring roll when the energy in the
room changed. From the way all eyes were darting to the
entrance, and then to her and Mofe, and back to the door,
Morin knew. Even before turning to look, Morin knew that
her nemesis had arrived.
But nothing, not even the Instagram picture she’d seen just
that evening, could have prepared her for the sight of the
stunning woman gliding into the room. In a rhinestone
playsuit that showcased a slender frame, glossy dark skin,
and legs that went on forever, Keji Oladoyinbo was a
knockout. Knowing all eyes in the room were on them,
Morin had to restrain herself from doing what it was she
really wanted to, which was to turn to look at her
husband’s reaction to the vision of loveliness that he had
once been involved with. Unable to keep from staring,
Morin watched as Keji walked through the hall, waving and
exchanging pleasantries like royalty, and she had never felt
dowdier in her entire life. Once the same size, from what
she could see, she had several kilograms on her one-time
friend. But worse than being the cynosure of all eyes was
the DJ abruptly switching from his up-tempo mix to the
comparatively mellow The Boy is Mine by Brandy and
Monica. Giggling from one end of the room made Morin
look and her nostrils flared at the sight of their 1999 Prom
Queen, Ogonna Maduka, cackling with other mean girls
from their set, Deina Seriki and Jolomi Edgar, clearly the
instigators of the shady soundtrack.
Keji turned in their direction and Morin felt every muscle in
her body liquefy as Keji smiled and walked in their
direction. Morin cast a panicked glance at Mofe and saw
that he was also looking at Keji, but with a wide smile on
his face. How could be smiling?! They were about to come
face to face with the woman they had both betrayed, and he
was smiling?!
What was there to smile about?!
“Wow, look at you two!” Keji exclaimed as Morin and Mofe
rose to their feet in greeting. “You both look so great!”
“You look beautiful,” Morin said as Keji threw arms half the
size of hers around her neck in embrace, smothering her
with her pungent floral perfume.
“So do you! This extra flesh suits you!” Keji exclaimed,
looking from her to Mofe. “And look at this guy, still so
handsome.” She looked from Mofe to Morin, still beaming.
“You both look so good together. Who would have ever
thought?”
Up close, not only could Morin see how much more
beautiful Keji was, how much more flawless her skin was,
and how much more perfect her features were, she saw
something steely lurk beneath Keji’s syrupy smile. As the
eyes of the one-time best friends held, there was a hard set
to Keji’s that brandished the sword her sweet words did
not.
She was out for war.

Book made for [email protected]

 CHAPTER FOUR
ANATOMY OF A LOVE STORY

1987 - 2000

Morin
Omorinsola Biobaku and Morenikeji Oladoyinbo were
drawn to each other from their first day of pre-school;
Morin by Keji’s long pigtails and Keji by Morin’s bright pink
My Little Pony backpack and lunch box set. That they were
both only children further solidified their bond, and they
were inseparable from that September day in 1987.
They remained tight through primary school, and even
though Keji’s widowed mother, Mobola, wanted her to go to
Queens College, Morin’s parents’ preference for her to
attend the more prestigious Malomo High, and the
impassioned pleas that followed from the Biobakus, made
Mobola yield to send her daughter to the much more
expensive boarding school. Both families having grown
closer over the years as their daughters did, Morin’s
parents considered Keji a daughter, just as Keji’s mother
considered Morin hers. And when Mobola relocated to
America shortly after the girls started at Malomo, leaving
Keji with her late father’s uncle, the Biobakus showered
Keji with as much love and affection as they did Morin.
With Keji’s uncle unable to visit more than once a term,
Morin’s parents came for all three visiting days in the term
armed with equal sets of provisions for both girls. Morin
and Keji were no longer just friends. They were sisters.
In their second year at Malomo, Keji was paired with the
quiet and desperately shy Mofe Thompson for an
Integrated Science project. The two giggled and whispered
through the assignment, and even though the pair scored
the lowest in their class, something bloomed between the
thirteen-year-olds, a mutual attraction soon blossoming to a
deep affection.
Morin hadn’t minded Mofe becoming the third wheel in
their union. She hadn’t even minded eventually becoming
this third wheel. Apart from actually liking the mild-
mannered boy with a sense of humour she’d been surprised
he had, he made her friend happy, and if Keji was happy,
she was happy. As they grew older, she knew when to
retreat to give them the privacy they needed as a couple
which, back then, had been nothing more than whispering
sweet nothings to each other. A natural loner, Morin hadn’t
made many friends outside of their trio, and, having long
outgrown her love for pinks and frills, was too much of a
tomboy to have any interest in boys. So she filled her solo
time with studying and music, until her fifth year when she
developed a heavy crush on Bonju Adalemo, the playboy of
their year. Keji and Mofe initially tried to discourage this
attraction, especially after the scandal that followed
Bonju’s messy breakups with Temi Fawaz and Emilia Fom,
both of whom he’d dated and dumped at the same time. But
not even that had been enough to dampen Morin’s
attraction to him. She’d gotten her chance the last week of
fifth year, engaging him in conversation about their
favourite music videos on MTV and Channel O, and the
artists whose concerts they were most looking forward to
attending in London that summer, top of the list being Kylie
Minogue at Shepherds Bush Forum and Prince at Wembley
Arena. This led to mild flirtation for the rest of that week,
culminating in Bonju kissing her lightly on the lips on the
last day of school as his driver waited to take him home. It
hadn’t been her first kiss. The owner of that title was her
cousin’s friend who’d pulled her to a corner at a Christmas
party the year she turned fifteen, and drooled saliva all
over face. But even though Bonju’s hadn’t been her first
lock of lips, it was the first time she felt the light-
headedness she’d heard came with it, the first time she’d
felt a fluttering in her stomach. With one hand pressed to
her mouth, she’d waved at his disappearing car with the
other, excited about continuing this new and exciting
brewing thing in London that summer. For the first time in
all the summers Keji’s uncle had refused her travelling to
London with the Biobakus, Morin was happy to be in the
city alone, not wanting Keji’s disapproval of Bonju to
scuttle their romance.
But Bonju hadn’t come to London that summer, and when
they resumed school in September for their final year at
Malomo, his energy was nowhere near what it had been
only a couple of months before. His rejection stung and Keji
and Mofe consoled her through her heartbreak. Even
though later in the school year, everywhere was abuzz with
gossip about Bonju’s holiday romance with Alero, the quiet,
mixed-race girl in their class who couldn’t have been
further removed from his circle if she tried, and even
though Bonju and Alero were no longer speaking, if the way
his eyes still strayed to her when he thought nobody was
looking, it was obvious to Morin who had his heart…and it
wasn’t her. But with Keji’s uncle finally agreeing to send
her to England for A-levels, Morin at least had that to look
forward to.
But that changed when her father lost his job at the oil
service company he’d worked at for decades. Even though
he’d gotten a decent severance, it wasn’t decent enough to
fund university in the United Kingdom. And just like that,
Morin’s dreams of schooling abroad with her best friend
were shattered.
“I’ll tell my uncle I don’t want to school in England
anymore,” Keji wailed as the two best friends wept
together. “I’ll tell him I want to stay here instead.”
But considering Keji’s uncle’s decision had been
necessitated by her dismal JAMB score, both girls knew the
man’s change of heart would be close to impossible. Morin,
on the other hand, despite thinking she wouldn’t be
needing the result at the time of writing the exam, had
gotten a score high enough to guaranty a spot in school. So
after a few weeks of living in the fool’s paradise of either
Keji miraculously getting admission to university in Nigeria
with her poor JAMB score or Morin’s parents miraculously
coming up with the money to send her to London, both girls
had to accept that their separation was nigh.
It was a separation even more painful for Keji, given that,
Mofe, despite being British by virtue of being born there in
the early eighties, was unsuccessful with his year-long
campaign to convince his middle-class parents to send him
to England to school when they hadn’t done that for his
three older sisters, keeping him Nigeria-bound.
As Keji’s departure day loomed, the girls promised to email
daily and looked forward to when Keji would come home
for Christmas or Morin would travel for summer. But it
didn’t stop both their hearts from being broken as Morin
waved Keji off at the Murtala Mohammed International
Airport, alongside her mother and Keji’s uncle.
Neither girl knew it was the last time they would see each
other for two decades.

Mofe
For Mofe, his time at Malomo was divided into two; before
Keji…and after.
He was infatuated with the willowy, doe-eyed girl with hair
that swept past her shoulders long before they were paired
for the Integrated Science project, and when she smiled
that dimpled smile as they took their seats in the
laboratory, he was a complete goner. It didn’t matter to
him that they tanked the project or that the low grade
didn’t help his already teetering average. All that did
matter was this amazing girl that had captivated and
mesmerized him, and all he wanted was to be with her all
the time.
As they became a pair, he didn’t mind that Keji’s best
friend, Morin, was with them most of the time, accepting
the trio they became by default. Morin was funny, smart,
and fun to be around, so her company didn’t get in the way.
It also helped that she knew when to make herself scarce
so he and Keji could have their private time. And when she
was dumb enough to get her hopes up about a relationship
with Bonju Adalemo, he and Keji did their best to minimize
her embarrassment and maximize her recovery when Bonju
broke her heart.
But as their time at Malomo drew to an end, and as Mofe’s
lofty hopes of schooling abroad were dashed, the
realisation that he and Keji had come to an inevitable end
was too much to bear. Even though they had promised to
email and call each other as often as they could manage,
deep in his heart he knew their relationship wouldn’t
survive the separation. She’d been upset when he refused
to accompany her to the airport, but he wasn’t about to
burst into hapless tears in front of Morin and, worse, Keji’s
uncle. No, that he’d rather do in the privacy of his
bedroom.
Morin
In the early days, Morin and Keji emailed at least three
times weekly, exchanging stories. Morin shared stories of
the JAMBITE rush at the University of Ibadan and the
friends she’d managed to make in her Actuarial Science
class, and Keji told her all about the large number of
Nigerians at her A-Level school, Bellerbys College. From
her emails, Morin knew Keji and Mofe, who was at
Igbinedion University, were still in touch, but as Morin and
Mofe hadn’t directly exchanged email addresses, there was
no need for them to communicate directly. So everything
Morin knew about Mofe being relieved about not suffering
what his older cousins had at the University of Benin,
especially being pressured to join a confraternity, she
heard from Keji. For the first three months, it appeared the
two best friends would truly be able to keep the fire of their
sisterhood burning from two continents.
Until communication from Keji stopped.
Until she could no longer be reached via email, or the
phone line Morin had only just called her on, on her
birthday.

Mofe
After several weeks with no emails from Keji, Mofe
retrieved Morin’s email address from a joke Keji had
forwarded them a week before she suddenly went quiet.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Date: December 06, 1999
Subject: Have you heard from your friend?
Hey, Morin. Hope you’re good. When last did you hear
from Keji? She hasn’t replied my emails in over a
week. Her phone number doesn’t appear to be
working either.

From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Date: December 07, 1999
Subject: RE: Have you heard from your friend?
I haven’t heard from her and I’m getting worried. I
called Oyinda and Ore last weekend, and they haven’t
heard from her, either. I’ll go to her uncle’s house
when I’m home for the holidays to get another
number to reach her on, and I’ll send it to you once I
get it.
Oyinda and Ore were Keji’s maternal cousins.

From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Date: December 08, 1999
Subject: RE: Have you heard from your friend?
I’ll appreciate that, Morin. Thank you.
P.S: I hear you’re painting Ibadan red. Keji has told
me all your club party stories

From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Date: December 08, 1999
Subject: RE: Have you heard from your friend?
I’m sure she exaggerated so don’t believe everything
you’ve heard . I’ve attended only a few parties, so not
exactly painting the town red.

From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Date: December 08, 1999
Subject: RE: Have you heard from your friend?
If you say so ;-)
Anyway, I’ll look forward to the number. Happy
holidays.

Morin
On Christmas Eve, Morin’s mother drove her to Keji’s
uncle’s house in Magodo, but rather than get her friend’s
new contact information, Morin got news that left her
reeling.
“Her mother has taken her to America,” Keji’s uncle told
them. “She showed up out of nowhere, withdrew Keji from
school, and took her away. Where they both are now,
nobody knows.”
“I used to have a number for Mobola,” Morin’s mother said.
“I’ll call her when I get home.”
“If it’s the same number I have, don’t even waste your
time,” Keji’s uncle interjected. “From what I gather,
Mobola has long left Indiana where we thought she was
and now lives with a man somewhere in Texas, the exact
location of which keeps changing. Some say Houston, some
say Dallas, I’m at a complete loss.” To both Morin and her
mother’s horror, the man started crying. “I am also
desperate to at least know where Morenikeji is. I promised
my brother I would look after her. How can I be here and
not know where that good-for-nothing woman has taken
her to?!”
That there was no love lost between Keji’s mother and her
late husband’s family was not news to Morin, but that
things had degenerated to the point where there was a
complete breakdown in their communication was.
“Maybe you could do an internet search and she’ll show
up?” Morin’s mother asked on their way home, desperate to
console her desolate and heartbroken daughter.
Morin nodded, knowing she would continue doing that until
something showed up. She was ready to spend all her
money in the cyber cafes in her school and neighbourhood
if she had to, ready to drain her resources to unearth her
best friend from where her mother had hidden her.
But before she did that, there was someone else just as
eager for news.

From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Date: December 27, 1999
Subject: RE: Have you heard from your friend?
I’m afraid I have bad news.
Uncle Victor said Keji’s mother withdrew her from
Bellerbys and took her to America. My mom called
her mother’s number, but the line didn’t connect.
I’m not going to give up looking. I’ll be here in this
cybercafé every day even if it bankrupts me. I’ll look
for her until something shows up. And I think you
should do the same too.
Mofe
Morin’s email shattered his hopes, and it took him a few
days to regroup enough to reply.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Date: January 05, 2000
Subject: RE: Have you heard from your friend?
To say I’m gutted would be putting it lightly. I’ll also
keep looking, but I’m sure she’ll reach out as soon as
she’s able to.
Anyway, happy new year. Enjoy the millennium.

As he hit the send button, his optimism was nowhere near

as high as he’d communicated. Even though he hadn’t high
hopes about the longevity of a long-distance relationship,
he’d been optimistic about a reconnection later, either
when she returned home or when he made his way
overseas. But now, he didn’t have that anymore. And the
finiteness of this new reality was enough to break his heart.

2008 - 2009

Morin
Exactly eight years later, a few days into the New Year,
Morin and the guy she was on a blind date with were
exiting the room in the cinema where the movie Norbit had
just finished showing when she saw a familiar guy
approach with a lady. The guy squinted just as she did, and
a smile broke on his face just as one did on hers.
“Mofe!”
“Morin!”
They called in unison as they beamed at each other.
“Oh my God, it’s been ages!” Morin exclaimed.
“You’re telling me!” Mofe exclaimed in response, his grin
from ear to ear. “Where have you been? I thought you’d left
the country for your master’s or something.”
Morin’s smile waned, that having been the plan before her
father’s death in her final year of university scuttled that.
“No, I’ve been here,” she answered. “I work with Cooper &
Ryan now.”
His eyes widened, impressed as he should have been,
Cooper & Ryan being one of the biggest consulting firms in
the world.
“That’s amazing, Morin. Well done you!”
“What about you? What are you up to?”
“I work with Union Trust Bank,” Mofe answered, trying,
but failing, to sound modest about working for one of the
most prestigious banks in the country.
A cough from her companion reminded Morin she had
company.
“Oh, so sorry. Emmanuel, this is my old friend, Mofe,”
Morin said, turning to her date.
“Very old friend,” Mofe beamed, shaking hands with
Emmanuel before himself remembering the woman on his
arm. “And this is Joke, my colleague. Joke, this is one of my
best friends from secondary school, Morin.”
“Secondary school?” Emmanuel repeated. “And you haven’t
seen each other since?”
Mofe and Morin were smiling at each other as they shook
their heads. Not since converging in Keji’s uncle’s house
the day before Keji’s trip had they set eyes on each other,
and not since their email exchange over the Christmas and
New Year holiday of 1999 into 2000 had they
communicated. Morin couldn’t keep the smile off her face
as she looked at this grown version of the boy she’d known
as a teenager, a bearded, slightly broader, and better-
looking version than she remembered.
“Did you ever hear from Keji?” he asked. “I searched for
years with no luck. I even tried on Facebook but got
nothing.”
“Same,” Morin answered, her frown finally ebbing. “I went
to Uncle Victor’s house every year until he died in 2004,
but with no positive outcome.”
Mofe’s brows furrowed as he crossed his arms. “What do
you think happened to her?”
“I’ll wait for you in the lobby,” Joke said to him, having
clearly tired of the idle chit chat.
“Yeah, me too,” Emmanuel said to Morin, a tight smile on
his face. “So you two can catch up.”
Morin and Mofe barely accorded their companions nods in
acknowledgment before turning back to each other.
“My mom thinks maybe her mom changed their names
after she remarried,” Morin said in response to Mofe’s
earlier question.
“That still doesn’t explain the silence,” Mofe countered.
“It’s not like Keji to have disappeared without contacting
either of us. You were as good as her sister, Morin.”
Morin shrugged, the age-old pain she felt from losing the
closest person to her in the world resurfacing. Almost eight
years later, it still hurt terribly.
“Do you think she…” Mofe began, but Morin shook her
head before he could get the rest of his words out.
It was easier for her to think of Keji still somewhere out in
the world than six feet under.
“One day, she’ll come back. My heart tells me this,” Morin
answered, forcing back a smile to inject the positivity she
didn’t feel quite as potently as she once had.
Mofe’s slight smile showed he didn’t quite share her
optimism.
“Did you see that?” he asked, tilting his head in the
direction of the door they had just exited. “How was it? I
wanted to see it, but Joke insisted on us seeing Music and
Lyrics.”
Morin grimaced at the reminder of the monstrosity that
was Norbit. “You owe Joke a big thank you. I just wasted
almost two hours of my life.”
“The one we saw wasn’t any better. Definitely not the same
Hugh Grant from…”
“Four Weddings and a Funeral?”
“Or even more recent movies like the magnificent About a
Boy. Did you see that?”
Morin nodded. “Saw it and loved it! That’s a shame. But
thanks for the heads up. I’d planned to see Music and
Lyrics next, but I won’t bother now.”
“Same for Norbit. I thought Eddie was back after
Dreamgirls, but it appears not.”
They stood in silence for a few seconds before Mofe spoke
again.
“Let’s meet up sometime so we can catch up. Maybe over
drinks or something?”
Morin was already nodding before he finished talking.
“That would be great.”
He fished into his pocket for his phone. “I don’t think either
of us had phones the last time we spoke, let alone phone
numbers.”
Morin chuckled, remembering their pre-GSM existence. As
she and Mofe exchanged numbers, she was already looking
forward to the next time she would see him.

Mofe
He texted her that same evening.
MOFE: It was great seeing you again, Morin. You look
the same!
MORIN: It was wonderful seeing you again, too. And
really? I look the same? That’s not what I’m told
And she was correct. He was lying because, hot damn, she
was fine! Whereas in school, she’d been borderline skinny
and, because of her preference for hoodies, combat
trousers, and Timberland boots, often left him forgetting
she wasn’t one of the guys, the curvy woman he’d seen
today in a dress that made sure those curves didn’t go
unnoticed, definitely wasn’t one of the guys.
MOFE: Okay, you caught me. You don’t look the same.
What happened to the dungarees and Cross Colours t-
shirts you were so crazy about?
MORIN: The same thing that happened to the baggy
FUBU jerseys that swallowed you whole.
MOFE: Ouch!
MORIN: Just kidding. You know I loved those FUBU
jerseys. But glad to see your style has evolved.
Mofe smiled, basking in the hidden compliment and
wondering if it would be creepy if he told her just how
stunning her own evolution was. Considering she’d once
been like a sister to him, it probably was.
MOFE: Are you free on Friday? Maybe we could meet
up at Newscafe for drinks?
MORIN: Drinks on Friday sounds great. I’d love to
hear everything you’ve been up to in eight years.
MOFE: Ditto.
And meet for drinks on Friday they did, Mofe getting to the
popular bar at The Palms mall a good fifteen minutes
before Morin did. As she grinned and walked to him,
wearing a loose gypsy top over jeans, Mofe attributed the
warmth in his stomach as he smiled back at her to the
pleasure that came from being with someone familiar,
someone he’d grown up with. But as they bantered over
chicken wings and cocktails, as he noticed the fullness of
her lips as she laughed, the heart shape of her formerly
angular face, and her eyelashes that stretched forever, he
knew that warmth wasn’t just from familiarity.
“I’m a senior associate,” she answered when he asked
about her role at Cooper & Ryan, nodding and smiling at
his look of surprise. “I’ve been lucky with promotions every
year since joining them three years ago.”
“Sounds like you really like it there.”
“I do. Don’t you like working at the bank?”
He scoffed and took a sip of his Old Fashioned. “I hate it.
It’s just a means to an end for me. I look forward to when
I’ll be able to quit. My vision is so much more than wasting
away, chasing accounts for the rest of my life.”
“Are you in touch with anyone from school?” Morin asked
when they were on their second round of drinks. “Apart
from the Akinkugbe twins who were with me in U.I., I
haven’t seen anyone since school. You?”
“I see Omoruyi and Nonso from time to time. And Ikenna
anytime he’s in town,” Mofe answered, a coy smile
spreading across his mouth. “And I saw your boyfriend,
Bonju, when he was in town one Christmas.”
Morin rolled her eyes, causing Mofe to burst out laughing.
“I still don’t know what I was thinking,” she chuckled.
“He actually wasn’t as bad as people thought,” Mofe said.
“Forget the nasty rumours about him and Alero, he was
really in love with that girl. I saw them together several
times. He was crazy about her.”
Morin nodded, her smile wistful. “Yeah, I could tell.”
Mofe watched her as she took a sip of her vodka spritz, and
when she put it down, their eyes held for a few seconds
longer than they ever had.
“Did you date in U.I.?” he asked, smiling and sitting back in
his chair hoping to dilute the tension building within him.
“Beautiful girl like you, I’ll bet guys were swarming around
you like flies.”
“Well, I wouldn’t quite say ‘swarming’,” she laughed,
leaning back as well. “Yes, quite a few of them were
interested but by my second year when I got into a serious
relationship, they all backed off.”
Mofe’s brow raised. “Serious relationship? Really? With
whom?”
Morin waved a dismissive hand. “Some guy called Johnny
who ended up not being my best decision.”
“Being with someone called ‘Johnny’ is just asking for it,
isn’t it,” Mofe chuckled, dodging as Morin feigned tipping
her glass at him.
As they laughed and bantered for the rest of the evening,
all Mofe could think was how much he never wanted the
night to end.

Morin
It was, without a doubt, the best time of her life.
Well, that was until the next evening when they met up for
dinner at Churrasco and enjoyed an evening of laughter
and Brazilian grills. No, that was the best night of her life.
Except that title was soon won by the occasion they met up
at Swe Bar after work on a Thursday evening and spent the
evening dancing to the live band. And then again when they
met up for lunch at Bungalow, engrossed so much in their
chatter and laughter, they overran their respective lunch
hours so much it made no sense returning to work. Soon,
spending time with Mofe became Morin’s very best thing.

Mofe
As it was Mofe’s.
The more time they spent together, the more the small
warmth in his belly grew to a roaring heat that spread
through his whole body. He loved their conversation. He
loved their laughter. He loved their shared stories from
years past. But most of all, he loved looking at her, loved
how her eyes danced with mischief or amusement, loved
the way she tugged at her lower lip with her teeth when
she was engrossed in a story or deep in thought, loved the
involuntary flutter of her long lashes and the way they
fanned her face when she received a compliment, loved
looking at the column of her neck when she threw it back in
hearty laughter.
He loved looking at her…loved being with her.
And one night as they walked to his car after a late night at
Newscafe, the third feeling of the trifecta hit him like a ton
of bricks.
He loved her.
The realisation made his steps slow, the intensity of the
feelings that had been building for a month overwhelming,
the seedling of affection he’d always had for her blooming
into a whole garden. Morin turned back when she noticed
his slowed pace.
“Are you okay? I told you that third Old Fashioned was a
bad idea.”
He didn’t laugh as she did, everything he was feeling,
everything he was wanting elevating and submerging him
at the same time. Her laughter faded and as silence settled
over them, as their gaze tangled in the moonlit night,
charged and volatile, there was an undeniable shift.
Without waiting to second-guess himself, he lowered his
head to hers, grazing his mouth over hers for a
nanosecond. But the parting of her lips and her audible
sigh was all the invitation he needed to plunge deeper,
cupping her face as his lips and tongue danced with hers.
The encircling of his neck by her hands, the way her mouth
moved against his, the way her tongue probed his, and the
way her heart hammered against his chest were proof that
everything he was feeling, she was as well, every emotion
from the last month alchemizing all the fondness and
affection he’d felt in the past into something so potent, he
could barely breathe. By the time they pulled away, her
wide eyes held his.
“What are we doing?” she asked, her voice a quiver. “What
about Keji?”
“Keji isn’t the one making my heart pound right now,” he
answered, his voice a rasp. “The person doing that is you.”
Morin unclasped her hands from his neck and stepped
back, her eyes lowered.
“No, Mofe. We shouldn’t. This isn’t right.”
Her words were the cold water on his escalating emotions,
jolting him back to reality. Of course, he and Morin couldn’t
be a thing. Of course, there was the relationship he’d once
had with someone who was as close to her as a sister to
consider. What the hell was he thinking?
“You’re right. I’m sorry,” he said, also stepping back. “I had
way too much to drink.”
They stood in awkward silence for a while before Morin
stretched out her hand.
“You want me to drive?”
He forced a smile. “Of course not. I promise I’m not that
tipsy.”
Her smile in response was tight and they made the drive to
her parents’ Yaba home in silence.
“I’ll call you,” he said to her before driving away, even
though he knew he wouldn’t.
Because inappropriate though anything happening between
was, it didn’t change the fact that he’d fallen in love with
her. And it was in both their best interest for him to stay
away.

Morin
In their month of spending time together, Morin convinced
herself it was the happy memories Mofe evoked that made
her enjoy his company so much, that it was his funny jokes
and hilarious anecdotes that made her look forward to his
company, that the butterflies she felt every time she saw
him were borne only from a fondness of knowing him over a
decade.
But when he kissed her in the deserted parking lot at The
Palms, as her pulse took off in a sprint as his lips meshed
with hers, as the interplay of their mouths and tongues lit
her up from the inside, as hot and cold sensations pulsed
through her body, she accepted that what she felt for him
wasn’t platonic or familial. And as their mouths parted but
their eyes held afterwards, she realised something even
more lethal.
That it wasn’t just her body leaning into the lure of the
forbidden…but her heart also. And that realisation had
been too hard a pill to swallow. She couldn’t be falling for
Mofe. She couldn’t be falling for her best friend’s
boyfriend. Even though it had been over eight years since
she and Keji had heard from each other, she knew they
would again one day, so getting involved with Mofe wasn’t
just inconceivable, it was downright implausible.
As they parted for the evening, even as he made the half-
hearted promise to call, Morin was determined not to
answer his calls anymore, determined not to see him again.
Because having come to the realisation of what she was
really feeling, being back in his company would be
detrimental to them both. So when days went by without a
call from him, she was relieved.
Or she thought she was.
As the first week rolled along, she immersed herself with
work, doing all she could not to think about him. But by
week two, as her mind drifted to him every other second, as
his laughter rang in her ears and the ghost of his perfume
wafted around her, as thoughts of him stole her sleep,
pilfered her concentration, and robbed her of her peace,
she realised forgetting him would be harder than she
thought.
And she soon began to wonder if the reason for pushing
him away was even worth it.
Valentine’s Day was especially hard. Apart from her brief
relationship with Johnny in university, Morin hadn’t been in
any meaningful relationship since, so had gotten
accustomed to spending the day for lovers alone. Which
was why she couldn’t understand why she was pining for a
man she had no business pining for. She spent the day
resentful of her colleagues receiving gifts from admirers
and feigned a headache as an excuse to leave early and
escape the madness. She had just showered and changed
into her pajamas with plans to distract herself with a book
when her phone rang.
And seeing Mofe’s name on her screen unraveled her,
destroying all her resolve.
“Hello?” she answered, trying to keep the tremor in her
body from her voice.
“Hey,” Mofe’s voice came.
Neither of them spoke for a while, but the emotions Morin
wasn’t brave to define filled the silence.
“I miss you,” he finally said. “You’re all I can think about,
Omorinsola.”
And with that, she melted.
“I know this is weird, especially because of Keji, but…” he
went on, his voice trailing off for a while before he
continued. “The simple fact is that I like you, Morin. I like
you a lot.” He exhaled before going on. “I know you said
you didn’t want to hang out again…” he began.
“I do. I want to see you,” she cut in. “Dinner tomorrow?”
She heard the smile in his voice as he answered, “Dinner
tomorrow sounds perfect.”
“I won’t drive, so you can pick me up,” she said, her heart
already racing a mile a minute in anticipation.
And that was exactly what he did, pick her up after work.
Even though it had only been two weeks, the way her heart
lifted and her sprits soared when she saw him, it felt a lot
longer. But as they drove to the upscale Atmosphere
restaurant, as they enjoyed fine dining and sweet cocktails,
there was already something different, something headier,
something more intimate.

Mofe
They were driving out of Atmosphere when Morin turned to
him.
“You live in Oniru, don’t you? I’d like to see your
apartment.”
He nodded, content with just her presence after going two
weeks without it. Upon getting to the studio apartment he
rented in his cousin’s compound, as he led Morin into it, he
was happy to have her just view his living quarters. But the
moment they were both inside it, the moment he turned to
her, the moment he dragged in a deep lungful of her vanilla
fragrance, he was intoxicated, tipsy by her smell and
nearness. His breath hitched in his chest, the moment too
intimate to allow him any breath. She closed the distance
between them and placed her hands on his chest, causing
the thick desire that was welling inside him to almost rip
through the muscles in his body. And as their mouths
merged, as they slowly disrobed and he savored the visual
of her naked body that he had fantasized about for weeks,
as their bodies connected, as his fused with hers with a
precision that made this union of their bodies and souls
inevitable, nothing had ever felt more correct, nothing had
ever felt more exact. Because this was exactly how they
were meant to be. How they were always meant to be.
Their bodies flowed into a rolling dance that merged them
into a single unit instead of two, and afterwards, the
afterglow shimmered with something delicate yet sinewy,
something beautiful yet terrifying.
Something bigger than both of them.
“I’m in love with you, Omorinsola,” Mofe said as they lay
cuddled afterwards.
And there it was. The perfect articulation of what she felt
for him.
Love.
“I love you, too,” she said. As she looked up at him, as their
eyes held, as her heart expanded so large and wide there
was barely space in her chest cavity to contain it, nothing…
and nobody…else mattered.

Morin
Mofe proposed that July, presenting her with a dainty gold
ring topped with a small diamond.
While his family immediately fell for her, her mother was
sceptical because of his link to her former best friend. But
in the end, seeing them together convinced her that they
were, indeed, the real deal.
The following April, they were married in an elaborate
ceremony at the Baptist Church in Yaba where Morin’s
parents were wed in 1981. Their wedding reception was
held in one of Unilag’s multi-purpose halls, their first dance
was to Shania Twain’s From This Moment On, and they
honeymooned in Ghana. Within a week of returning from
their honeymoon, Morin found out she was pregnant.
Everything was perfect. Everything was exactly as she’d
dreamed.
Until an email dropped in her inbox a week to her due date,
an email from a certain K Max, simply reading How could
you, Omorinsola? How could you do this? I will never
forgive you!
Morin was still vibrating with fear and anguish when Mofe
got home from work later that evening, but to her chagrin,
he wasn’t even bothered.
“It’s probably someone playing a prank,” he said as they
cuddled in bed that night, his hand rubbing circles on her
back to soothe her.
But she didn’t feel soothed, neither did she believe the
email was from someone playing a prank. The following
day, she constructed an epistle as a reply but was
devastated when it bounced back. That was when she
convinced herself Mofe was right and it was, indeed, from
someone with a depraved sense of humour.
Everything went back to being idyllic, as she got pregnant
again shortly after the first one, having their two children
within eighteen months of each other. But as her baby
weight refused to fall off, as her new body diminished her
confidence, and as Mofe left his stable bank job to pursue
crazy business ideas, their deteriorating marriage, and not
Keji, took center stage.
And now, almost ten years after that email and twenty
since seeing her, standing face to face with Keji, everything
was coming to a head.
“Yes, who would have ever thought?” Morin remarked, her
laughter strained. “It’s good to see you again.”
“Likewise,” Keji answered, with a dismissive wave. “I guess
we’ll catch up later.”
And that was it, the long-anticipated confrontation with her
one-time best friend now arch nemesis. In the twenty years
of their separation and the ten years of being married to
Mofe, Morin had imagined their eventual reunion as
emotional, enraged – on Keji’s part – and contrite – on hers.
Definitely with a lot of tears. Never in a million iterations of
that had she envisaged something this tepid and lackluster.
But rather than be relieved it hadn’t been as tearful and
chaotic as she’d feared, Morin was left with a hollow sense
of foreboding in her stomach.

Book made for [email protected]

 CHAPTER FIVE
OLD FIRES & REKINDLED FLAMES

APRIL 2019

Mofe
Even though he’d been the one to canvas for them to attend
the reunion, Mofe didn’t know how much more of Morin’s
behaviour he could stomach. As if it wasn’t bad how weird
she’d acted when Keji came to say hello to them the
previous night, now they ran the risk of being late for their
class photograph, what with her spending over an hour
applying heavy makeup uncharacteristic for her.
“Morin, the photographs begin in less than fifteen
minutes,” Mofe said, walking to the bathroom where she
was standing over its counter now littered with every
makeup item known to man, and dusting something gold
and shiny on her cheekbones. “Isn’t that too much
makeup?”
She glared at him. “You didn’t seem to think Keji was
wearing too much makeup when you were undressing her
with your eyes last night.”
He groaned and shook his head as he stepped away from
the bathroom door. Alas, Morin being tongue tied had only
lasted while they were in the presence of the woman they’d
once had in common. The moment they’d left to check into
their room, she’d gone on and on about how he had
apparently been gawking at his one-time girlfriend.
But, come on. There was more than enough to gawk at. The
woman was a total knock out!
Alas, the sight of her one-time best friend had sent his wife
into a spiral and, in truth, he didn’t have it in him to keep
her from spinning.
Eventually, Morin settled on a brown shift dress
accessorized with several strings of pearls, and without
saying a word to each other, they made their way to the
elevator and down to the hall where pictures of their Class
of ’99 were to be taken. No sooner had they walked in did
they spot Bonju standing with his hands dug into the
pockets of his dress pants, staring at a group of people
across the room.
“B.J!” Morin’s called out as they took position next to him.
“My boyfriend that year!”
Bonju turned to smile at Morin before winking at Mofe.
“My man, you should be thanking me, or it would have
been me in your place right now.”
“And I would have been on your side of the fence, wishing
you all the luck in the world!” Mofe chuckled before he
could even censor himself.
Even though Morin laughed as well, from the bunching of
her brows, she wasn’t amused by his joke.
If it was even a joke.
“Don't mind the silly boy,” she said instead, punching Bonju
playfully on the shoulder. “After toasting and whining me
for months, you ghosted me like a bad habit after that
Christmas holiday.”
“That’s because you were way too good for me, darling!”
Bonju answered, winking at her.
Morin’s mouth was parted in what would have been a
response when they were all distracted by someone
walking in wearing hot fuchsia. As Mofe looked up, it took
everything in him not to gape, because if Keji was beautiful
last night, she was damn well exquisite now. Wearing a
tailored trouser suit unbuttoned all the way to her sternum,
she was classy and insanely sexy, the flash of skin on her
chest and slender sway of her hips conjuring images in his
head that had no business there that early in the morning…
or about anyone who wasn’t his wife, let alone a woman
he’d once been romantically involved with. But he simply
couldn’t look away, his eyes following her as she worked
the room, waving and smiling at their former classmates. It
wasn’t until Bonju coughed that the spell Keji had
inadvertently cast was momentarily broken, causing Mofe
to finally peel his eyes away as he returned his attention to
the people he was standing with. But he must have been
staring at Keji too long, if the nervous look on Bonju’s face
and the thunderous look on Morin’s were anything to go by.
Eventually, the class of ‘99 took position for their pictures,
but all through the laughter from old classmates and the
flash of light from the photographer’s camera, Mofe
couldn’t keep his eyes from straying to Keji where she
stood at the other end of the semi-circle they had formed.
Pictures over, this time, there was no nagging from Morin.
This time, she iced him out the way she did when her anger
had reached – ironically – boiling point, saying nothing to
him as they rounded up and as they headed to the
restaurant for presentations from the school’s current
management, stopping only to tease their old classmate
Bioye who had been inseparable from her high school
boyfriend, Toju, since the previous night’s mixer.
“Awww, you guys are the cutest!” Morin cooed as they
walked past the kissing lovers, the smile she threw at them
at odds with the daggers she’d been throwing him.
Seated in the hall, it was a struggle to keep from yawning
through speeches from Malomo High’s current staff, led by
the school’s Principal, Henrietta Avery. Mofe perked up
when their favourite teacher, Abolore Desalu, took the
stage, marvelling over how unchanged he was. Granted, as
a youth corper, Abolore hadn’t been much older than them,
but as he spoke eloquently about planned projects and
requested the support of the school’s erstwhile alumni,
Mofe couldn’t help but marvel over how good he looked. He
was listening keenly to Abolore’s speech when a sultry form
entering the room took his attention from the stage. His
eyes widened as Keji sashaying in, in a leopard print dress
that looked like it had been glued to her slender, yet
curvaceous, body. That she had taken the time to change
outfits was crazy, but even crazier was how gorgeous she
looked…and effortlessly, too. Mofe’s eyes followed her as
she walked, as she found a seat, and as she mingled with
their classmates. His eyes drifted to Morin, whose face was
tight, her arms folded in front of her, the sulky look on her
face at polar opposites with the welcoming smiles Keji was
flashing everyone.
And he hated himself for starting to wonder ‘what if’.
What if Keji hadn’t travelled? What if he had? What if
they’d never lost contact? What if she was the one who was
supposed to be seated next to him now?
The walk back to the room was even more tense, the anger,
resentment, and indignation emitting from Morin’s body
enough to communicate exactly how she felt about the
weekend so far, specifically their encounters with Keji. But
at that point, Mofe was also too angry to care. If she was
making more of an effort herself not to be the world’s
biggest killjoy, maybe his attention wouldn’t have strayed
in the first place.
“Help me with this,” was the only thing she said to him as
she struggled into her dress.
Mofe walked over to zip her into the dress and as he did, as
his knuckle grazed her bare back, he felt the electric
charge he always did when his skin made contact with
hers. But as she stepped away from him even before the zip
was all the way up, her revulsion for him, which was more
and more apparent, diffused his arousal. But as they were
set to leave for the major event of the weekend, a
reenactment of their prom, he couldn’t but admit that his
wife looked stunning. In a red sequined wrap dress that
poured down her delicious curves and her lips in the red
lipstick he loved on her but which she hardly ever wore, the
latent warmth in his stomach was activated, his love for the
woman he had shared a life with for a decade, undeniable.
“You look beautiful,” he said.
She turned to look at him, her naturally long lashes, even
longer and thicker from however many coats of mascara,
shading her eyes. But rather than return the compliment,
because he knew he looked good in the suit he’d spent
good money on for the event, she pursed her lips and
looked away.
Again, they didn’t speak as they journeyed down the
elevator and headed to the same hall where most of their
events had already taken place. But walking into it this
time, Mofe was amazed by its transformation, with pastel
blue tulle criss-crossing the room from end to end, floating
blue balloons, cloud props, and constellations of fairy
lights, it was every bit a representation of the evening’s
Cloud Nine theme, and more. The room was already packed
full, and they exchanged greetings with their friends until
they found a vacant table with only two of their old
classmates, Alero and Jachike, seated.
“Hi, lovely people!” Morin greeted as they walked up to the
table. “May we?”
Alero’s smile was tight as she nodded causing Mofe’s heart
to go out to her. He didn’t blame her for being wary, not
after the awful humiliation Bonju had caused her in their
last term of school. The smile Mofe directed at her was
warm, and Alero’s smile in response came with more ease,
her defenses lowered.
“You look stunning,” Morin said to her. “Still as slim as
ever, while people like us have been lugging around baby
weight for years.”
Alero’s face blanched and Mofe cringed inwardly,
wondering why Morin was so incapable of reading a room.
Alero was clearly not married and could very well consider
the statement a dig. Mofe watched Alero keenly, ready to
jump in to salvage the situation if required, but then she
smiled at Morin.
“Thank you,” Alero said. “You look lovely, too.”
“I see the guys over there,” Mofe said, noticing his friends
across the room.
“Don't even think about it,” Morin said through her teeth as
she turned to him, the smile she’d only just sported
completely gone. “Don’t you even think about it.”
“I just want to go say hello,” he said, increasingly desperate
to be in more amiable company.
“Or run into her, I’m sure,” Morin retorted, glaring at him.
“I’m not going to be made a fool of, Mofe. Not here of all
places.”
His jaw clenched as he returned his wife’s glare, his anger
and indignation rising. After not speaking to him all day,
now was when she decided to rant? Now that there were
curious ears and eyes all around them.
“I think you’re doing a good job of that all by yourself,” he
muttered, pulling his phone out of his jacket, done with the
conversation.
As he scrolled through his device, he knew the sudden
barrage of questions from Jachike about what Alero did for
a living was to diffuse the awkward energy on the table.
Morin distracted herself with glass after glass of
champagne, making her tipsy enough to pull him to his feet
when the DJ started playing their favourite jams from
school. The music and dancing and laughter were enough
to distract him for a while, but as they returned to their
seats to crown a so-called Prom King and Queen, he
excused himself and went outside, not sure how much more
of his wife’s toxic company he could take.
Finding a spot a few feet away from the hall, he lit a
cigarette and stared at the view of the ocean ahead,
relaxed by the roar of the crashing waves. From inside the
hall, he could hear cheering and clapping, but he didn’t
even care. At that point, he was over the whole damned
weekend.
He was lighting his third cigarette when he heard footsteps
approach. Turning around, a part of him was surprised to
see Keji walking up to him…but a part of him wasn’t. She
smiled as she neared him, a vision of loveliness in a red off-
the-shoulder mermaid dress, and he smiled back.
“You weren’t curious about who was crowned Prom King
and Prom Queen?” she asked.
“I’ll bet it was the usual suspects,” he scoffed in response.
“I’m surprised you didn’t win.”
“How do you know I didn’t?” she asked, her smile coy.
“The lack of a crown, sash, or whatever pageant winners
get is a dead giveaway.”
“Pageant winners indeed,” she laughed. “Well, I was
robbed. I should have won. I look way better than Ogonna
tonight.”
Mofe had only caught a glimpse of the most popular girl in
their set and couldn’t for the life of him remember what she
wore that night, but even he knew that Keji was right.
No woman in that room could hold a candle to her that
night.
“You look really good, Mofe,” Keji said. “You grew into a
very handsome man.”
“You, too,” he answered. “Into a beautiful woman, not a
handsome man.”
She laughed, after which silence stretched, the muted
sound of music and laughter the only sound around them.
“I’m not going to apologise for marrying Morin,” Mofe said,
breaking the silence and addressing the elephant that had
been tiptoeing around them for twenty-four hours.
“I wasn’t expecting you to,” she laughed in response.
“Morin and I have been married almost ten years, so we’ve
done pretty well.”
“Of course you have, and you’ve been the perfect picture of
wedded bliss all weekend.”
He raised a brow at her sarcasm, causing her to laugh, a
sound he remembered with much nostalgia…and
melancholy.
“We’re having a party next weekend to celebrate our
anniversary,” he said, suddenly not wanting her to
disappear for another twenty years. “We’d love you to
come.”
“We?” Keji’s laughter was sardonic. “You’re sure Morin
won’t mind?”
“Why should she mind? You were once like sisters. I’m sure
she’d be ecstatic that I invited you.”
“If you say so, Eyimofe Thompson,” Keji said, taking a few
steps closer and shortening the distance between them.
She was now standing close enough for Mofe to feel her
breath on his neck. Their eyes held and hers appeared to
be probing his, searching for answers her lips hadn’t
formed. Her hand reached to touch his face, and the feel of
her delicate fingers was equal parts scorching and calming.
“I really like the beard,” she said, her fingers caressing the
hair that covered his face. “It suits you.”
“Thanks,” he said. Mustering every ounce of willpower in
his body, he stepped back, creating much needed distance
between them as her hand fell. “I better take your number
before you disappear again.”
She smiled as she reeled off the digits.
“It’s a Nigerian number,” Mofe observed. “You’ve moved
back?”
“No, I’m here for a few weeks,” she answered, still smiling.
“Alas, I’ve been away too long and can only take this
country in small doses now.”
And speaking of small doses, Mofe knew he’d had more
than his fair share of Keji’s company for the night, and that
he should quit while he was still ahead…or stand the risk of
overdosing.
“I’ll send you the details,” he said, backing away slowly
before he went ahead to do something stupid. “Make sure
you come.”
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Keji answered, her smile
growing wider as Mofe retreated.
Turning around, he walked in the direction of the hotel, not
bothering to return to the hall or join the last of the
festivities, his heart, mind, and body, in complete turmoil.

Morin
She amused by Mofe abandoning her at the Prom. Even
though she’d had enough alcohol to loosen her up to enjoy
the evening, joining in the dancing and the heckling and
cheering over the coronation of Ikenna Idozuka and
Ogonna Maduka as Prom King and Queen, watching with
amusement as Bonju chased after Alero, and even engaging
in small gossip about the broken engagement of their
former head girl, Ogugua, and her high school lover,
Jachike, after so many years together, Mofe’s absence was
glaring. Morin knew they had made a spectacle of
themselves and of their marriage that weekend, and the
root cause was Mofe’s disrespectful ogling of Keji all
weekend.
After Friday night when Keji had been all sweetness and
loveliness as they exchanged pleasantries, that her feelings
for her old friend were anything but cordial were betrayed
by her not making any more attempt at conversation and
even deliberately not making any eye contact. The many
times Mofe had lost his home training and stared at her like
a dog in heat, Morin had also looked, had also tried to
catch Keji’s eye, had also wanted to see in them if, indeed,
bygones were really bygones. But her old friend had looked
anywhere but at her.
And opening the room she shared with her husband after
returning from the Prom alone, the sight of him passed out
on the bed not only still in his suit but even his shoes and,
worse, the acrid smell of tobacco was enough to set her off.
“Go and change and have a shower, Mofe,” she said,
shoving his sleeping form. “You’re going to have the bed
smelling of cigarettes. I thought you said you’d quit.”
When all he did was groan in response, Morin shoved even
harder.
“For God’s sake!” he bellowed, throwing his legs over the
bed and getting off.
“Just go and shower and stop stinking this place up,” Morin
retorted, turning around and removing her jewellery.
But rather than head to the shower, he grabbed a pillow
from the bed and marched to the sofa at the other end of
the room, kicking his shoes off before falling into it. Morin
glared at him as he lay with his eyes closed, knowing he
wasn’t asleep and had chosen not to clean up to rile her.
She was tempted to get herself another room and leave him
to stew in the tobacco mist he'd formed in their room but
knew that would only further fan the flames of gossip
amongst their classmates about their crumbling marriage.
As it was, she had no choice but to stick it out for the few
hours they had left in the resort.

Mofe
A week later, Mofe reluctantly boarded the elaborate yacht
Morin had booked for their anniversary party, wearing all-
white as he had been instructed to. He watched, detached,
as his wife and Tara scurried around making sure the
caterers, DJ, the captain and his crew were following the
day’s very detailed script and, for the life of him, he wanted
to be anywhere but there. Maybe it was because he hadn’t
made any meaningful contribution to the party. Maybe it
was because the first thing Morin had done when she woke
up that morning was to reach for her phone to call Tara
and not wish him a happy anniversary. Maybe it was
because he thought the amount she’d spent on the party
extravagant and downright wasteful. Whatever it was, his
enthusiasm was at an all-time low. In an ideal world, they’d
be celebrating the milestone at home with their kids. But it
wasn’t an ideal world, and he was stuck here on this boat,
with their kids spending yet another weekend with their
grandmother…and Morin playing the perfect hostess, all
smiles as she received their friends and family as they
arrived. In a white dress with cutouts along its sides and
bustline, she looked stunning. But given that they had
barely spoken since the disastrous reunion weekend, how
stunning she looked barely registered. He just wanted to
get off the boat.
“It would help if you came to welcome out guests,” he
heard her voice behind him as he leaned on the railing
watching people walk up the gangway, causing him to turn
around to look. Sure enough, she was frowning and looking
at him like he was vermin.
What else was new?
“You seem to have that under control,” he answered. “You
don’t need me.”
“It’s our anniversary party, Mofe!” she snapped, casting an
anxious glance around to make sure nobody was within
earshot. “What do you mean I don’t need you?!”
“I mean between you and Tara, you have things running
like clockwork,” Mofe answered, returning his attention to
the gangway.
“Anyway, we’re setting sail soon,” Morin muttered. “It’s
already past 7.”
“Nonso isn’t here yet,” he cut in. “All your guests might be
here, but mine aren’t. We have to wait.”
“Are we really waiting for Nonso?” she asked. “Or someone
else?”
The question sliced too close to the truth. Even though he
and Keji hadn’t spoken since their encounter the previous
weekend, he’d sent her the party’s details during the
week…and had spent the days following hoping she would
honour it. As much as he knew having her there might not
be the wisest of ideas, it was the only thing he had to look
forward to that evening.
Turning around, he glared at Morin. “We’re waiting for
Nonso. This boat isn’t sailing without him.”
With a parting glare, Morin stalked over to resume her role
of consummate hostess. Mofe watched as their former
schoolmates, Tomi and Zinna arrived, closely followed by
Ogugua, and then Jachike and his wife. He accepted a
champagne flute from a passing waiter, knowing Morin’s
anxiety would be rising with the increasingly darkening
sky. Unbothered, he sipped from his drink as he watched,
regretting not following up his message to Keji with a
phone call. He had nothing to hide by contacting her. After
all, they had once been close friends…very close friends.
And Morin, of all people, had to understand that.
“Mofe, it’s 7:30,” came Morin’s voice again, causing him to
squeeze his eyes shut and clench his jaw, already done with
the non-stop badgering. “We have to set sail now.”
But he was determined to hold on to whatever morsel of
control he could wield.
“My friends aren’t yet here,” he threw back. Having
deliberately omitted inviting his closest friend and current
business partner, Dwight, this was no lie.
“What is this obsession with Nonso all of a sudden?” Morin
exclaimed, her hands raised in exasperation. “When was
the last time you saw him before the reunion?”
“Not just Nonso. Ikenna as well.”
“Are you fucking kidding me, Mofe? You want us to idle
away on this boat waiting for people who might not show
up? Do you know how much its costing us per hour?!”
“Then we should have had the party at home, shouldn’t
we?” he threw back. “There’s hardly anything to celebrate
anyway.”
A few heads swivelled in their direction, and Mofe clenched
his jaw to keep from speaking anymore. As much as he
didn’t want to be a part of this charade, he wasn’t going to
embarrass his wife by causing a scene. As Bioye and Toju
arrived, Morin put her mask back on and walked over to
the gangway to welcome them. Mofe picked up another
champagne flute from a waiter and after several sips – or
swigs, more like – he smiled when he saw Nonso, Ogonna,
and Ikenna walking the gangway. Nonso waved at him, and
he eagerly waved back, relieved to at least have decent
company for the voyage. As he was about to push himself
off the railing to go meet his friends, the sight of Keji
floating down the gangway in a white linen halter neck
dress, froze him to the spot. Her long hair was secured in a
ponytail adorned with a white rose, and as she smiled and
raised her slender arm in a wave, Mofe’s heart skipped
several beats. Finally walking away from the spot he’d
commandeered since getting on the boat over an hour
before, he walked, not to Nonso and Ikenna, but to the
mouth of the boat where Keji was emerging.
“You came,” he grinned, his stomach flipping the way it had
two decades before for this human being.
“You invited me, of course I’d come,” she answered, her
smile digging in the familiar dimples in her cheeks. “You’re
sure Morin is fine with this?”
“You two haven’t talked?” he asked, belatedly wondering
how the pair who had once been like family were yet to
have a proper conversation. Because if Keji was this
friendly with him, it was evident that there were no hard
feelings about her one-time best friend and one-time
boyfriend getting married.
Keji shrugged. “There’s enough time for that.” Her smile
dimmed as she observed the large crowd on the boat. “I see
quite a number of the Malomo crew.”
Looking at her, Mofe could tell she’d rather not be in the
company of their old classmates, and who could blame her?
After spending an entire weekend with them only a week
ago, that she’d rather not have another dose was
understandable.
“We could stay here if you want,” he suggested, his hand
unintentionally falling to her waist to secure her as the
boat’s gentle motion indicated it had been unmoored and
they had set sail. Quickly taking his hand off, he tucked it
into his pocket, lest he give anyone watching any funny
ideas.
Anyone being Morin.
“I’d like that,” Keji answered, her smile turning him to
complete mush.
And there they stood, drinking wine and talking, while the
rest of their guests were mingling and eating hors
d’oeuvres.
“Where did you disappear to?” Mofe asked as they sipped
on champagne and leaned on the rail, the Lagos skyline
retreating as they sailed further away from dock. “Or
maybe the real question is why? You ghosted everyone,
including your uncle.”
Keji shrugged again. “It wasn’t intentional. It took me by
surprise as well.”
“So what did you do in the States? Where exactly did you
go?”
“Dallas. My mom married a wealthy plastic surgeon, so I
went to live with them in their mansion.”
Mofe’s brows furrowed. “Oh? That doesn’t explain why you
vanished from the face of the earth.”
“I was trying to figure things out. I didn’t want to return to
university so I needed to think about what else I could do
with my life.”
Mofe cocked his head to the side, trying to marry the story
with the girl who’d been determined to get her grades high
enough to become a world-famous attorney one day. But
that had been twenty years ago and, clearly, things had
changed since then.
“My mom had also just had a set of twins, so I was also
helping her out with them. I was so busy, I had no time to
reach out to old friends in Nigeria.”
“I was more than an old friend, Keji,” Mofe said, the smirk
on his face flirtatious.
The smile on her face was equally coquettish. “You most
surely were more than a friend, Eyimofe Thompson. A lot
more.”
Morin
Watching Mofe and Keji flirt on the deck in front of all the
people they had assembled to celebrate their milestone,
Morin had never felt more embarrassed in her whole life.
Suddenly drained of the zeal to keep up the act of the
bubbly hostess, she retreated to the bar, sat on a stool, and
chugged down glass of wine after glass of wine.
“Morin, we’re moving to the banquet area for dinner,” Tara
said, concern in her eyes as they darted to the glass of wine
in Morin’s hand.
“You can take care of everyone,” Morin answered, unable
to stomach the thought of sitting with guests and
pretending everything was fine. “I’ll join you later.”
Tara sighed and opened her mouth to speak but appeared
to think better of it. Nodding, she patted Morin’s shoulder
and walked towards where the ushers were leading guests
for the elaborate four-course spread. As Tara disappeared
from sight, Morin emptied the glass in her hand and asked
for a refill.
Hoping the alcohol would numb her pain.

Mofe
Mofe laughed as he listened to the colourful stories Keji
regaled him about her life in the States. He knew he ought
to return to their guests, knew he ought to at least join his
wife, the person he was supposed to be celebrating with,
but he could neither pull himself away from the picturesque
view from the deck – the water and the woman – nor keep
from satisfying his curiosity about what Keji had been up to
for the last twenty years. Which turned out to be a lot, if
her stories of hobnobbing with A-list celebrities after
moving to LA, doing everything from working as an
assistant, to a make-up artist, to even dating quite a few,
were anything to go by. As he listened to yet another wild
story about a popular celebrity she had befriended, it was
no wonder she hadn’t been inclined to keep in touch with
any blasts from her past.
Much too soon, the boat returned to the dock.
“I better go join Morin to say goodbye to our guests,” Mofe
said reluctantly. “She’s going to be so pissed.”
“Isn’t that her getting off already?” Keji remarked.
Mofe looked in the direction of Keji’s gaze and saw that,
indeed, Morin was the first person on the gangway. Yep,
she was definitely angry. But he would deal with that later.
Walking to their departing guests, Mofe smiled and shook
hands as he thanked them for coming.
“Where’s Morin?” Zinna asked as she walked past. “Is she
okay?”
He nodded, doing everything to keep smiling. “She’s fine.
She had a headache so had to leave early.”
“Is Omorinsola okay?” one of his cousins asked. “We hardly
saw her the whole time.”
“She has a headache,” he answered. “She’s fine.”
That was his script for anyone that asked, which was pretty
much everyone, considering what had brought them to the
boat in the first place.
“You guys good?” Nonso asked as he and Ogonna walked
out, his eyes holding Mofe’s for a beat longer than normal
before drifting to where Keji stood behind him.
“We’re good,” Mofe answered, maintaining eye contact
when Nonso returned his gaze to him.
“You’re sure?” Nonso prodded with a raised brow, his eyes
continuing to ask all the questions his mouth wasn’t.
“Thanks for coming, man,” Mofe chuckled as he pulled him
into an embrace. “Let’s hang out soon, okay?”
Even though they had been good friends in school, they
hadn’t exactly kept up the energy in the years following.
But Mofe was eager to reignite that friendship. It didn’t
hurt that Nonso just happened to sit atop a billion-dollar
conglomerate of companies and could change the story of
the agricultural product export business Mofe and his
friend were venturing into.
“Call me,” Nonso answered, returning Mofe’s smile as they
embraced.
As the last person disembarked, Mofe turned to Keji. “Did
you drive? Or do you need a ride?”
“Oh don’t worry yourself. I’ll call an Uber. That’s how I
came anyway,” Keji said, opening her purse and pulling out
her phone.
But Mofe would hear of no such thing. Especially as it was
likely he wouldn’t see her again after she returned to the
States.
“It’ll be my pleasure,” he insisted. “Please.”
With a smile that not only lit up her face but the entire
space around her, she nodded. “In that case, sure.”
The drive to her hotel in Victoria Island was fifteen minutes
from the boat club in Ikoyi. Neither of them spoke through
it, Keji scrolling through her phone and Mofe trying to keep
his eyes from straying to her upper thigh exposed by the
high slit of her dress. In the contained proximity of the car,
everything about her was more concentrated; her perfume,
her presence, her raw sex appeal…and it was a battle of
wills to keep his body from responding to it. It had been ten
months since he and Morin’s last attempt at sex, ten
months since any kind of release had come from anything
but the efforts of his own hand…literally. And even though
he had conditioned himself not to think about it, trained his
body not to miss the tight tunnel of a woman’s body, as he
drove, that tunnel was all he could think about.
“Do you wanna come up?” Keji asked as they pulled up in
front of the hotel’s doors. “The night is still young.” It
wasn’t. It was almost eleven o’clock. “We spent all evening
talking about me. I’d like to hear about you for a change,
over a glass of wine. My hotel stocks some great
Sauvignons.”
Mofe looked at her, knowing with every shadow of his
being that disembarking that car would be a very bad idea.
He knew he should decline her offer of wine and
conversation and instead return home to make amends
with his wife on this day that marked their tenth year of
marriage.
“Sounds good,” he said instead, not stopping at the hotel’s
glass doors but driving forward to the car park instead.
Bringing the car to a stop, Keji got out just as he did, not
waiting for him to come to her side to help her out.
“You know, I think I actually should go home,” he said,
belatedly trying to navigate himself to safer waters. “It’s
late, and Morin…”
“Only a few minutes, Mofe,” Keji said, reaching for his
hand, a coy smile on her face. “I don’t bite.”
“I didn’t say you did,” he answered, even though the feel of
her soft hand around his was shooting two-way electric
signals, one to his brain and the other to his pants.
“Besides, you owe me this,” she said, interlacing her
fingers with his. “You need to tell me how you went from
being my boyfriend to my best friend’s husband.”
That was almost enough to make him turn around and run
back to his car. But the sensations now surging through his
body kept him walking, kept his hand ensconced in hers,
kept him moving forward.
Inside the hotel, it was a short walk to the elevator and an
even shorter walk to her room on the third floor, a room
that smelled like her to the nth degree. Small but tastefully
furnished with polished wood furnishing, soft textures, and
warm lighting, Mofe could see why the hotel charged the
kind of high rates it did.
“Nice place,” he remarked as he sat on the single chair by a
coffee table by the window, steering well clear of the bed.
“Yeah, a client of mine back home in Geneva highly
recommended it.”
“Geneva?”
She laughed. “That’s where I stay now. I have several
clients there so I moved about a year ago. ” She cocked her
head to the side. “What about you? What do you do?”
Ordinarily, talking about his failed businesses would have
been the easiest way to make him uncomfortable in a
discussion. But, oddly enough, this time it didn’t.
“I used to work in a bank, but I quit a few years ago,” he
shrugged. “I’ve done a bit of this and that, but nothing has
quite worked out. I recently partnered with a friend from
university and I’m hoping our agric export business will be
more successful.”
“What do you mean by agric export?”
“My friend’s father has a cashew farm in Delta State. We’re
hoping to find an export market for it. It’s been hard raising
money for all the permits and approvals we need, but,
fingers crossed, we’ll make it happen.”
“Why can’t Morin help you with the money? From the party
she threw tonight, my guess would be that she isn’t
strapped for cash.”
Mofe pursed his lips, not wanting to go into how he no
longer felt comfortable sharing his business ideas with his
wife, how he would rather scrounge for the money than see
the look of disdain and disappointment in her eyes.
“You said something about wine,” he said, changing the
subject.
“Ah, of course,” Keji said, reaching for the telephone on her
nightstand. “It’ll be up shortly.” Replacing the phone, she
rose to her feet. “Give me a minute to get into something
more comfortable.”
In hindsight, Mofe knew this was the moment he should
have left. But he didn’t. Instead, he stayed until Keji
returned in a black silk negligee that hit her midthigh and
outlined every arc, every curvature of her moderate sized
breasts. Mofe swallowed, more aroused than he had been
in a long, long time. Keji’s smile was innocent, like she
hadn’t stripped herself down to almost nothing. She walked
over to the door when there was a knock, accepting the
bottle of wine from the hotel staffer who brought it up.
Mofe watched her as she walked to a table across the room
and picked up two wine glasses, her smile never departing
her face.
“So, tell me,” she said, pouring wine into both glasses.
“How did it happen? You and Omorinsola.”
“Me and Omorinsola,” he repeated, his eyes fixed on Keji’s
nipples straining through the flimsy fabric as she walked
over to where he sat. “Ummm, Morin and I connected a few
years after university.”
“Really?” Keji smiled as she handed him his glass. “You two
weren’t in touch before then?”
All he could do was shake his head, his arousal making him
unable to articulate any coherent word or even thought.
Keji sat on the bed, her eyes on him as she took a long sip
of wine.
“Did you ever regret that we never had sex?” she asked,
shaking her head and laughing. “Gosh, we were so silly and
naïve. Why didn’t we have sex? Everyone else was.”
And she was right. Almost all their classmates in
relationships were sexually active. But with Keji being
religious at the time, they had committed to waiting until
they were married.
She leaned forward. “Did you ever fantasize about me? Did
you ever wonder what I looked like naked? Are you
wondering that now?”
All Mofe could do was gape at her, his mouth dried of every
drop of saliva. Rising to her feet, she set her glass on the
coffee table, took his from his, put it down, and then
straddled him before his brain could communicate to his
body. But his body had already passed the point of no
return. As she encircled her arms around his neck, his
hands moved up her silky-soft, silky-smooth thighs, and by
the time she bent her head to kiss him with lips that were
both foreign and familiar, his erection was already tenting
his flimsy linen trousers. But as she slid over it…
All bets were off.
In a series of swift motions, her dress came off, his clothes
followed suit, and he was lifting her up and lowering them
to the bed where they ravished each other’s bodies with the
hunger of wild animals presented with raw, bloody meat.
He pounded into her, ploughing harder, plunging deeper,
intoxicated by a pleasure he had slowly begun to forget,
sending him over a cliff in an earth-shattering explosion.

Book made for [email protected]

 CHAPTER SIX
EXPLODING IMPLOSION

Mofe
And then the fog cleared.
As he descended from the high, as his vision cleared, as the
image of the woman lying beneath him crystalized, his
stomach churned from the reality of what he had just done.
What had he just done?!
“Fuck!” he cursed as he rolled off Keji, covering his face as
he lay by her, bile rising in his throat over what he had
done for the first time to his wife, and on their tenth
wedding anniversary no less.
“Mofe.”
But he didn’t answer. He couldn’t answer. With his hands
still covering his face, tears stung the back of his eyes, the
heaviness of his bones and listlessness of his body at odds
with the pulsating electricity that had charged through it
mere moments ago.
What had he done?
“Mofe,” Keji called his name again, this time accompanied
with the graze of her fingers on his chest.
He flinched at her touch, the same touch that had only just
driven him wild but now represented everything he wanted
to forget.
“I have to go,” he said, pushing himself off the bed and
fumbling through the dark room for his clothes.
“Stay, Mofe.”
“This should never have happened,” he said, his voice
breaking as he stepped into his trousers. “This was a
mistake. This was a mistake.”
Keji said nothing as he dressed, but instead sat up in bed
with the sheets covering her chest, watching as he
buttoned his shirt while wiping tears from his eyes
intermittently. Stepping into his Vans Whites, his feet were
barely in the shoes as he reached for his car keys on the
coffee table and hurried out of the room, half running and
half walking the short distance to the elevator landing.
Once downstairs, as he walked to his car, he was hit with
an even stronger wave of nausea, causing him to drop on
all fours by his car, hoping, praying to expel the consuming
guilt he felt through the contents of his stomach. But he
wretched with dry heaves, bestowed neither with the
emptying of his stomach or elimination of his guilt.
“Fuck!” he yelled, his voice piercing through the silence of
the night as angry tears poured down his face.
As messed up as things had been with Morin, as unhappy
as they both were, as mangled as their relationship now
was, he never thought he would be capable of this. He
never thought he would be the man who stepped out on his
wife.
Getting into his car, his tears blinded him as he navigated
his way out of the hotel. He circled the streets – Muri
Okunola to Etim Inyang to Ajose Adeogun back to Muri
Okunola – not brave enough to make the exit to the
expressway that would take him home, not bold enough to
face Morin after what he had done. But after driving
aimlessly for over an hour, as the clock on the dashboard
struck 1am, he knew he couldn’t run away forever.
He knew he had to go home.

Morin
Morin thought the weekend before when Mofe had
blatantly gawked at Keji for the entirety of their reunion
weekend was the worst she could feel, but she’d been
wrong. Seeing Keji floating on to that boat, beautiful, slim,
and an ethereal vision of loveliness in white, was the worst.
Seeing her husband’s face light up when he saw her was
the worst. Watching him flirt with her on the deck for the
entirety of the evening while their guests looked at her with
pity was the worst. Not having him follow her when she got
off the boat as soon as it was moored was the worst.
Except none of them actually were.
The worst.
Sitting on their bed as one hour became two, three, and
now four, but with Mofe not having returned home was the
worst. Hearing their gate open and his car drive in at
almost 2am was the worst. And as she rose to her feet and
walked to the window to look out of it, seeing the car idle
for five, ten, twenty minutes was the worst.
Because she knew.
She turned around and walked back to their bed and sat,
waiting for whenever he would finally get out of the car and
come upstairs.
It was another fifteen minutes before their bedroom door
opened, and the sweet unfamiliar smell that floated into the
room before Mofe’s footsteps signaled his own entry
confirmed every premonition twisting knots in her stomach.
That and his disheveled clothes and bloodshot eyes.
“You slept with her.”
It was more of a statement than a question, because at that
point, there was no need for questions.
He didn’t answer but his lowered gaze was all the answer
she needed. Grabbing the bedside lamp with enough force
to ungracefully unplug it, she hurled it at Mofe.
“Bastard!” she screamed, shooting to her feet as the pricey
ceramic lamp shattered to pieces beside him.
“I’m sorry,” Mofe wailed in a voice more mournful than
anything she had ever heard as he stepped over the shards
and walked towards her. “Omorinsola, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t touch me!” Morin shrieked, taking just as many
steps back. “Don’t you dare touch me! How long have you
been fucking her? Since the reunion?”
Mofe shook his head as a sob wracked his body. “Tonight
was the first time. I swear I didn’t touch her last weekend.”
“But you wanted to! You were fucking her with your eyes
the whole time! Everyone saw that!” Morin yelled, the tears
she had repressed all evening finally finding her.
Mofe covered his face and dropped to a crouch as he
sobbed, and his lack of denial was acid to her open wound.
“I didn’t mean it to happen. I swear, I didn’t.”
“But you invited her,” Morin retorted. “You exchanged
phone numbers, and you invited her. You kept us at the
dock waiting for her.” A renegade sob escaped, and she
clapped a hand over her mouth to keep any more from
escaping, as the reality of what had really happened
dawned on her. “You wanted this. You planned for this to
happen.”
Mofe shot to his feet and walked to her, defying her
instruction to stay away. “I didn’t, I swear it. Yes, I wanted
to see her, but I swear, I didn’t…I didn’t plan this.” He
reached for her hand. “You have to believe me.”
Morin put up no resistance, not when he closed the
distance between them or as he held her hand…because
she had no fight left. Her worst fear had finally
materialized.
“For so long, I’ve been holding my breath,” she said, her
level voice at odds with the tears spilling from her eyes.
“For so long, I’ve been afraid, worried about all the ways
you would break us, worried about the day you would
finally pull the rug from under my feet.” She met his gaze.
“Now, you finally have. And I’m so relieved not to have to
hold my breath anymore. I’m relieved this torture is finally
over.”

Mofe
Her words and the steely calmness with which they were
delivered, struck deeper and hit harder than the antique
lamp that had missed his head by mere inches.
“You don’t mean that,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I know
you don’t mean that.”
She said nothing as he held her gaze, but the hurt and pain
he had caused her screamed from her eyes, causing his
heart to further constrict with regret, not only for what he
had done with Keji that night, but for every way he
contributed to the chain of events that had led them there.
“Babe…” he began but the buzz of his phone vibrating in
his pocket interrupted him.
Morin’s eyes dropped to his pocket and when they rose
back to meet his, the raw emotion they had only just held
had iced over to a stony glare. Pulling her hand from of his,
she took a step back.
“Get out of my house,” she snarled. “Get the fuck out of my
house.”
“Omorinsola, please!” he said grabbing her hand as she
made to walk away. “Let’s talk about this, please!”
“Oh, now you want to talk?” she snapped. “When you were
fucking her, you didn’t think about talking. When you were
making a fool of me not only tonight, but last weekend, you
didn’t think about talking. When you chose to spend our
anniversary party drooling over her like a fool, you didn’t
think about talking.”
“Morin, please!”
“Pack your shit and leave!” she screamed, shoving him in
the chest. “Get out of my house!”
And something in his head snapped, something old,
something familiar. Something that pricked. Something
that chafed. Something that hurt.
“This house is also mine, Omorinsola. Don’t let your bloated
pride make you forget you only contributed a quarter of the
cost when we bought it, and that was only because you
insisted.”
Her eyes widened, momentarily shocked by his pivot. Then,
just as quickly, they thinned into slits.
“Well, I’m not the one who got caught with my pants
down.”
“You didn’t catch me,” Mofe said, his anger rising by the
minute. “I came straight here, and I confessed…”
“It was written all over your face, you asshole!”
“Maybe if we’d had sex in, I don’t know, the past year, I
wouldn’t have had to look for it elsewhere!”
She gasped and slapped him hard on the face.
“How dare you! So it’s my fault?! It’s my fault you can’t
keep your dick in your pants?! Talking about us not having
sex when YOU are the one who never wants it!”
“Like I would want it after you’ve sucked all the joy out of
it!” he yelled back, holding his throbbing face. “’Don’t
touch here.’ ‘Don’t look there.’ It’s like walking through
landmines, trying to sleep with you. God forbid I touch the
wrong part of your body!”
The moment the words were out, he wanted to fish them
back.
“Morin, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”
“That’s rich coming from someone whose only expertise is
failing at business,” Morin threw at him, hitting the very
spot she intended.
His jaw clenched as a lump formed in his throat, her words
kicking him below the belt.
“And you wonder why I’m unhappy, when you say shit like
that,” he threw back. “You’d rather waste millions of naira
on a stupid party than do the actual work to fix us!”
“What, you wanted me to give you the money for whatever
stupid business idea you now have? Is that your next
angle?!”
“I don’t need your money, Omorinsola.”
“Good thing, because I never planned to give it to you!” she
spat back. “Not after we lost almost all our savings on the
disastrous delivery business you didn’t even think through!
Not after it took us years to recover after your recycling
catastrophe! If you think I’ll ever put a kobo of my money
into any business of yours, you better think again!”
“Well, thank you for that very enlightening walk down
memory lane,” he retorted, the shame and anger he felt
alchemizing into something lethal within him. “I don’t need
your money. And, for the record, never again am I going to
take a penny from you.”
“You got that right,” she muttered, pushing him aside and
storming over to his closet, throwing its doors open and
yanking several hangers of his clothes.
“Get your hands off my clothes,” he said, crossing the room
and making to take his clothes from her.
But she beat him to it, throwing at him the clothes in her
hand as she grabbed more from the closet.
“Since it’s my fault, go to her then!” Morin yelled. “Since
I’m the frigid bitch too inconsiderate to support her
husband, go to her! I bet she fucked you real good tonight,
didn’t she! I bet she massaged your brittle ego and made
you feel all better, didn’t she!”
He reached for the clothes on the floor and made to take
the heap from her hands, but she pushed him aside and ran
to the window.

Morin
Pushing the window open, she hurled the pile of clothes in
her hand out of it and stormed back for another pile.
“What are you doing?!” Mofe shouted, making to shut the
closet.
Filled with strength that was alien to her, Morin shoved
him out of the way and grabbed another handful, breaking
some of the wooden hangars in the process. Mofe must
have realised he was dealing with a deadly animal by this
point as he stood by as she threw the pile in her hands out
of the window and rushed for another.
“Morin, please stop this.”
“Get out of my house!” she screamed as she threw yet
another pile out of the window, uncaring how far her voice
was carrying in the quietness of the night or who could
hear her. “Get the fuck out of my house.”
With a flare of his nostrils, Mofe walked out of the room.
Morin stood by the window, chest heaving and eyes tearing
as she waited for him to emerge downstairs. And when he
did, she ran to the closet for another handful, throwing
them at him as he walked to his car, incensed even more as
he gathered the heaps of clothes now scattered all over the
compound and threw them in his car, the realisation that
he was indeed going, that he was indeed putting his clothes
in the car broke her heart and firmed her resolve at the
same time. And as he got into his car, the clothes he had
salvaged in his back seat, she threw yet another handful
down as he drove away.

Mofe
His anger only fueled the adrenalin coursing through his
body for a few minutes after driving out, and the further
away he drove, the deeper he sank in the sea of despair
he’d been swimming in since losing his senses with Keji.
No, that wasn’t true. He’d been swimming…sinking…in that
sea for longer. Much longer.
But it wasn’t just about Keji now. Ugly truths had been
unearthed, ugly things said, and the chaotic jumble of
shirts and kaftans on the front and back passenger seats of
his SUV were the confirmation that he had indeed been
thrown out of his house. But the indignation he’d driven out
with was long gone and the soul-consuming despair he’d
left Keji’s hotel in had returned…with friends. As hard a
time as he and Morin had had for quite a few years, he
wasn’t ready to give it up. He wasn’t ready to give their
family up.
He wasn’t ready to give her up.
Turning his car back, he drove back to their estate, parking
a few feet away from the house with the hope that a few
hours would be all it would take for Morin to calm down.
Yes, he’d messed up, but he was determined to do whatever
he needed to, to fix things. With his mind agitated and body
restless, even after placing his head on the steering wheel,
sleep was elusive, vivid visuals of Keji straddling him,
Morin’s tear-stained face, and his clothes scattered on the
floor looping in his head. After what seemed like eternity,
the sky began to lighten, the sun finally emerging as night
turned to day. He waited until 7am before driving back
home, but as he tried to activate the gate’s code, all the
hope he had since leaving four hours before came crashing
down with the realisation that, by changing the access
code, Morin was making good on her decision to kick him
out.
“Morin, please!” he called out, despite knowing she was
unlikely to hear.
Stepping back, he eyed the fence, but the electric barbed
wire atop it made him reconsider any plans of scaling it.
Reaching for his phone from his pocket, he ignored the
notifications of missed calls from Keji and dialed Morin’s
number. He was relieved when it rang, relieved she hadn’t
blocked his number, and even more relieved when she
answered it.
“What do you want?”
“Morin, please,” he whimpered, holding the phone with one
hand and hitting the gate with the other. “I’m sorry. Please.
Let me in. Please.”
“We’re over, Mofe. I can never forgive you for what you
did. Never!”
“So you won’t even talk about it?!” he cried. “You want to
throw everything away just like that?! What are you going
to tell the kids?!”
“No, what are you going to tell the kids, Mofe! You’re the
one who’s going to figure out what to tell the kids, not me.
You’re not going to make me the bad cop this time.”
And probably for the first time since walking into their
bedroom hours before, he heard the firm resolve in her
voice, the fierce determination that conveyed there would
be no coming back from this. He had committed the mortal
sin of sleeping with the one person he shouldn’t have…and
there would be no repairing the damage from that. He
stepped back from the gate, contemplating calling her
mother, his mother, his sisters, her cousin, for intervention,
but the thought of exposing not just his indiscretion but the
mangled mess that was their marriage made him feel
physically ill. And he wondered if this wasn’t for the best
after all. He wondered if he wasn’t holding on to a
weakened branch about to detach itself from the trunk. He
wondered if this wasn’t just the inevitable end of their
troubled relationship.
“Can I at least come in to pack the rest of my stuff?” he
asked, his voice a mere rasp. “I don’t want the kids to have
to see me do that.”
The pause that followed was long enough for him to wonder
if the line had disconnected. But looking at his active
screen confirmed Morin was still on the other end of the
call.
“If I let you in, it’s for you to get your stuff.”
He cleared his throat and wiped tears from his eyes. “I
know.”
“Thirty minutes. I’ll text you the temporary code and give
you thirty minutes to pack your things.”
He nodded, squeezing his eyes to keep more tears from
falling. “Okay,” the only thing he could manage in
response.
This time, the line did disconnect, and seconds later, his
phone vibrated with new six-digit code that replaced the
one that had opened their gate in the four years they’d
installed the automatic gate that replaced their manual
system. Walking over to the gate, he tapped the code into
the wall mounted keyboard and returned to his car as it
opened. Driving in, the sight of the clothes he had missed,
and which still lay on the ground, were the stark reminder
of the ugly exchange that had occurred hours before…and
his heart broke anew.

Morin
She sat on their daughter’s bed, the door to the room
locked as she heard Mofe move around their bedroom,
opening drawers and pulling out boxes. She bit the insides
of her mouth to keep from crying, determined not to yield
to tears any more than she already had. Except when she
wasn’t crying, she was attacked by visuals of Mofe kissing
Keji, limb locked with Keji, professing love to Keji…making
her prefer the tears. Wrapping her arms round her body,
she rocked back and forth where she sat, her heart
shattered to pieces from her husband’s ultimate betrayal.
Rising to her feet, she walked to the window and looked out
as Mofe emerged downstairs, suitcases in tow. Before she
could move away, he looked up and saw her. His shoulders
were slumped as he stared up at her, a silent plea in his
eyes. But she pulled the curtain shut, blocking his view of
her…and hers of him.

Mofe
If Morin meant to communicate the shut curtain as a
symbol, Mofe interpreted it as exactly that; the symbol of
the end. Turning around, he loaded the bags he managed to
pack into the car, knowing another trip would still need to
be made to clear the rest of his things. Exhaling, he got into
his car, started it, headed to the gate, opened it with the
temporary code, and drove out of the building.
In auto pilot mode, he drove out of their estate, exiting onto
Admiralty Way. He racked his brain for hotel options but
decided against any in the vicinity. Driving out of the main
gate and on to the Lekki Epe Expressway, he made his way
to the Mandarin Hotel, not caring that the expensive hotel
would cost him a pretty penny. If it meant a comfortable
and serene place to lay low and clear his head, he was
ready to pay for that luxury…whatever it cost him.

Morin
Even though she had toyed with the notion for a while,
even though she had been convinced it was the only thing
she wanted after Mofe’s admission of infidelity, even
though she was certain she didn’t want him anywhere
around her ever again, seeing his car leaving their
compound was a dagger through her soul, the finality of
their breakup as surreal as it was heartbreaking. After
everything, after the beautiful love story they’d once had,
after everything they’d had to endure, Morin and Mofe
were over.
Staggering to the bed behind her, she plopped into it,
rubbing her neck in her rising anxiety. It had only been
minutes but there was already a void, a hollowness not just
in their home but in her being. For the last ten years, Mofe
had been her other half – sometimes better half, many
times worse – but now, like a limb amputated, she would no
longer be whole.
She had just lost half of herself.

Mofe
After paying extra to check in early, Mofe lay on the plush
hotel bed, still in the well-worn, no-longer-so-white
ensemble from the disaster that was their anniversary
party the night before. As he tossed and turned, he
oscillated between wanting to call Morin’s family and his
for mediation and believing this separation was best for
them. He eventually drifted into shallow, dreamless
slumber, awaking when the sky outside darkened.
Sitting up, he saw that his phone on the nightstand was
dead, so he reluctantly stood up and walked to the side of
the room where his suitcases lay piled, fishing into the top
one and hoping that was where he’d thrown his chargers
and power banks into. Relieved when his fingers closed
around the chord he was looking for, he pulled it out and
walked back to the nightstand, plugging it in the socket and
connecting it to his phone. Undressing, he walked to the
bathroom and showered, the cold blast of water soothing
after what had been the worst eighteen hours of his life.
Refreshed, he retrieved a t-shirt and pair of shorts from his
suitcase and was pulling the t-shirt over his head when his
phone vibrated. His heart jumping to his mouth, he rushed
to it, hoping it was Morin finally coming to her senses and
calling him to return home. But it wasn’t her.
It was Keji.
He hesitated as the phone rang, unsure of the wisdom of
speaking to the reason he was in a hotel room in the first
place. But deciding the worst had already happened, he
answered the call.
“Mofe, are you at the Mandarin Hotel?” she asked. “I was
just leaving after a meeting and saw your car parked. It’s a
black LX 570, right? Plate number ending with 4XA?”
He sighed, knowing he was going to have to get used to
questions of this nature. “Yes, that’s me.”
“Are you okay?” she asked, her voice laden with concern.
“Tell me where you are, so I can come to you.”
He gave her his room number and in a matter of minutes,
she was knocking on his door. As he opened it, even though
she was conservatively dressed in a blazer over a blouse
and fitted pants, her strong, sweet perfume took him back
to the night before. Her eyes narrowed when they landed
on his scattered boxes on the floor.
“She kicked you out?” she asked, her eyes drifting back to
him.
He shrugged in response, not trusting his voice, not
trusting the words that would come out of his mouth in
answer to that question.
“You deserve better than her, Mofe,” Keji said. “I know she
and I were once like sisters, but…” her voice trailed as her
eyes held his. “You deserve a woman who will understand
you, a woman who will love you like you deserve, a woman
who will support you. Everyone could see how unhappy you
were at the reunion. If Omorinsola really loved you, you
wouldn’t be here, sitting by yourself in a hotel room, an
unhappy man.”
Keji stepped forward and placed her hands on his chest,
her eyes never breaking gaze with his. His initial
inclination was to push her away…but he decided against it.
Because she was right. If Morin loved him, he wouldn’t be
there. If she really loved him, they wouldn’t be here.
Looking at Keji, he wondered why exactly he was resisting
her. This was a woman who had loved him first, a woman
who wanted him more.
Maybe this was what the order of things ought to have
always been.
So as she crossed her arms around his neck, as she leaned
forward to kiss him, as she pressed her body flush against
his, he didn’t resist. Instead, he yielded to her kisses,
returning them with equal gusto, peeling of her blazer as
she tugged at his shorts, and following as she pulled him
into the bed.
Ready to follow her through the window she had opened
after Morin had firmly shut the door of their marriage.
Book made for [email protected]
 CHAPTER SEVEN
NEW REALITY

Morin
As bad as seeing the guilt on Mofe’s face, as bad as hearing
him admit his infidelity, as bad as the nasty words they had
traded were, as bad as all that had been, watching his car
pull out of the compound was worse.
Infinitely worse.
Calling in sick at work and sending a text message to her
mother requesting the kids stay a few more days bought
Morin more time, time she needed to regroup and have a
convincing reason for why their father would no longer live
with them in that house. But as that awful Monday ended
and she lay on their bed alone, she knew the regrouping
was more for her benefit than their children, because as
bad as things had degenerated in the past few years, she
hadn’t prepared herself for this. She hadn’t prepared
herself for a life without her husband.
As Monday became Tuesday and then Wednesday, as her
phone did not light up with any calls or messages from him,
as it became clear that he had accepted this separation,
that he had come to terms with the end of their marriage,
Morin’s steely strength dissipated, her heart broken
beyond belief by his betrayal. By Friday, the crushing
heaviness in her chest when she awoke was enough to
make her contemplate picking up her phone to call him.
He’d been remorseful, if the tears that accompanied his
confession were anything to go by. And maybe she had
indeed played a part in sending him into his ex-girlfriend’s
arms. He clearly regretted his mistake and was very likely
hurting the same way she was. But a forwarded post from
her cousin, Bimbo, shattered all those hopes.
Babe, I hope this is somebody else with this necklace,
was the message that accompanied a post from Keji’s page,
a post of Keji looking at the screen with her head on a
man’s bare chest, a man’s bare chest with a while gold
chain with a dog tag pendant, a dog tag pendant engraved
with a love knot – a rope tied in the shape of a heart, a
white gold chain eerily similar to one Bimbo had helped
Morin customize for Mofe’s thirtieth birthday seven years
before. Morin’s heart made a slow descent to her stomach,
not just because of Keji’s flushed face, plumped lips, messy
hair, and everything else that screamed I just had sex, but
because the chest she lay on was one Morin knew not just
because of the chain that adorned it, but from its precise
shade of brown and the overlay of dark hair that lay flat on
it instead of coiled. It was a chest she knew well.
Captioned Intimacy, the picture confirmation that any
illusions about Mofe being regretful about sleeping with
Keji were just that; illusions. Not only was he not
remorseful, he had gone back to her. And Keji wanted the
world to know it. Tapping Keji’s profile, Morin saw a
picture from the previous day, one of Keji holding a man
from behind while also smiling smugly at the camera. The
peeping white gold chain and maroon and cream polo shirt
in the same combination as one of Mofe’s Abercrombie &
Fitch tops further confirmed to Morin that the previous
picture had been no anomaly.
The old lovers had reunited.
Morin scrolled through Keji’s Instagram page, scrolling
past the two pictures that had just decimated her, past
pictures of Keji in the while halter-neck she’d worn to their
party, past pictures from their reunion weekend. As Morin
looked at pictures of Keji’s svelte bikini clad body on
vacation, Keji in glittery dresses at glitzy parties, Keji
sipping champagne aboard private jets, Keji leaning on a
silver Lamborghini Huracán, Keji seated courtside at a Los
Angeles Lakers basketball game, Keji backstage at a Dave
Chapelle show with her and an identified female laughing
at something the comedian must have said, and Keji smiling
as a pair of male Caucasian hands fastened on a diamond
and ruby choker, Morin had never felt worse about herself.
The more she scrolled, the more unattractive, the more
humdrum, the more unworthy she felt. By the time she got
to the first bright eyed, wide lipped smile post from 2013,
Morin’s self-confidence wasn’t even in the toilet. It had
burrowed somewhere deeper than sewage-level. Dropping
the phone on the bed, she stood in front of the full-length
mirror mounted on the wall, her puffy eyes, unwashed face,
corn-rowed hair, and shapeless boubou not doing her any
favours.
She was no competition for Keji. She wasn’t even qualified
to contend.
Rising to her feet, she walked back to the large closet she
and Mofe had shared and pulled out the clothes left
hanging, kaftans he no longer wore and the multi-coloured
striped shirts that were no longer fashionable. Unlike the
rage that had hastened this action before, this time, the
deep sorrow made every lift of her arm a painful chore,
making her move at sloth-like speed. But slow though she
was, she removed all the clothes, cleared all the shoes,
emptied their shared dressing table of his perfumes, and
boxed everything he had left behind intentionally or
accidentally. When she was done, she dragged the bags
down the stairs, depositing them in the guest room.
Their bedroom now cleared of him, she reached for her
phone and exhaled. Much as she’d have wished removing
all traces of him from their bedroom was all that was
needed for her to move on, that they were permanently
bound by the children they shared was a cold reality she
could not deny. And with them back home that weekend,
there were difficult discussions that needed to be had.
The kids are back from my mother’s house tomorrow.
Let me know when on Sunday you intend to come see
them so I can make myself scarce, she texted him.
5pm, was his scant response.
That was all it took to break her, and she buried her face in
her hands as she cried, giving rein to the loud, racking sobs
that reverberated through her body, the pain she felt
showing her that, despite thinking she had felt its very
extent, there were even more profound, more acute levels
possible.
After crying until her throat was hoarse and her eyes
swollen shut, she reached for her phone again, this time to
call Bimbo to ask her to be with the kids when Mofe came
on Sunday. Because she had no intention of subjecting
herself to the torture of being there when he did.

Mofe
By yielding to Keji’s overture, by falling back into bed with
her, Mofe knew there was no turning back now. And from
that Monday evening when she came to him, to the
following day, and the day after that, as they made love
from sun up to sun down, he chased after the high that
came from being with a woman whose every touch, every
gasp, every moan screamed her desire for him, a high he
needed to fill the hollowness in his chest. But rather than
fill it, every time they had sex, the hollowness dug deeper,
the yawning guilt that engulfed him more profound with
every passing day.
But he had gone too far to turn back.
And when Keji looked at him the way she did, listened to
him the way she did, moaned for him the way she did, he
asked himself, turn back to what? Even though his heart
was breaking, even though his heart was weeping for the
woman he had built and shared a life with for a decade, his
head knew he was doing the right thing moving on.
Because he was done being unhappy.
As dawn broke on Sunday, the thought of returning to the
place that had once been his home to have the conversation
he’d never imagined having with his children broke his
heart. Divorce was alien to him. His parents had been
married for forty-three years till his father’s passing three
years before, so this was one conversation that had never
happened for him, not even as a joke. His sisters were
happily married, but here he was, the first of them unable
to go the distance. And he felt like a failure.
“I’ll go with you,” Keji said as he buttoned on a shirt in
preparation for the meeting with his children.
“Don’t be funny,” he muttered, thinking he was facing a
difficult enough task without having his…whatever Keji
was…tagging along.
“I’ll wait in the car. Please. I don’t want to be here alone,”
she pleaded.
The desolate look on her face guilted him. She’d moved
from her hotel for him, and he felt responsible for her. As
he acquiesced, he made a mental note to park a few streets
away from the house. Not only did he want to rule out the
possibility of Morin or, worse, their kids, seeing a strange
woman in his car, he wasn’t about to let Keji know where
his family lived. Nothing against her but he just didn’t want
to risk the occurrence of a Glen Close in Fatal Attraction
type incident.
He was grateful Keji didn’t make unnecessary conversation
as they headed to Lekki Phase 1, the silence allowing him
mentally ginger himself for what lay ahead. While it was a
relief that he wouldn’t have to face Morin – because he was
in no mental or emotional state to do so – there was no
sugar coating him moving out of the house to his children.
Parking on the street leading into their estate, he shut his
eyes, exhaled, inhaled, exhaled, and inhaled again before
getting out of the car. It was best to get it over with.
With the car idling as Keji sat inside, he walked down the
street, through the gates that led to his estate, exchanged
greetings with the security, and walked the two-minute
distance to the duplex he and Morin bought and moved into
with so many hopes and dreams, hopes and dreams that
had all been shattered now. Without the access code, he
pressed the buzzer at the gate, his heart racing a mile a
minute. But as the gate opened, his heart sank as he came
face to face with someone he hadn’t prepared for; Morin’s
cousin, Bimbo. His favourite of his wife’s relatives, a stony
expression had replaced her ready smile for him. And the
fact that she knew, the fact that Morin had told her
relatives what had happened, made everything too real, too
tangible. This was no longer some hypothetical occurrence,
some random incident they could wish away. This shit was
real.
“Bimbo…” he began lamely.
“And I fought for you, Mofe,” she said, her voice weighty
with disgust and disappointment. “I always fought for you.”
But you let me down.
Mofe let her unspoken words dig into him like briars,
because he deserved it.
“You have thirty minutes,” Bimbo said, stepping aside to
allow him entry.
The trek from the gate to the house seemed longer than the
short distance it was, and he panicked when he saw
Morin’s car parked, wondering if she’d changed her mind
about not being present for the discussion. But she wasn’t,
and when he was seated in the living room with with
Michaela and Malachi a few minutes later, he hated that
he’d agreed to do this alone, hated that he’d agreed to have
to look in his children’s faces as he broke their hearts.
“Where are the rest of your things?” the very astute
Michaela asked. “You didn’t pack any bags for your trip?”
Having lied that he was out of town to explain his absence
upon their return from their grandmother’s, her question
wasn’t out of order.
“About that,” he answered, doing his best to keep the smile
on his face so he could look calmer and more optimistic
than he felt. “Your mom and I have decided it’s best for us
to live apart for a little while.” He looked up when Bimbo
coughed from where she stood by Malachi’s seat, her arms
crossed. Sighing, he was reminded of his resolve not to
sugar coat. Not anymore. “Actually, longer than a little
while.’
“Are you getting a divorce?” Malachi asked.
Mofe looked at his eight-year-old son, shocked by the
directness of the question. Even though the dreaded word
had landed in the room like an atomic bomb, it was a word
Mofe wasn’t going to address. Not alone. Not without the
person who had also played a role in the destruction of
their marriage.
“We’re just going to live apart for now,” he answered,
smiling first at Malachi and then a wide-eyed Michaela.
“But nothing is going to change, okay? We’re still going to
speak every day and see each other just as often. I’m still
going to be in your lives. Nothing is going to change, do
you hear me?”
As he made this promise, from the bottom of his heart, he
prayed it was one he’d be able to keep.

Morin
Morin glanced at her watch as she walked, hoping Bimbo
would keep Mofe’s visit to no longer than thirty minutes as
instructed. Having not been in the frame of mind to drive,
she’d decided on a long walk, one that would not only clear
her head but keep her as far away from the house as she
could manage.
She was circling the streets that ran along the perimeter of
their estate when her phone vibrated with a text message.
BIMBO: You can come back now. He’s left.
Relieved he’d chosen not to tarry, Morin quickened her
pace, eager to get home to see just how much wreckage
Mofe’s talk with their children had left behind. But as she
entered the street leading to their estate gate, her heart
flew into her mouth upon seeing his Lexus SWV parked
ahead. As she neared it, she realised not only that its
engine was still running but that there was somebody
inside it. The passenger door opened and Keji got out, her
eyes on Morin as Morin approached. Their eyes held as
Morin got closer, Keji’s devoid of the false sugary
amiability from their last close encounter, her lips curved in
a smirk as she crossed her arms, prepared for
confrontation.
A confrontation Morin was not going to pleasure her with.
With grit teeth, Morin dropped her eyes and walked past,
deploying all her self-control as Keji’s laughter followed
her, laughter laced with mockery and triumph. Morin bit
down on her tongue to keep from crying, to keep from
turning back around and grabbing her friend-turned-sister-
turned-enemy by her hair and elbowing her in the face. But
raising her head and seeing Mofe approaching in the
distance, Morin panicked and pivoted into the premises of a
pharmacy along the road. Standing there out of sight, she
watched as Mofe walked to the car, watched as Keji
stroked his face, watched as he cast a nervous glance
around and guided Keji back into the car, watched as he
walked to the driver’s side of the car, watched as he got
into it, and watched as he drove away.
All while dying even more than she thought she already
had.
With heavy feet, she managed the walk back to their house,
forcing on a cheerful face when walked through the doors.
“Nothing is going to change,” she reiterated to Michaela
and Malachi. “Your dad is still going to be your dad…just
not from the same house.”
“He said you’re not getting a divorce,” Michaela said, her
large eyes brimming with tears.
“That’s not what he said, Michaela,” Bimbo said from
where she stood, her voice tender.
“You’re not getting a divorce, right?” Michaela pressed,
ignoring her aunt.
Morin sighed and looked up at Bimbo, not wanting to give
her daughter any false hope. Because after what she had
just experienced with Mofe rubbing Keji in her face the way
he had, divorce was the only logical culmination of the
horrific events of the last week. But she also didn’t want to
break her children’s hearts. Not now.
“Let’s focus on getting adjusted to living apart, baby,” she
answered, stroking her daughter’s face. “Everything will be
fine.”
Seemingly assured, as Michaela and Malachi settled into
their normal Sunday evening activity of Roblux after
homework, Morin walked Bimbo to the door.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay?” her concerned
cousin asked for the umpteenth time since the previous day
when Morin told her everything that had happened. “You
shouldn’t be alone.”
But alone was exactly what Morin wanted…needed…to be
now. Though justified and understandable, she didn’t need
to see the revolving emotions of anger, disappointment
and, worst of all, pity, on anyone’s face. At least not now.
With the looming inevitability of breaking the news to both
their families and friends, she was soon going to be faced
with more than enough of that. But for now, she wanted to
savor the calm before the storm.
Alas, the storm approached much faster than she’d
prepared for.
Settling into bed after the children had gone to sleep,
Morin was taken aback by the number of notifications on
her phone. Opening Instagram first, several of her contacts
had forwarded a picture of Keji seated on Mofe’s lap, her
arms around his neck and cheek pressed to him at what
might have been a bar, a lounge, a nightclub, or even a
party, Morin couldn’t tell. What she could tell was that
unlike the pictures she’d seen before, Mofe’s identity
wasn’t hidden. Granted, it wasn’t from Keji’s page but from
a popular lifestyle handle, but the fact that he…they…were
brazenly displaying their affair was worse than a slap in the
face, a kick to the shin, or a punch in the gut. It was a
dagger that pierced through bone and muscle till it got to
her heart.
Isn’t this Mofe?
Who is this with Mofe?
Who is that woman on Mofe’s lap?
What’s going on, Omorinsola?
On Instagram and WhatsApp, Morin’s phone was blowing
up with messages, all of them questions even she couldn’t
answer. And she despised him for it. She loathed him for
the humiliation he had subjected her to. She detested him
for baring her shame for all the world to see.
She hated him.

Book made for [email protected]

 CHAPTER EIGHT
THE WAY WE WERE

APRIL - JULY 2019

Mofe
It got away from him too quickly, too fast.
One minute, he was huddled in a hotel room trying to
figure his life out, the next, his business was everywhere on
everybody’s lips. In hindsight, he knew he should never
have yielded to Keji’s pleas to ‘go out for some air’, he
should have known the hidden bars and unknown
restaurants wouldn’t be as incognito as he’d hoped, he
should have discouraged her insistent displays of affection
when they were out in public. But he hadn’t, and apart
from running into people everywhere they went, their
pictures were splattered all over social media before he’d
even had the chance to get his mind to accept this new
reality.
But, worse, before he had the chance to insulate Morin
from this onslaught, because if the barrage of calls and
messages was bad for him, he could only imagine how bad
it was for his estranged wife.
In the weeks that followed their separation, what started
with their friends and family going into a frenzy about him
purportedly leaving his wife for another woman had led to
both their mothers pretty much losing their minds. He
hadn’t been brave enough to answer either of their
persistent phone calls and while Morin’s mother had
stopped calling after a while, his mother took to sending
him scathing voice notes ranging from threatening him
with death over the disgrace he was putting her through, to
reining curses on the Jezebel that had bewitched him, to
tearfully pleading with him to return to his senses. The last
ones broke him, but broken though he was, he didn’t return
any of her calls and only responded to his sisters’ messages
with brief texts to confirm he was alive and breathing,
because, save for the odd meeting with his business
partner, Dwight, after the mistake of the first week, Mofe
didn’t leave his hotel room, doing what he should have
done from the start.
Keep his head below water.

Morin
Getting calls and messages from people, many of whom she
hadn’t spoken to in years, was humiliating. But seeing
intimate pictures of Mofe and Keji out and about was soul
crushing. New pictures of them out in public stopped
appearing after that first week but the daily posts on Keji’s
Instagram handle showed that she was boo’d up, and even
though her new man’s face was never in focus, there were
enough clues – a familiar shirt when she held him from
behind, his recognizable arm around her, his distinct
profile out of focus – that made it obvious to anyone who
knew him who this new man was. And because he had
chosen not to talk to his family, Morin was the one left with
the task of dealing with both their mothers, both of whom
devastated about the turn of events. The nightly calls from
Mofe’s mother filled with tearful prayers tempted Morin to
ignore these calls the way the woman’s son already was,
because rather than make her feel better, the questions,
the consolation, the prayers, though well meaning, left her
feeling worse.
In all this, her one consolation was that at work, nothing
had changed. At work, there was no pity, no painful
reminder of her imploded marriage. At work, her life wasn’t
the soap opera where she was starring as the woman who
had lost her husband to the woman he was with before her.
At work, she was still the woman on top of her game.
And, for that, she was grateful.

Mofe
After spending over two months lodged in a hotel, Mofe
was completely depleted, having swept through his savings
and liquidated his only independent investment. Even
though Keji had offered several times to pay for the hotel
and their meals, he’d resisted each time, still smarting from
living off Morin for so many years. But as the month of July
rolled along, it was time to make changes.
“You need to go back to Geneva,” he said to Keji as they
had breakfast in their room, Mofe long having stopped
going downstairs for the complimentary buffet for fear of
running into yet another person who knew him. “I can’t
keep staying here. I’m going to ask Dwight if I can move in
with him while I try to figure things out.”
Dwight, was single and lived alone in a small apartment in
Yaba.
“Babe, I can pay for us to stay,” Keji answered. “We don’t
have to leave.”
And that, she could. While she’d been able to seamlessly
conduct her business by making a few phone calls and
sending a few emails, Mofe was the one who’d made no
headway in his quest to find a market for the cashews from
Dwight’s father’s farm.
“No, it’s time to leave. Two months is a long time,” he
answered.
She leaned forward, her eyes bright. “Why don’t you come
back to Geneva with me? I could set up meetings for you
with several chocolatiers that could be interested in buying
nuts.”
That was enough to pique his interest.
“Really? You could do that?”
She smiled and sat back in her chair. “I’ll do anything for
you, Mofe. You know that. I believe in you.”
“That’s rich coming from someone whose only expertise is
failing at business.”
Morin’s words not only from their last physical encounter
but over the course of his hustle to make something of
himself took the edge off his guilt. And Keji’s constant
words of affirmation and encouragement helped numb it.
“So, what do you say? You’ll come?” she pressed.
With his British passport, the logistics of following Keji to
Geneva would literally just be him packing a suitcase and
leaving. And he owed it to himself to explore this
opportunity.
So he nodded and returned her smile. “I’ll come.”
_
Saying yes to Keji was the easy part. Breaking the news to
Morin and their children was going to be anything but.
The glimpse of Morin standing at Michaela’s window as he
loaded his things in the car had been his last sighting of
her, as she had choreographed her departure from the
house the Sundays he visited the children at home. But he
knew his decision to leave the country was not something
he could simply text her, as had been their monosyllabic
communication mode since he left. This was something he
needed to tell her face to face. He owed her that much.
I’d like to come by the house this evening, he texted
her. I need to talk to you about something important.
He bit his nails as he stared at his phone in anticipation,
waiting for her response. He knew his wife well enough,
and she didn’t know how not to immediately react to
stimuli, positive or negative.
Talk to me about what? Whatever you have to say, you
can text it, her reply came less than five minutes later.
If it wasn’t important, I wouldn’t be asking, he replied.
There was a longer pause this time, and he knew her
emotions were probably warring with her curiosity.
What time this evening? she finally replied.
8pm? he texted.
Make it 7pm. It’s a school night, she replied.
7pm then, he wrote back, his heart already racing at the
thought of seeing her again after so long.
Many a night had gone by with him lying awake thinking
about her, wondering how she was, wondering just how
much she hated him now. With her social media accounts
sterile, there were no pictures to answer his questions. He
couldn’t ask the children questions as intrusive as how
their mother really was, if she was happy, if she was really
doing okay, and with their mutual friends and even his
siblings having clearly taken sides, he couldn’t ask them
either. So the prospect of seeing her again left him
breathless with anxiety.
Getting to the house at 6:56pm, after letting himself into
the compound with a visitor’s code that was changed every
time he came by, his heart raced as he stood in front of the
front door, unable to knock. Exhaling, he squeezed his eyes
shut, reminding himself of all the reasons why going to
Geneva was important, of all the reasons why their breakup
was for the best. But before he could fully regroup and
knock, the door opened.
And she was there.
His breath escaped from his lungs in a single whoosh as he
stood before the woman he had pledged forever to, for the
first time in what felt like forever. Dressed in an old tunic
with her hair in a rough ponytail, that she hadn’t made any
effort for their meeting was obvious. Her face was
impassive, her eyes flat, and her body language – with one
hand on the door frame and the other hanging by her side –
communicated she’d rather be anywhere but there. And as
he stood there, in his best shirt and reeking of his best
cologne, he felt like a fool. A fool who’d imagined a tearful
reunion. A fool who’d fantasized about meeting her as torn
up about them as he was.
“Why didn’t you knock?” she asked. “I heard the gate.”
The condescension in her tone was enough to send all his
defenses up.
“I was about to,” he muttered as she stepped aside to let
him in.
He walked behind her to the living room. Even though he
had been in the house since their separation, with her in it,
it felt different. With her in it, the walls reverberated with
all the memories they had made within it, good and bad.
“Please make this quick,” she said as she sat. “I’m very
busy now.”
He nodded in acknowledgment. Of course she was. When
was she never?
“I’m going to Geneva,” he answered. “I’m scheduled to
meet with a few companies for business and I might be
there for a few months.”
The mask of indifference on Morin’s face disintegrated as
her mouth parted and her shoulders dropped. Silence
followed for almost a clear minute, before she finally spoke.
“You’re going back with her?” was all she asked.
Mofe swallowed, not knowing how to answer the question
that wouldn’t hurt her…that wouldn’t hurt him.
“Yes,” he said, his voice hoarse as the admission broke his
heart. “It’s for my business…”
She nodded, a ghost of a smile on her face as she stood.
“Say no more, Mofe. I understand.”
“There’s the possibility of getting large offtake for our
produce…”

Morin
She knew it was imminent and that the day would come
when this conversation would be had, this conversation
about what was next for them, which, in Mofe’s case, was
moving in with his lover. Permanently.
So why did hearing it floor her? Why did it feel like pulling
the little patch of carpet she was still standing on from
under her feet?
“And that’s a good thing,” she cut in, continuing to force
the smile she was trying push forth. “Well done.”
“Nothing is set in stone yet.”
She continued to nod, no longer even listening. “Well, I
wish you success in your endeavors. I’ll go get the kids.”
Turning away, she kept herself composed till she was out of
the room. Gripping the stair banister, she squeezed her
eyes to keep from crying and swallowed hard to keep her
emotions from her voice, she waited a few seconds to
compose herself before calling the children.
“Michaela! Malachi! Your dad is here.”
She stood at the landing of the stairs as they rushed down
the stairs and hung by the door as Mofe told them about
the work opportunity that was taking him out of town,
marveling over how he made it sound like one big
adventure. For him, it probably was. A big adventure with
new opportunities…and a new woman.

Mofe
As Michaela and Malachi oohed and aahed over pictures of
Geneva on his phone that he’d pulled from a Google search,
Mofe noticed Morin by the door. Leaving his phone with the
kids as they scrolled through it, he walked to her.
“Is it okay for me to pick up a few things from my…from the
study?”
She shrugged, her mask of nonchalance back in place.
“Sure. There’s a suitcase with some of the things you left
behind. I kept meaning to leave it one of the Sundays you
came to see the kids but forgot. I’ll go get it.”
As she went upstairs, he walked down the hallway to the
small room that had served as his study and ‘home office’.
Sitting on the executive chair, he picked up a framed
picture from their honeymoon, with him carrying Morin
piggy backed as they beamed at the camera. If anyone had
told those two smitten lovebirds that it would all come
crashing down ten years later, they wouldn’t have believed
it. His eyes drifted to a smaller framed picture, this one
from their wedding, both of them smiling at each other with
their eyes speaking a language only they could understand.
Funny how those pictures had been on his table for so
many years and he’d stopped seeing them. He couldn’t
remember the last time he’d noticed them. But there they
were now, painful mementos of everything he and Morin
had burned to the ground.
Rising from the chair, as he moved around the room,
reminders assaulted him left and right; the book cabinet
they had assembled together after weeks of struggling
through its installation instructions, the Afghan rug on
which they had made love so many times in the early days,
the rocking chair that had once been in their children’s
nursery and in which she would sit as he massaged her
feet. The place was rife with memories and as a tear rolled
down his face, he wished there was some way, any way, to
go back in time to fix everything.
He didn’t know how long he’d been standing there when
the door opened, and Morin peered in.
“I’ve brought your things down,” she said.
Wiping his eyes, he didn’t turn around as he nodded,
needing more time to get himself together.
“You need to leave now. The kids have school tomorrow,”
Morin said.
This time, Mofe turned. He looked at her, desperate to see
the devastation he felt over their breakup mirrored on her
face, but it was like looking at a stone wall, her stare blank,
the only emotion her stance communicating being the
desire for him to be gone. Gritting his teeth, he gave a curt
nod and exited the room, stopping to hug the kids goodbye
amidst promises of daily phone calls and pictures. As he
walked out of the house, he was grateful Morin hadn’t
bothered to hang around to say goodbye…or any other last
words. Because nothing more needed to be said.
She’d already said it all.

Morin
Two days later, Morin watched Keji’s documentation of
their journey on her page, starting with a picture of her
seated in the British Airways lounge at the Murtala
Mohammed airport, this time without even bothering to
conceal Mofe’s face as he sat next to her scrolling through
his phone with his arm resting on the back of her chair and
her hand on his lap, and then pictures of them in their seats
on the plane, pictures of them connecting their flight at
Heathrow Airport, pictures of them landing in Geneva, and
pictures of them in a luxurious apartment with floor to
ceiling glass. Unable to take it anymore, Morin clicked out
of Keji’s profile and proceeded to block the pair of them.
Because no good could from being privy to this much
information. No good at all.
That night, when the kids had gone to bed and the house
was quiet, Morin reached into the deepest recess of her
closet, fishing for a small box she’d buried there many
years before, a box that had been a shrine of sorts for the
relationship she had once thought the most important in
her life, the relationship with the friend who became a
sister. Inside the box were memorabilia from their
friendship that later became an alter to a loved one lost;
pictures of her and with Keji, birthday cards, and letters.
Morin hadn’t opened this box in years and now, going
through its contents one and by one, she was wistful,
memories of their pure and beautiful friendship
bittersweet. But as she pored through them, the vivid
memory of this same person laughing at her and wordlessly
challenging her to battle made the memories more bitter
than sweet. The person she had loved, the person she had
created these memories with no longer existed. She had
been replaced by the bitch her husband fucked.
With the box in her hands, Morin went about throwing into
it stray pictures of Mofe she found. Having already done a
purge before, she focused on the pictures in his study,
pictures she’d forgotten about until his visit days before.
And with the box in her hands, she made her way outside,
heading to the backyard, where she lit a match, threw it
into the box, and watched its contents burn to ashes.

Book made for [email protected]

 CHAPTER NINE
YOU KNOW I’M NO GOOD

JULY 2019 – FEBRUARY 2020

Mofe
The heavy weight on Mofe’s chest got even heavier as he
and Keji left for Geneva, as they headed to where she lived
in the Pâquis area of the city, as she showed him around
her apartment with the excitement – and expectation – of
their new living arrangement being permanent, and as they
lay in bed every night. Despite the soft plushness of the
bed, silky smoothness of the sheets, and willful eagerness
of the woman beside him, his eyes remained open long
after she’d fallen asleep, the unhappiness he felt
consuming him from the inside, the sorrow in his heart
eating him up alive. And it wasn’t just guilt. If it were only
guilt but he was happy, he’d have found a way to numb
himself from the reality of his betrayal of his wife and
marriage. No, guilt would have been an easier demon to
tackle. This was a sadness that was hollow…bottomless.
And the worst part was the realisation that he had burned
every and any bridge that would take him back.
After a week of being submerged in desolation and
consumed by melancholy, he made the decision to do what
he needed to make his new life work. From that first night
with Keji, he’d inadvertently made his choice, and it was in
his better interest to be happy with that choice.
And what was there not to love? She was a beautiful
woman…and she wanted him. She made no secret of her
adoration for him or her insatiable desire for him. And after
having gone without either for so long, it felt good to be
desired again, it felt good to be listened to again. So even
though he didn’t love her, he was determined to learn how
to. Because the woman he did love had made it crystal
clear that there was no going back from what he’d done.
He was going to love Keji. He’d been infatuated with her
once so falling in love with her wouldn’t be so hard. He just
needed time.
None of the discussions with her contacts in Geneva were
successful, all of them already contractually bound to
cashew nut suppliers in Vietnam, India, and Ivory Coast.
Undeterred, Mofe set about locating other chocolatiers,
cold calling those in the city and making daily phone calls
and sending daily emails to those in Zurich and Lucerne.
Not daunted, he continued to push, continued to hound,
continued to badger the purchasing teams of these
companies. It wasn’t until September that he finally made
headway with one in Lucerne, called SweetzerRhône. In
October, armed with freighted samples of nuts from
Dwight, Mofe continued to aggressively market his product.
By November, having convinced the SweetzerRhône
purchasing team, and armed with the agency agreement he
had with Dwight, a two-year supply agreement was
executed between Dwight’s farm and SweetzerRhône, an
agreement that came with a double-digit percentage
agency commission for Mofe.
At dinner celebrating the deal, Mofe burst into tears,
overwhelmed that after all the toiling and struggles of the
last few years, he had finally struck gold. But as Keji raised
a glass to cheer him, his tears were no longer grateful but
mournful as he thought of the one person with whom he
would have loved to share this moment with. He thought
back to Morin supporting his decision to resign his bank
job, thought back to them mulling over names for his new
company, thought back to her helping him register the
company, thought back to the sacrifices she made over the
years that gave him the freedom to chase his dreams. Even
if her support had waned in later years, even if she had
eventually tired of his chasing after ideas without properly
thinking them through, she was the one he wanted to be
celebrating this win with.
“Mofe, this is huge!” an elated Keji squealed as they exited
the restaurant. “We need to pop some more bottles
tonight!”
But hitting the town was one thing he was in no mood for.
“Let’s just go home. We can pop a bottle of something
there.”
“Pop a bottle at home? After all the work you put into
making this happen?” an incredulous Keji exclaimed. “Nah,
we’re going to do this big!”
He acquiesced and she called her friends on the phone as
they walked to the car park, summoning them to the
popular Maison Balkii club. And later that night, as she
danced with the group of twenty-something year old girls
she called her friends, Mofe looked on, his heart heavier
than a man who had just signed a life changing contract
should be. He thought of how he would have been
celebrating this win in a world that was alien to the one in
which he now existed. He remembered the times he and
Morin sat on their living room sofa, sipping from glasses of
wine as they celebrated her making Partner and when he’d
been convinced the Lagos State Government would green
light his recycling project. He remembered how happy he
had been before things got bad.
And sitting in that nightclub with its loud house music and
pulsing strobe lights, he’d have given up this win if it meant
fixing what it was he really wanted.

Morin
Just like she learned in the days and weeks following her
father’s funeral fifteen years before, people moved on. No
matter how much they shared in your grief, sorrow, or even
anger, people didn’t hang around forever. After a few
weeks, the phone calls from her mother, Mofe’s mother,
Mofe’s sisters tapered from multiple daily to a few a week.
Because there was nothing more any of them could do, not
with Mofe living with his lover in Switzerland. Slowly, but
surely, everyone came to the acceptance that the marriage
was indeed over.
Heck, even their kids had adjusted to their new normal.
Having blocked both Mofe and Keji on social media and
having banned Bimbo from supplying unsolicited updates
about whatever they were up to from what she saw on
Keji’s Instagram page, Morin soon managed to blow a
protective bubble around herself, a bubble that only
contained her…and her kids…and her job. A bubble that
kept at bay the crushing heartache that had been her
companion for months.
Except it refused to stay out of the bubble, the heart ache.
No matter how busy she kept herself with new projects at
work and Michaela’s preparation for the secondary school
entrance exams she was gearing to take in the coming
year, the pain still managed to find its way into bed when
she lay there alone every night, assaulted by vivid visuals of
Mofe having sex with Keji. Try though she did, she wasn’t
able to stop thinking about him…about them. And even
though she awoke every day determined not to think about
him…about them, thoughts of him…thoughts of them
assailed her.
And she hated him. She hated them.
She hated how guarded she had to be when their mutual
friends, especially those who hadn’t heard what happened,
asked after him.
“Morin, you’re a star!” Bioye exclaimed after Morin
donated to fund prom outfits for disadvantaged kids at the
summer camp their alma matter had organized that
summer holiday. “God bless you and Mofe. How is he
anyway?”
“Fine, I guess.” Morin answered, doing her best to keep her
tone even. “It was great chatting, Bee. Let me know where
to send the money.
She made sure to keep any discussions about him to a
minimum, limiting what she heard about him only to what
she overheard from Michaela and Malachi, who spoke to
their father daily. But as impassive as she tried to train her
heart, hearing from them about his success with a Swiss
chocolatier cut deep. Happy though she was that his efforts
had finally paid off, she was resentful of how wonderfully
his life was going after he had upended hers. He didn’t
deserve to be happy. He didn’t deserve to be living his best
life after overturning hers. After what he had done to her,
that he was being rewarded aggrieved her.
So she withdrew even deeper into herself, burying herself
even deeper in work, declining invitations from friends and
family to do anything social, including the Boxing Day
wedding of her Malomo classmates Tomi and Ikenna.
All she wanted was to be left alone.

Mofe
On the one hand, Mofe hated that the Christmas holidays
coincided with the receipt of the first shipment of nuts from
Dwight’s farm. He hated the ramped-up activities that
made it impossible for him to leave Geneva, hated not
being able to spend Christmas with his kids. But on the
other hand, he was grateful not to have to suffer through
what the holidays would be like with them not under the
same roof. He was grateful not to have to face his mother
yet. He was grateful not to have to face friends and family
yet. But most of all, he was grateful not to have to face
Morin yet. Because he couldn’t bear to look her in the face.
On Christmas Day, he tried not to focus on the differences
from how he had once celebrated it, tried not to fixate on
the silence that rang in their apartment as he and Keji slept
off hangovers instead of having the same Mariah Carey and
Michael Bublé Christmas playlists Morin played every year
reverberating through their house. He tried not to miss the
smell of apple and cinnamon from the pie Morin would
bake every year. He tried not to miss Michaela and
Malachi’s squeals as they opened their presents. The latter,
he’d tried to cure by sending them the most extravagant
gifts – designer clothes, top of the range tablets, and first
editions of the Sweet Valley books Michaela loved – and
having them tear the gifts open on a video call so he could
get a high from their excited squeals just like he used to.
But their squeals hadn’t been as excited, their
disappointment over not having him there trumping gifts
more expensive than anything he’d ever given them.
He tried to compensate in other ways; locating a pâtisserie
a few blocks from Keji’s apartment that sold a brown sugar
and cinnamon apple pie like the one Morin made every
Christmas, finding and streaming the same Christmas
playlists, and convincing a reluctant Keji to attend Midnight
Mass with him on New Year’s Eve, rather than get wasted
in yet another of her rambunctious friends’ parties. But the
pie tasted nothing like Morin’s, the Christmas songs
sounded pathetic played on the 27th of December, and
Keji’s persistent yawning, sighing, and under breath
hissing killed whatever he’d hoped to find in church. No
matter what he did, the hole in his core continued to gape a
little wider, dig a little deeper with every passing day.
Until he was more void than man, more vacuum than soul.
If Keji noticed his gradual shut down, she gave no
indication. If she noticed he was more introspective than
voluble, she said nothing. Instead, she went about like
everything was normal, giggling and chatting about things
he had no interest in. Being with her felt like being trapped
in a time capsule, like being teleported twenty years back
in time but with no escape back. Months ago, he’d thought
it a good thing. But now, the same lively and vivacious aura
that had attracted him as a teenager, grated. Whereas in
their days of poppy love, there had been plenty of nonsense
to fill their chatter, now, apart from gossip he didn’t care
for or stories about celebrities he didn’t even know, they
had nothing to talk about. Now, sex was all they had…and
even that hadn’t been spared from the hollow shell their
relationship had now become.
On the first day of February, he woke up with the reminder
that it was Morin’s mother’s seventieth birthday. Ironic,
considering he’d never been able to remember even his
children’s birthdays before, let alone their grandmother’s.
Thoughts about them plagued him the whole day, thoughts
about how Morin would be celebrating her mom, thoughts
about what the older woman now thought of him after what
he'd done.
“It would have been my mom’s birthday today,” Keji said as
they lay in bed that night. “She would have been sixty
today.”
Mofe simply nodded, his eyes affixed on the ceiling in the
darkness of their room.
“It’s Morin’s mom’s too,” Keji said, looking up at him. “They
were born on the same day, but ten years apart. Did you
know that?”
He shook his head, swallowing back the lump that had
formed in his throat.
They lay quiet for a while, the only sound coming from the
tick tock of the antique clock hanging on the wall.
“Did you love her?” Keji asked. “Omorinsola. Did you really
love her?”
Her quiet question was all it took to shatter the dam that
had been struggling to contain his emotions, to keep them
at bay.
“I’ll always love her,” his answer came out as a sob.
With ten months of pent emotions finally gaining the upper
hand, he sobbed like a baby, weeping for everything he had
thrown away. Keji snuggled closer to him, holding him as
he cried, but her touch only worsened his self-loathing, the
feel of her soft hands making him despise himself even
more for the mistakes he’d made over the course of almost
a year…but most of all for the duplicity of lying in bed with
one woman but deeply yearning for another.
“Excuse me,” he said as he pulled himself out of her hold
and got out of bed.
“Mofe,” Keji called out.
But he didn’t answer as he closed the door of the bathroom
behind it, locking it firmly. Standing before the mirror
above the counter, the man that looked back at him was a
total stranger, and not just because of the beard he’d
shaved so as not to ‘make the wrong impression with
clients’ or the weight he’d lost without even trying. The
man that stared back at him – from the slump of his
shoulders, the bloodshot bulge of his eyes, and the deep
lines that creased his forehead – was broken inside and out.
The man that stared back at him had walked so far down
the ledge, the only way off it was to jump. The man that
stared back at him was consumed by the fire started by the
match he had struck. The man that stared back at him had
destroyed his life…with his own hands.
Fresh tears streamed down his face as he remembered
standing in a bathroom that was nowhere as luxurious as
the one in which he now stood, with Morin brushing her
teeth as he shaved. He remembered how, in more recent
times, they were either not on speaking terms or
exchanging caustic comments or snide remarks. But even
in their discontent, what they’d had was deeper than
whatever it was that he was doing with Keji.
He had fucked himself over.
Before he could stop himself, he punched the mirror, tears
streaming down his face as the fissures that formed on the
glass distorted his image. Covering his face with his
bleeding hand, he wept into it, crumbling to the floor as he
cried, regret not just a bitter taste exploding in his mouth
but a blanket now smothering him, suffocating him. With
everything in him, he wanted this to be over; this being the
empty life he was living with Keji…this being the empty
existence he called his life.
“Mofe,” Keji called as she pounded on the door. “Are you
okay there?”
He didn’t answer, but lay curled up on the floor, closing his
eyes as she continued to bang on the door, the pounding
becoming duller as his mind anaesthetized his body, and as
he drifted off to sleep.
Light flooding the room from the window made him open
his eyes at sunrise and the sight of his bloodied hand that
had managed to stain his t-shirt, the white tiled floor, and
the fluffy pink bathmat was enough to make him scramble
to his feet, moaning not from the pain in his hand but the
sight of the cracked mirror. Opening the cabinet on the
wall, he set about cleaning his hand with spirit and
wrapping it in gauze. As he did, he rehearsed the things he
would say to Keji, praying for the right words that wouldn’t
hurt her because she, like Morin, were victims in the mess
he had made. Exhaling, he opened the door and was taken
aback to see Keji sitting bolt upright in bed, glaring at
where he stood at the bathroom door. From the way she
looked, she hadn’t gotten any sleep, either.
“You hurt yourself,” she remarked, her eyes dropping to his
bandaged hand.
“I’m sorry about the mirror,” Mofe croaked. “I’ll get it
fixed…”
“While you were in there, I went through your phone,” she
interjected, raising the device in her hand.
“You went through my phone?” Mofe repeated, shocked
especially because of the biometric password that guarded
it.
“After what happened last night, and with the way you’ve
been moping around for weeks, I was sure you’d started
talking to her again,” Keji answered, her voice eerily calm.
“I’ve spent the last few hours scanning your cache, your
recycle bin, your emails, everything…” she shrugged. “But
nothing.”
“I haven’t spoken to Morin since I came here.”
“So what the fuck is wrong with you?!” she screamed, her
eyes blazing with anger. “We’re supposed to be building a
new life here! Why you are you sucking the joy out of
everything by acting like you don’t want to be here? How
dare you tell me you will always love her when you’re now
here with me?!”
Mofe exhaled, accepting that there was no easy way to
have this conversation. “You and I never should have
happened, Keji. We should have left whatever was between
us in the past where it belongs. And I accept all the
responsibility for…”
“You bastard!” she screamed, hurling the phone in her
hand, causing it to hit the wall behind him, missing his
head by inches. “After ten months, you dare tell me that?!
After living off me for ten months, you have the audacity to
tell me that?!”
He didn’t dare remind her of the thirty-thousand euros he
had sent her after receiving his first payment, money that
was reimbursement for the months prior and his
contribution for the months coming. Because if there was
one thing he was determined to do, it was pay his way. But
this wasn’t the time to bring that up.
“I’m sorry, Keji,” he said. “I hate that I’ve hurt you. It truly
wasn’t my…”
“You think she’s going to take you back? You think she’s
going to welcome you back with open arms?” Keji shouted
as she got off the bed and advanced towards him. “She’s
never going to take you back, so you better sit your ass
down. I’m all you’ve got now, if you hadn’t figured that out
already.”
But by then, Mofe was resolute in his decision to leave.
Even if his old life was a ship that had permanently sailed,
standing on the dock was no longer an option.
“I’m sorry, Keji, but I can’t do this anymore.”
He saw the moment the switch flipped, the moment her
eyes bulging in anger narrowed to small slits, the moment
her righteous anger bubbled over to boiling rage.
“Get out of my house,” she muttered, her voice barely
audible.
Mofe nodded. “Let me sort out the mirror for you first. I
also need to fix the screw of the guest room door and take
the car for an oil change. I’ll go online to see if I can find a
flight tomorrow or…”
“I said get the fuck out of my house!” Keji yelled, loud
enough for thick cords to appear in her neck and vibrate
her body. “Now!”
He raised in hands in submission. “I’ll go. Give me a few
minutes to pack my things and I’ll leave.”
She brushed past him and left the room, giving him the
erroneous impression that she was unable to watch him
leave. But when she returned seconds later brandishing a
sharp fillet knife, her eyes wild and angry, Mofe belatedly
realised she was playing no games.
“Get out of my house on your two feet or in a body bag,
your choice,” she snarled. “You’ve got five minutes.”
Raising his hands, and with his eyes on her the whole time,
he rushed to their walk-in closet and grabbed a suitcase,
grabbing his clothes haphazardly. With his passport
secured, he peeled off his bloodied clothes, threw them in a
bag, wore the first underpants and t-shirt his hands could
reach, buttoned on a shirt, slipped into a pair of jeans,
laced up a pair of Doc Martens, threw on a jacket, grabbed
his two suitcases, slung over his shoulder a messenger bag
and left the house.
Even though there was a Hilton, a Four Seasons, and a
Fairmont within their network of streets, Mofe headed to a
small hotel all the way across town, the physical distance
the metaphorical gap he was desperate for, a gap between
himself and the mistake he had made.
In the days following, he worked with the SweetzerRhône
team for the successful receipt of the second cargo of nuts
and, with the value chain fully established, he didn’t have
to stick around for the successful run of operations going
forward. Before leaving Geneva, he transferred to Keji
almost the entirety of his earnings from the first two
cargoes. Even though she hadn’t brokered the deal that
had proven successful for him, it had been her idea for him
to seek opportunities in Switzerland. So leaving only ten
thousand euros for himself, he sent the rest of the money in
his account to her as a finders’ fee, a fee way more than the
standard percentage, an amount that was generous
bordering on foolish, an amount he hoped would
compensate her, an amount he hoped would ensure he
would never be beholden to her ever again.
An amount he hoped would wipe their entire slate clean.

Book made for [email protected]

 CHAPTER TEN
SOCIAL DISTANCE

MARCH - APRIL 2020

Morin
Just like it happened in the first few weeks of her
separation from Mofe, there was suddenly a daily barrage
of messages and tags, the tags mainly from Bimbo, all of
them drawing her attention to what was apparently trouble
in paradise for her estranged husband and his new woman.
From screenshots of Keji no longer following Mofe on
Instagram, to thirst traps on Keji’s page with ‘loving
yourself’ captions, that things had gone awry was clear.
Morin tried to ignore these messages for the longest time,
tried to make herself believe she didn’t care, but by the
time her curiosity finally propelled her to check Keji’s page,
that it had been set to private confirmed it more than
seeing the screenshot pictures would have.
The lovers were clearly on the outs.
Adding to the confusion was running into Zinna at the
bakery Crust Alchemy as she stopped by to grab a cup of
coffee on her way to work one morning.
“Hi, Morin! It’s so good to see you!” Zinna exclaimed as
they embraced. “You look so good!”
“You too,” Morin answered, returning her smile.
“You’ve been scarce! Nobody sees you anymore,” Zinna
remarked. “We missed you at Ikenna and Tomi’s wedding.”
“I had Christmas commitments with the kids,” Morin
answered, hoping it sounded convincing enough even
though she knew that Zinna, like the rest of the world, was
aware of her separation from Mofe.
Zinna nodded in understanding, her smile dimming slightly
as she touched Morin’s arm. “Thank you for your
contribution for the summer camp kids last year.”
“It was my pleasure. Bioye told me it went well.”
Zinna’s smile brightened as she nodded. “It was amazing!
We’re already planning this year’s camp.”
“Didn’t Abolore just get appointed a Senior Advisor to the
President? Is he going to have the time?”
“He will,” Zinna said with a wink. “It was great seeing you,
Morin. Mofe and I were on the same flight from London last
week.”
“To Lagos?” Morin asked before she could catch herself.
Zinna’s face blanched as she realised her blunder too late.
But, not wanting to leave either of them embarrassed,
Morin forced a smile.
“Yes, of course to Lagos. I know,” she said, hoping she
sounded convincing, even though she wasn’t even
convincing herself. “I know he’s in town.”
Except she didn’t. She hadn’t.
“Is your dad still in Geneva?” she asked Michaela and
Malachi that evening over dinner.
Her confusion compounded when they’d answered in the
affirmative, and was further heightened when even Mofe’s
mother, in her now weekly rant, still alluded to him being
in Geneva with the ‘Jezebel who had bewitched him’.
Had his trip to Lagos been quick, too quick to even visit his
children? Or was he back in town and choosing to lie low?
As much as the former option grated, it was nowhere near
as worrisome as the latter.
What was the man up to?

Mofe
Upon his return from Geneva, Mofe checked into a small
hotel in Ikoyi, in desperate need to regroup. Besides his old
classmate, Zinna, who was onboard the London to Lagos
leg of his flight from Geneva, nobody else knew he was in
town. And, with Zinna neither a gossip nor particularly
close to Morin, he was confident his cover wouldn’t be
blown anytime soon. Because after the mess he had left
behind, he needed time gather his wits before reemerging
to clean the whole thing up.
But as he opened the social media apps he had avoided for
months, as he came face-to-face with innumerous tags from
Keji, as he beheld intimate pictures of both of them,
starting with his face concealed in the earlier months but
with his identity eventually clear for the whole world to see,
as he saw the same pictures Morin had probably also seen,
any hopes he had of reaching out to her for anything from
just a conversation to him going prostrate and pleading for
her forgiveness were dashed. With pictures like this
floating around, any chance of a reconciliation had gone up
in smoke.
But after over two weeks of doing nothing but lying in his
room with the drapes drawn, he knew it was time to do the
right thing.
So he texted his wife for the first time since the previous
July.
Hi, Morin. I’m back in town and would like to see the
kids.
With his heart pounding, he stared at his phone, waiting for
her reply.
Saturday, 5pm or Sunday 4pm, was her scant response.
He stared at his phone, the fact she hadn’t bothered with
any pleasantry confirming that what he had done to their
relationship was truly irreparable.
Saturday would be best, he texted back.
That Saturday, as expected, Bimbo was in the house
chaperoning the kids, Morin having made herself scarce
the way she had taken to doing before he left the country.
It was an emotional reunion with the kids, but he’d been
disappointed not to even catch a glimpse of the woman he’d
shared a life with for over a third of his life. But even
though he hadn’t seen her, he’d felt her in the house they’d
once shared, her sweet vanilla fragrance permeating the
air and wrapping him in an embrace as he sat in the living
room like a visitor. From her leather folder on the coffee
table to the case of her reading glasses still on the couch
on which he sat, it was the strongest he had felt her in
almost a year, and, tracing the glasses case with his finger
before the kids came down to meet him, he imagined it was
her he was touching, her with whom he was sharing a
chair. But it wasn’t her. It would never again be her.
His cock up had made certain of that.
The following day, he finally made the visit he had
postponed. He sat in his mother’s living room with his head
bowed as she lambasted him, her voice shrill and loud. He
absorbed all her admonition, all her insults, and even the
intermittent slap and shoving of his head. She was angry,
and with good reason. He had humiliated her and, adding
insult to injury, ignored her for just as long. He bore the
same chastisement on the phone from his sisters and in
person from his aunts and his late father’s brothers. All of
them were unanimous in their demand for him to
immediately smoothen things with his wife now that the
hypnosis that had bound him had cleared, but he knew it
wouldn’t be that simple. They didn’t know Morin like he
did, and he knew there was no coming back from what he’d
done.
So despite promising his mother, sisters, uncles, and aunts
that he would make things better with his wife, he made
sure to stay well out of Morin’s way.
But there was one person determined not to stay out of the
picture.
He had been back in Nigeria two weeks when the first of
Keji’s calls came. Initially tempted to ignore it, guilt over
the way he’d hurt her made him answer it, a decision he
regretted.
“Baby, it’s been over a month. I’ve learned my lesson. I
won’t do it again. Please come home,” was Keji’s lament
when he answered the phone.
“Keji, you didn’t do anything wrong. I led you on and I’m
deeply sorry,” Mofe answered. “I should have left Geneva
long before I did.”
“Don’t say that,” she wailed. “You belong here with me. You
belong with me, Mofe!”
Even though her possessiveness was not new, there was
something in her tone that gave him pause.
“Are you with her?” she asked.
They both knew who her was…the person they had both
hurt. But he wasn’t about to discuss her with Keji again.
Not anymore.
“I have to go,” he said, sighing as he rubbed the bridge of
his nose.
“And the money you sent me, I didn’t ask for it…” Keji cut
in, the high pitch of her voice showing her growing
exasperation.
“Please keep it,” he answered, mentally and emotionally
drained. “For everything you did for me, I wish I could have
sent more.”
“But, Mofe…”
“I have to go,” he cut in. “Goodbye, Keji.”
But that had been no goodbye. Instead, it had opened the
floodgates to daily calls and text messages from her, some
of which he responded to but many of which he ignored,
hoping that one day they both would be able to put the
mistake that was their relationship behind them
permanently.
Even though he saw his children several times a week, he
didn’t get a glimpse of their mother even once. But that
changed at his mother’s seventieth birthday party in April.
He sensed her presence even before Morin entered their
living room where his mother’s close friends were being
entertained. And it wasn’t her voice or perfume that
announced her. It was nothing quite so exogenous. His
senses were suddenly heightened, her proximity simmering
beneath his skin, and when he looked in the direction of the
door and she appeared, eleven months melted away in his
first sighting of her in almost as long. He stared as she
entered the room, not taking his eyes off her as she walked
up to where his mother was seated with her friends and as
she dipped her knees in greeting, his heart rate
accelerating by the smile that spread across her face as his
beaming mother embraced her and as his aunts seated
around patted her face in fond welcome. That she was
loved by his family was no surprise, not after over a
decade. What was a surprise was the indifference on her
face when his mother pointed in his direction. Morin looked
across the room and her face registered neither pleasure
nor annoyance. Besides the dimming of her smile, her face
was as impassive as if she was looking at a nameless,
faceless guest. As their eyes held, he schooled his own
features, belatedly lowering his arched brows and closing
his gaping mouth. Inhaling deeply as if the air filling his
lungs would also fill his body with superhuman strength, he
walked across to her, knowing all eyes in the living room
were on them.
"Hey,” he said when he got to her.
“Hello,” she answered, her face still giving away nothing.
“It’s good to see you,” he said with a tentative smile.
A smile not enough to coax even a hint of one from her.
“The kids are playing outside,” she said. “I’ll let them know
you’re here.”
And with a slight uplift of her lips that was less smile and
more dismissal, she turned around and walked away. Mofe
stood there in the middle of the living room, feeling and –
he was sure – looking like an idiot. The look on the faces of
the people seated around his mother was part reproach and
part sympathy, confirming that he had indeed incinerated
every and bridge back to the life he once had, back to the
marriage he once had.
Back to the woman he once had.
“I will phone Omorinsola,” Aunty Dere, his mother’s older
sister said as she made to leave. “Both of you need to come
and see me so we can rectify things. We have left this for
too long already.”
Mofe simply nodded, not daring to hope even the most
overbearing of his aunts would be able to effect any change
in the circumstance of his marriage. Michaela and Malachi
soon rushed into the living room to greet their
grandmother and older relatives, and even though he spent
the next hour laughing and playing with them like old
times, that Morin never returned inside wasn’t lost on him.
Several times, he was tempted to go outside to meet her,
sit with her, talk to her, but he lost his nerve each time,
afraid of the diatribe she could unleash in the full glare and
hearing of his relatives, close and distant, or, worse, the
cold, silent treatment she would mete.
The following week, fed up of living out of a suitcase for a
month, and finally accepting that the odds of his return to
his one-time home were slim to non-existent, he set about
looking for an apartment, and by the last week of April, he
found a one-bedroom flat in Victoria Island. Under the
guise of wanting to inform Morin about it face-to-face and
not through the one-sentenced, sometimes even one-
worded, text messages they exchanged, he set off for their
house an hour earlier than the 5pm agreed meet time with
the kids. Getting there, and steeling himself for her rebuff,
he called her phone.
“Hi,” he said when she answered, trying not to sound as
breathless as he felt. “Could you please open the gate? I’m
here.”
“You’re not meeting the kids till 5. They’re not back from
piano lesson.”
“I know. I’d like to talk to you, if that’s okay.”
His heart sank as the call disconnected but soared as the
gates slid open to let him drive into the compound.
Bringing the car to park, he spent a few minutes inside
composing himself. But standing before Morin a few
minutes later when she opened the door, every modicum of
composure he had gathered dissolved to nothing. Fresh
faced and with her hair pulled back in a haphazard bun,
she looked childlike and innocent, the way she did first
thing in the morning. Vivid memories of waking up to this
face assaulted and aroused him at the same time.
Thankfully, before the latter feeling could take root, she
stepped away from the door, leaving it ajar behind her in
silent invitation. She walked ahead of him to the living
room, taking the seat that had once been his default, a
leather recliner they’d had as far back as their first
apartment, subliminally passing on the message that he
had lost his place in their…her…home. Considering he
didn’t even sit on the chair when it was vacant when
visiting the kids, Mofe didn’t hesitate to sit on the sofa
facing her.
“What do you want to talk about?” she asked, pointedly
looking up at the clock hanging on the wall. “I have
somewhere to be in thirty minutes.”
It was on the tip of his tongue to ask where this place she
needed to be was when, in the past, she was always home
on a Saturday evening, but he was wise enough to know it
was no longer his place to make that kind of interrogation.
What was in his place to do was make an apology.
“I’m really sorry, Morin.”

Morin
It was already taking every ounce of strength in her to sit
before him, to look the man who had destroyed their home
and shattered her heart in the face. But hearing him
apologise threatened to fully unravel all her composure.
“You’re ‘really sorry’ about what?” she retorted, unable to
keep the edge from her voice, unable to maintain the
aloofness she’d managed to perfect in his company.
“About everything, Omorinsola,” he answered, leaning
forward in his chair. “I hate how things played out. It
wasn’t my intention to hurt you.“
But you did, was what she so desperately wanted to yell.
Instead, she shrugged. “It’s been a year, Mofe. I don’t know
about you, but I’d rather not be dragged back now that I’m
finally in a good place.”
He nodded slowly and neither of them said anything for
several minutes.
“Is that all?” she asked, desperate to flee from his company
lest her heart pound itself right out of her body.
“Umm, no,” he answered. “I just paid for an apartment in
Victoria Island, behind Silverbird. Now that I’ll have my
own place, I’d like Michaela and Malachi to spend time
with me on some weekends or holidays.”
Even though they had been separated almost a year,
hearing that he had his own place dug deep into a hole in
her heart she hadn’t realised was still there, one of the
many holes she’d desperately tried to cover all year. She
wanted to ask if Keji was going to be part of this weekend
arrangement, but she would rather die than make any
mention of the relationship that had destroyed them, let
alone her best-friend-turned-arch-enemy’s name.

Mofe
“Morin?” he prodded when she didn’t answer.
“Congratulations on the apartment,” she answered. “But
let’s start small. The kids can visit you on occasion. When
I’m confident you have a set up that’s conducive for them,
then we can talk about them sleeping over.”
He nodded slowly, digesting her words. “Fair enough.”
More silence followed as they sat unspeaking.
“Did Aunty Dere call you?” he asked after a while, his smile
not quite organic. “She told me she…”
“I missed a few of her calls,” Morin answered, rising to her
feet. “If that’s all, I really need to go get dressed. The kids
will be home in a few minutes.”
Mofe also stood. “Thank you. I’ll let you know when…”
But she swept out of the room before he could get the
words out.
“…when I move,” he finished to himself.
Sitting on the sofa again, he blew out a mouthful of air, not
at all looking forward to the life that lay ahead of them in
their barely cordial co-parenting. He was tempted to, once
again, wish he had never made the mistake that had led
them there in the first place, but he stopped himself. There
was no use crying over spilt milk. What had happened had
happened and what he needed to be doing was not
wallowing but learning how to navigate these waters in
which he found himself.
Because they had many more years of it ahead.

Book made for [email protected]

 CHAPTER ELEVEN
LOSS

APRIL 2020 - APRIL 2021

Mofe
As the year progressed, not only were exports to
SweetzerRhône steady and incident free, Mofe was able to
secure an identical deal with a Belgian chocolatier, Zoete,
negotiating from Dwight an even healthier commission.
Business was better than he could ever have imagined and
as he settled in the small apartment he was renting, he
tried to focus on that and being more present in his
children’s lives than he’d been in the past year…and not the
hole in his heart that continued to widen with every month
of his separation from his wife.
His wife.
He knew he had no right to use that term for Morin, not
after what he had done.
The Saturday evening in April turned out to be the only
time he got the opportunity to sit with her for longer than
five minutes as she limited further contact with him to the
quick ‘hellos’ and ‘goodbyes’ they exchanged when he went
to pick up or drop off Michaela and Malachi the weekends
they spent with him. The first few times, he tried to make
conversation, sometimes even tried to crack jokes, but after
only getting – at best – a stiff smile or – as was mostly the
case – a blank look in response, he gave up trying, settling
instead to the barely cordial but not quite hostile nature of
relationship.
If he could even call the strained association they now had
a ‘relationship.’
It was a different story with Keji.
After months of badgering him with phone calls, she
showed up in Lagos, walking into the office he shared with
Dwight in Ikoyi one evening in July.
“You shouldn’t have come,” Mofe moaned, fully
exasperated by her refusal to accept they were over. “Who
gave you this address anyway?”
It was a question he needn’t have asked, considering the
close friendship Dwight and Keji had formed after she’d
introduced him to the woman who was now his girlfriend, a
Swiss girl called Chantal. Lucky for Dwight he was at the
cashew farm in Sapele, or else he would have had to
explain why he, too, couldn’t just respect Mofe’s decision to
walk away from the biggest mistake of his life.
“I had to, Mofe. I had to come so you could see in my face
how sorry I am,” she responded, her eyes imploring.
“You have nothing to be sorry about, Keji. I keep telling you
that,” Mofe said for what, he was sure, was the millionth
time. “I’m the one who’s sorry for leading you on…”
“You didn’t lead me on. You and I were together for five
years, Mofe…”
“When we were teenagers.”
“It still counts,” she answered, defiant. “If things had been
different back then, you and I would be married now.”
“Keji,” he said, taking her hands in his and holding her
gaze, hoping that by looking at her, she would finally hear
what he had been saying on repeat the last six months. “We
were children. It is more than likely that even if things had
been different then, we wouldn’t be together now. Last
year, I was in a dark place, and I deeply regret dragging
you along as I sank. I did lead you on, Keji, and second to
what I did to Morin, it is my biggest regret.”
Something flashed across her face, her raised brows
lowering and wide eyes narrowing as his words sank in.
Pulling her hands out of his, she took a step back.
“I’m truly sorry…” Mofe said, not minding that he was
sounding like a broken record, hating himself for being the
architect of the pain of the woman before him. “You’re a
wonderful woman and…”
“Save it,” Keji cut in, raising her hand to silence him. “I
hear you loud and clear.”
“I’m sorry, Keji.”
She nodded, looking away from him but her unfocused eyes
showing she wasn’t admiring the framed pictures of
Dwight’s cashew plantation that lined the wall.
“Don’t be,” she answered, her voice terse.
“Where are you staying?” he asked more for the sake of
conversation than a need to know.
“That’s no longer your concern,” she answered as she slung
the strap of her handbag over her shoulder.
Mofe refrained from serving any more platitudes and
instead watched as she walked the distance from his table
in the open-plan office to exit. But at the door, she paused
and turned back to him.
“If you think she’ll ever take you back, she won’t,” Keji
said, a sardonic smile on her face. “I know Omorinsola well,
and she’ll never forgive you for cheating on her. Just
thought to, I don’t know, give you that very pertinent
reminder.”
Her words sat with him long after she left, the reminder
that whatever he was still subliminally hoping for was
nothing but a pipe dream.
The good thing was that there were no more badgering
phone calls and emails, but not even getting that respite
was enough to dull the ache in his heart every time he was
reminded that life as he now knew it wasn’t just a
temporary glitch but a permanent fact he had to get used
to.
In October, he got wind of Bioye and Abolore’s wedding,
taking place at Nonso’s resort in Epe. Apart from not
wanting to revisit the scene where he had allowed the seed
of his stupidity take root, he was too ashamed to face his
old classmates. They’d undoubtedly heard of the collapse of
his marriage to Morin. While that was bad in and of itself,
that it was caused by his cheating with his high school
lover made it even more scandalous. So he chose not to
attend.
As the months rolled by, he managed to convince himself
that he had not only accepted but adjusted well to his new
life, but sitting alone in his apartment that Christmas
showed him he was months, maybe even years, maybe even
an eternity from truly accepting, truly adjusting to it. The
mathematics of working out what days the children would
spend with him, the arithmetic of coordinating his visits to
his mother’s house so they wouldn’t coincide with Morin’s
over the holidays was too much to bear.
Since his return to the country, the only socializing he did
was when Dwight was in town and even then, Mofe always
headed home when his womanizing friend went ‘hunting
for chicks’. After the confusion of the last year and half,
Mofe preferred to ease any sexual tension with a quick fist
pump in the shower. He didn’t need to complicate his
already complicated situation.
At the start of the New Year, having accepted this was how
life would be for him going forward, Mofe resolved to get
himself more grounded by moving out of his matchbox
apartment and into a house his children could call a second
home. He made an offer on an old house in Ikoyi which,
though located off Queens Drive, came cheaper because of
its state of disrepair. He welcomed the massive
refurbishment project, grateful for the opportunity to
custom the colonial duplex to his taste. Despite still having
three months on his current lease, he moved out of his
apartment and into a hotel near the work site. So that he
could better supervise the contractor was the excuse he
gave himself, but in truth, he needed a fresh start and
remaining in the small apartment was dragging his soul
and spirit to depths he desperately needed to be lifted
from.
In his third week, as he walked into the hotel’s bar to grab
a drink before retiring to bed, he saw a familiar person at
the bar; Bonju Adalemo.
“Looks like I’m not the only one with plans to get totally
wasted tonight,” Mofe said as he walked up to where Bonju
sat.
Bonju turned around and his brows lifted when he him.
“Fancy seeing you here,” Mofe grinned.
“Hello to you, too,” Bonju answered with a small smile. “I
haven’t seen you since, what, your anniversary party?”
Mofe nodded. “That’s about right. I’ve been…out of
circulation for a while.”
That was one way to put it.
Bonju nodded, the furrow in his brows betraying that this
wasn’t exactly news to him.
“A gin and tonic, please,” Mofe said to the bartender,
before turning again to Bonju. “It’s almost midnight, so I
take it you’re also staying here. I thought I heard
something about you living in your old man’s mansion
somewhere in Victoria Island.”
“You heard correct, but I recently had to pack it up,” Bonju
answered. “I leave for London tomorrow.”
“For good?”
“Yep,” Bonju nodded. “And you? Why are you here so late
at night?”
“I’m in between homes right now,” Mofe answered. “You
probably heard about Morin and I.”
“I’m really sorry, man,” Bonju said, the downturn of his
mouth reflecting his empathy.
Mofe nodded and exhaled, desperate to change the topic
before it took him back to a dark place. “Anyway, I have
contractors working at my new place. I initially moved to a
small apartment, thinking I wouldn't need much space
since the kids are with their mom, but it got way too small,
especially as I have them for a weekend a month. So, I
bought a bigger house. It wasn’t in the best shape, so it’s
being restored. Until it is,” he gestured around the bar,
“this is my home.”
“What happened between you two?” Bonju asked.
Mofe shrugged. “I was short-sighted, and I ended up
throwing away a good thing.” He paused as his drink and
Bonju’s were served, took a sip of it, before turning again
to his companion. “If given the chance, I would do things
differently. Differently enough for me not to be sitting alone
in a hotel bar when I could be home with my beautiful wife
and kids.”
Both men were quiet for a while as they nursed their
drinks.
“I heard you’re with Alero now,” Mofe said, breaking their
congenial silence.
“Not anymore,” Bonju answered.
Mofe frowned. “Really? I just heard you two were all over
each other at Omoruyi’s fortieth birthday party. Even from
the pictures I saw on Instagram, you both looked so happy
and loved up. What happened?”
Bonju was quiet for a while, before he shrugged. “I don't
know, man. One minute, we were talking about a future
together, and the next…” He shrugged again. “She went
cold on me.”
“For no reason? Did you guys have an argument or
something?”
“Nothing that should have made her decide to give up on
us. She was simply done, I guess. Whatever we had clearly
meant more to me than it did to her.”
“Hmmm,” Mofe said, pensive. “I had to learn the hard way
that sometimes you have to fight hard for a love you believe
in. I got so into my feelings about many things Morin said,
and I didn't fight as hard as I should have. But anyway,” he
smiled and nudged Bonju on the shoulder, changing the
subject. “Now that you’re single, I hope you won’t take the
opportunity to make a move on her. I remember how sweet
she was on you that last year of school. Back then, Keji and
I were sick of hearing your name every time she opened
her mouth. And don't think I didn't notice how she was
looking at you like a snack at the reunion.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Bonju chuckled. “Even though you
two were fighting half the time, it was clear you had eyes
only for each other.”
Considering how blatantly Mofe had lusted after Keji at
their reunion weekend, Bonju was either being polite or
simply stretching the truth.
“I knew you had a thing for Alero back in school,” Mofe
said after they had sipped their drinks in silence for a
while. “Many times, I saw you two stay back in class when
everyone else had either left for home or the dining hall,
talking and laughing the way only kids in love would. Just
looking at you, I could tell you were crazy about her.” He
turned to Bonju. “Why didn't you defend her when those
crazy rumours started flying around?”
Bonju was silent for a while before answering. “I was a
coward, I guess. I was a foolish kid.”
“That seems to be in our male DNA,” Mofe chuckled.
“Making foolish decisions when it comes to the women we
love.” His laughter faded and after several minutes had
passed, he looked at Bonju. “Don’t be a fool a second time
around, man.”
Their eyes held and the intensity of Bonju’s gaze showed
Mofe’s words had struck a chord. And when Mofe didn’t
see him at the bar again the following night, he concluded
that Bonju had gone to fix whatever was broken with the
woman he loved, and Mofe envied him for that. He wished
he, too, could undo the mess of the last two years but,
considering how estranged he and Morin now were, he
didn’t even know how he could ever backtrack to repair
things with her.
He didn’t know if that was even still a possibility.

Morin
Despite what people around her thought, Mofe and Keji no
longer being together didn’t make Morin feel any better.
Deep inside, she’d nursed the daydream of him realising his
folly, abandoning Keji, coming back to beg her forgiveness
and declare his undying love. But there had been no such
declaration and, instead, only the most tepid apology from
him, an apology geared to ease his own guilt more than
anything else.
“I hate how things played out. It wasn’t my intention to
hurt you.”
The only thing he’d wanted from her was absolution,
absolution that would free him to live his best life. She
resented him for getting his own place, resented him for his
newfound success, resented him for the financial freedom
that would allow him indulge every and any excess he
wished. And lying in bed at night, she was affronted with
vivid visuals of him rolling in bed with a never-ending
supply of women, a moving conveyor belt of younger,
slimmer, prettier women, nightmares that took her right
back to square one.
As the months went along, she struggled to regroup, doing
all she could to keep away from all reminders of him. She
made excuses when his mother and sisters phoned, and
didn’t answer calls from his aunts who, following his
mother’s birthday party, got it into their heads that they
could broker a reconciliation. By June, after two months of
trying unsuccessfully, his aunts stopped calling and his
mother and siblings reduced the frequency of theirs.
Slowly, but surely, everyone began to adjust to this new
normal. Even Michaela and Malachi. As the months went
by, their controlled enthusiasm the weekends they were to
spend with their father soon gave way to palpable
excitement as they chatted endlessly about everything they
had gotten up to with him the last time and everything they
were looking forward to doing the next time. So even
though Morin made sure to keep her interactions with him
brief when he picked up or dropped off the kids, even
though she had successfully suppressed her relationship
with his family, through the children they shared she was
inadvertently kept abreast of anything he did.
And she didn’t care for it.
In September, Aize, another partner at the firm she worked
came to her with the oddest of requests.
“Produce your podcast?” she exclaimed at Aize’s request
for her to produce his weekly podcast on life hacks. “I don’t
know the first thing about podcasts!”
“But you know pretty much everything else,” was Aize’s
impassioned plea. “You’re well versed in everything from
business to politics to even home improvement. I need
someone who’s not just smart, but sharp and savvy, and
that person is you, Morin.”
“I don’t know, Aize,” she answered, still not at all
convinced. “Give me some time to think about it.”
She’d meant it as a brush-off, but the more she did think
about it, the more the challenge of doing something new
appealed to her. Also, the fact that, of all the people he
knew, Aize had considered her the most befitting person to
produce his podcast, excited her. Having something else to
occupy her mind couldn’t be an entirely bad thing.
So she’d agreed…and she didn’t regret it. Between
researching topics, fact checking and proofreading scripts,
and listening into his live recordings, it soon wasn’t just a
way to occupy her time but something she actually enjoyed.
By the time the holiday season came, as they recorded the
Christmas episode on financial recovery after the holidays,
she was happy and engaged enough not to be preoccupied
with thoughts about the man she had once shared a life
with, and as the New Year rolled along, she started to
believe that maybe, just maybe, a time would come when
he would no longer be her waking and sleeping thought.
By April, she decided it was time to begin divorce
proceedings. After being separated two years, this state of
limbo wasn’t serving either of them. Deciding she owed it
to him to, at least, give him a heads up before being served
with papers, she resolved to tell him the next time he came
to the house.

Mofe
Mofe’s heart skipped a beat when Morin opened the door
the following Friday, the way it always did the weekends he
came to pick up the kids.
“Good evening,” she said, her tone as impersonal as it
always was. “The kids are on their way down.”
Mofe smiled at her and nodded. “Thank you.”

Morin
He stood at the doorway, and, just like the last time he did,
she was attacked by her conscience.
“You can come in and sit, if you want,” she said, giving in to
the nudge in her spirit. “You know how indecisive Malachi
can be about his footwear.”

Mofe
Mofe’s eyes widened, clearly surprised by the gesture.
“Thank you,” he said again, stepping into the home that
had once been theirs, the home they had designed
together, the home they had built and decorated together,
the home that was no longer his.
Morin shut the door behind him, and when she turned back
around, she walked straight into him as he was still
standing by the door.

Morin
“Goodness. I thought you’d have taken a seat by now,” she
muttered, flustered by the closest contact she’d had with
him in almost two years…and the fact she could remember
every note of the cologne he wore.

Mofe
“I just…I was just…”
The truth was that he had no explanation for why he’d
remained standing by the door, except that he wanted to be
as close to her as he could manage. In a loose fit tunic that
flowed all the way to her ankles in a rose gold colour that
perfectly complimented her honey-coloured skin, he had
never seen her more beautiful. But then again, that was
what he thought every time he saw her; that she looked
more beautiful each time.
She walked past him into the living room, and as he
followed her, his eyes drank in the sight of her alluring
curves, her wide hips and ample derrière, wondering for
the umpteenth time how he could have been foolish enough
to let her go.

Morin
“Please, sit,” she gestured at a single seater opposite the
couch she’d chosen, wanting to keep as much physical
distance as she could from him. As she sat, she kept her
eyes trained on his face, so she wouldn’t notice how good
his body looked in the fitted white Senator outfit her wore,
but as his brown eyes drilled into hers, she dropped hers to
a point somewhere on his neck, the safest place she could
trust herself to look.
He placed his phone and car keys on the glass table
between them and took the seat she’d offered. Silence
followed, the only sound coming from the whistle of the
pressure cooker from the adjoining kitchen and the distant
whirl of the washing machine in the utility room.
“So, how have you been?” Morin asked, desperate for a
change of subject.
Mofe shrugged. “Very busy. Very stressed. Work on my
new place is taking more time and money than I expected.”
“You’re the one that decided to buy a house in Ikoyi.” It
was out of her mouth before she had the chance to censor
it.
He shrugged. “I got a good deal and the payoff from the
business came at the right time, thankfully.”
“How’s that going?” Morin asked. “The business.”
Mofe shrugged again. “I can't complain.”
Morin was about to ask more questions, wanting to know
how things really were with the business he had invested in
with friends, after his earlier foray into hospitality had left
him badly burned, but his phone started to vibrate on the
table, the name of the caller flashing like a neon light.
Keji Oladoyinbo.
And all the questions dried in Morin’s mouth, any concerns
she had evaporating. Instead, a sardonic smile spread on
her face.
“Why did you save her number with her full name, as if
she…” Morin allowed her sentence fade off, not having the
courage to complete it, not able to say what it was she
really wanted to.
As if she wasn't the person that destroyed our marriage.

Mofe
As if she wasn't the person with whom I made the biggest
mistake of my life, was how the sentence ended in Mofe’s
mind, his dalliance with his high school lover the thing he
regretted the most in all his almost thirty-nine years alive.
His brows furrowed as he looked at his phone, wondering
why she was calling after what he’d thought had been their
last goodbye months ago, aggravated about the very
inopportune time her call had come.
“You better answer it,” Morin said, her eyes holding his in a
silent dare.
A dare he didn't have the courage to accept, and he
remained in the eye hold with his estranged wife until the
phone stopped vibrating on the table.
“Omorinsola…” he called her by her full name when the
phone stopped moving.
“My lawyers need an address so they can serve you,” Morin
cut in, the hardness he had come to know as normal, back
in her eyes. “We need to start this divorce process, so we
can move on with our lives. It’s been almost two years.”
His heart crashed at the mention of his trigger word -
divorce - the one word he detested more than anything, the
one word he wanted to just go away and never be
remembered, especially when it came to him and the
woman he still loved.
“Well?” she pressed, glaring at him. “Or should they serve
you at your hotel? Michaela says you’re at The View.”
“I’m only there at night. That might not be the best…” he
muttered but was interrupted by the vibration of his phone
again, this time with an incoming text message.

Morin
Morin’s phone buzzed at the same time, and she reached
for it just as he did his. It was a message from Zinna and
her eyes widened as she read the words on the screen of
her phone.
ZINNA: Omoruyi passed away yesterday. Let me know
when you can jump on a group call.
Morin parted her mouth and looked up to see the horror
she felt reflected on Mofe’s face as he looked at his own
phone. He looked up and it was clear that he, too, had
received the same devastating message of the death of
their old friend.
“But he just celebrated his fortieth,” Morin part gasped,
part exclaimed. “What could have happened?”
Mofe shook his head and sat back in the chair, his hands
placed on his head as the news sank in.
“What will happen to Eva? What will happen to their kids?”
Morin wailed, bursting into tears as she remembered
Omoruyi’s wife, another old classmate, and the children
that were just as young as Michaela and Malachi.

Mofe
Mofe rose from his seat and crossed over to Morin’s, sitting
beside her and cradling her as she cried, seeking comfort
as well from someone just as impacted by the
heartbreaking death of someone they’d shared a childhood
with. A few tears rolled down his face as Morin sobbed on
his shoulder, but as he held her, his grief soon gave way to
a keen awareness of the soft body pressed against his, of
the achingly familiar vanilla fragrance that emanated from
it, of the automatic fit it once had with his.

Morin
As her tears abated, the feel of Mofe’s hand stroking her
arm in consolation made her quickly pull away, aghast by
her impulsive action. Of all the places to seek consolation,
Mofe’s arms were no longer an option.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“I’m fine.” she answered, rising to her feet. “I’ll call Eva
right away.”
“Morin…”
“Let me go see what’s keeping the kids,” she said, walking
out of the living room and not stopping until she was safely
upstairs.
Standing at the top of the stairs, she leaned on the wall and
exhaled, trying not to think of how soothing and familiar it
had felt for Mofe to hold her, or how quickly it took for her
to forget he was no longer her safe space.

Book made for [email protected]

 CHAPTER TWELVE
SPARKS

APRIL - MAY 2021

Mofe
The week that followed was hard, the suddenness of
Omoruyi’s death devastating, especially for those who had
just attended his fortieth birthday party a few short months
before. But none of the members of the Malomo Class of
‘99 had any time to sit with their grief, what with the
funeral scheduled within a week of his passing. From
joining the group call Zinna convened, to being added to
the WhatsApp group Nonso created for the guys in their
class, to flying to Abuja the day before the funeral, it was a
whirlwind of activity that took Mofe back to the death of his
father, the one and only time he had lost someone close.
But apart from the fact that his father’s protracted illness
had given him and his sisters time to brace themselves for
his death, they’d had over a month following his demise to
plan and put things in place for a befitting funeral. With
Omoruyi’s death, Mofe was still in a state of disbelief as he
boarded a plane to Abuja the following Thursday, as he sat
through the emotional Tribute Service, and even as he
made his way to church the next morning where he was to
join Nonso, Ikenna, Bonju, Abolore, and one of Omoruyi’s
cousins as pallbearers, but seeing the glossy white and gold
casket had confirmed that this was no joke. The lively and
vibrant Omoruyi, the most popular boy in their set who had
gone on to be a loving father and husband, was lying cold
inside that box. And the stark realisation had broken Mofe.
He wept as they carried the box, wept through the funeral
Mass, and barely was able to hold himself together as the
coffin was lowered to the ground.
And it wasn’t just the final goodbye that had wrung him
dry. As Ikenna held his wife Tomi, as Abolore held his wife
Bioye, as Bonju held his fiancée Alero, as Nonso held his
girlfriend Ogonna, Mofe had never yearned for his wife
more, his yearning for Morin poignant enough to feel like
an actual ache in his chest. She hadn’t joined the group call
neither had she made the trip to Abuja, and he knew he
was the reason for that. He heard from Eva that Morin had
called several times. He also heard of her contribution to
the group fund that had been opened for Eva and her kids,
but he knew that if it weren’t for their estrangement, she
would have been there mourning with the rest of their
classmates.
Is it true about Omoruyi? was what Keji texted as Mofe
drove home with Michaela and Malachi the afternoon he
and Morin found out about Omoruyi’s death. Reading Keji’s
message, recalling how her incoming call had disrupted the
first cordial moment he’d had with Morin in two years
incensed him enough not to bother with a response. He
wasn’t the only person Keji could confirm Onoruyi’s death
from. She had a choice of the over fifty people in their class
to ask. It didn’t have to be him. Thankfully, she didn’t call
or text again.
The day after his return to Lagos, he awoke with a
desperate need to see his kids.
Hey, he texted Morin. I know it’s still another two
weekends before the kids come over, but I’d really
like to see them. Can I drop by later?
Sure, her reply came a few seconds later, much to his
relief.
By noon, he was showered and dressed and was at the
house before 1pm.
“Hey,” Morin said when she opened the door to let him in.
“How did it go?”
He exhaled and shook his head. “Rough.”
“I saw videos from the Tribute Service on Instagram,”
Morin said as they both walked to the living room. “Nonso’s
speech was very emotional.”
“I wept like a baby the whole evening,” Mofe said, sitting
down. “From the moment I saw Eva seated in the living
room wearing black, I was a total mess.”
“I trust you,” Morin sniggered.
Mofe chuckled along, grateful they were able to find
humour in the aftermath of something so devastating,
grateful they were able to laugh together for the first time
in way too long.
“Sad though it was, everything was well organized,” Mofe
said, wanting to prolong their banter. “Eva is one strong
woman. Half the people who came to console her ended up
being the ones consoled.”
“Small but mighty Eguabor,” Morin smiled. “That’s what
Abolore used to call her. She always was a tough little
firecracker.”
“She said you two spoke.”
Morin nodded. “A couple of times. I’ll give it a week or two
before I call her again. I’m sure she’ll want some peace and
quiet for a while.” She glanced at her watch. “The kids will
be done with piano lesson any minute. When you said you
were coming, I didn’t think it would be this early.”
“It’s fine, I’ll wait. It beats sitting alone in my apartment,”
he answered. “I keep kicking myself for not attending
Omoruyi’s birthday party.”
“Me too,” Morin sighed. “I deleted the invite almost as soon
as it dropped in my phone. I’m so pained that I passed on
the opportunity to see him one last time.”
“I heard he was the life of the party at both Ikenna and
Abolore’s weddings. Him and Eva.”
“I can’t believe how much Eva changed from the antisocial
girl whose head was always buried in books to the blond,
pixie-haired social butterfly from the reunion.”
Mofe smiled. “I don’t think any of us would have guessed
that she and Omoruyi would end up together.”

Morin
Even though she’d started off only wanting to hear about
Omoruyi’s funeral, the ease with which she and Mofe were
conversing was surprising, not only because of how long it
had been since their conversation had flowed so
effortlessly…but because of how much she was enjoying it.
“Or Ikenna and Tomi. How did that even happen?” she
remarked.
“Those two were always tight. It was just a matter of time,”
Mofe answered, leaning back in the chair. “Another
inevitable couple was Bonju and Alero. That boy has been
smitten by her since we were kids.”
Morin raised her brows, intrigued. “I saw pictures of them
seated together at the Tribute Service.”
“They’re engaged, Morin, keep up,” Mofe chuckled. “Your
boyfriend that year.”
“Please don’t remind me!” Morin laughed, enjoying the
ease of their conversation, the first time they were sitting
together without strain or tension. “I also saw Nonso and
Ogonna together.”
“They’ve been a couple since the reunion,” Mofe grinned,
clearly enjoying being more up to date with their
classmate’s information than she was.
As the minutes ticked by, their conversation shifted from
their old classmates to what they were up to with work.
“A podcast?” Mofe repeated, his surprise evident when she
told him of her new side gig. “I never would have guessed
that was something you’d be into.”
“I know right,” she laughed. “It took Aize weeks to
convince me.”
“Aize your colleague? That arrogant guy your company
hired from KPMG?”
“He’s not that bad,” Morin laughed, remembering how Aize
had always rubbed Mofe the wrong way. “He convinced me
I’d be good at it, and he was on to something because it’s
been six months and I haven’t done too badly.”
“Interesting,” Mofe said, scrolling through his phone.
“What’s the name of the podcast?”
“Life Hacks with Aize.”
Mofe rolled his eyes prompting laughter from Morin,
especially because she agreed it was a naff name for a
podcast, but Aize would have it no other way.
“Who would want life hacks from a guy who walks around
with a crooked tie?!” Mofe exclaimed.
“It was just that one time,” Morin laughed, remembering
how Aize’s tie had indeed been crooked at the first gala
night he attended after joining their firm from KPMG. “He’s
very smart and, if the growing number of our downloads is
anything to go by, more people are starting to think so.”
“If you say so,” Mofe chuckled.

Mofe
Soon, they were talking about his business.
“That’s amazing!” Morin exclaimed after Mofe told her the
detailed story of how he’d combed Switzerland in search of
buyers for his product.
“It was tough, and I was tempted to quit so many times,” he
said. “But every time I wanted to throw in the towel,
something made me push even harder.”
“And you got your results. I’m happy for you, Mofe. I’m
happy this has worked out for you.”
They continued to chat, not noticing the minutes fly by or
that Michaela and Malachi’s class went on for an hour
longer than anticipated. By the time the kids finally got
home, as Morin excused herself to give them privacy, he
was grateful not only for their amicable conversation but
that she didn’t again bring up the divorce she had
threatened the week before.

Morin
Two weekends later, Morin caught herself checking the
time as she waited for Mofe to bring the kids back home.
Whereas she would otherwise have been dreading the brief
interface with her former partner as he handed over the
kids at the door, this Sunday, she was keenly aware of
seeing him again, the first time since the evening of their
easy conversation since Bimbo was the one who’d handed
over the kids on Friday because Morin worked late. As
much as Morin wanted to allude the fluidity of their brief
tête-à-tête to them seeking solace in each other after their
mutual friend’s demise, deep inside, she knew it was more
than that.
She was securing her braids back in their bun, torn
between that and leaving them loose, when the doorbell
rang, Mofe having already driven into the compound with
the day’s code. Her heart slammed in her chest, and she
checked her reflection in the mirror, hoping the silk adire
jumpsuit didn’t give away the fact she had torn through
half her closet trying to figure out what to wear. Deciding
the hoop earrings made the look a little too deliberate, she
took them off, threw them on her dressing table, and made
her way downstairs.
“Welcome home, Lilo! Welcome home, Stitch!” she said as
she let the children in, calling them by the names of
cartoon characters they’d loved as younger children,
nicknames that had stuck ever since. “I missed you!”
“Missed you too, mom,” Malachi answered as he rushed
into the house the way he did every Sunday when they got
home with only minutes to spare before his 5pm Roblux
appointment with his friends from school.
“Hi, mom,” Michaela said, stopping briefly to hug her
before she, too, rushed upstairs.
Whereas before, this would have been her cue to mutter an
almost inaudible goodbye and shut the door in Mofe’s face,
this time, she managed a small smile.
“Hey,” she said.
“Hey,” he answered, a more discernable smile curving his
lips. “Those two don’t mess around with whatever it is they
do at 5pm on Sundays.”
She rolled her eyes good naturedly. “You’d think they’d
want to spend time with me after being apart all weekend.”
“If it makes you feel any better, they’re just as bad with me.
I have their attention for all of ten minutes, after which
they get lost in their devices,” Mofe said. “Hello teenage
years, right?”
“But Michaela is still eleven!”
“She turns twelve in December.”
“And Malachi…”
“Is already ten,” Mofe chuckled. “Face it, Mo. Our kids are
munchkins no more. And I’d lay off the Lilo and Stitch if I
were you. Haven’t you noticed the scowl on Michaela’s face
any time you call her Lilo?”
Morin sighed and shook her head. “It feels like another
lifetime when they thought we were the coolest people to
walk the face of the earth.”
“Give it another ten years and they’ll think so again,” Mofe
said with a wink. “Or maybe twenty.”
She laughed and after they’d stood at the door for a few
seconds without him making a move to leave, she asked,
“You want to come in?”
“If it won’t be a bother. There’s traffic on the express and
I’d like to give it a few minutes before venturing back out.”
She stepped back to let him in, trying not to pay heed to
the awareness that shimmered on her skin and unfurled in
her stomach as he walked past, close enough for his
familiar scent to push against the doors in her brain that
she had shut, doors in her brain that housed reminders of
the time they had shared one body, one heart, one soul.
“I was about to start meal prepping…” she said, referencing
her routine of cutting, bagging, and freezing produce to
simplify the process of readying food for her and the kids
during the week.
“No problem, I can sit in the kitchen while you do.”
Even though her intention had been to have him wait in the
living room, she put up no resistance as he walked behind
her to their kitchen. But as he took a seat on a high stool by
the island, her brain was frazzled as she opened the freezer
to retrieve vegetables, every sense in her body keenly
aware of him.

Mofe
It felt like he’d gotten a lucky ride in a time capsule, and as
he watched Morin chop carrots, onions, and bell peppers,
he wished he could stay there forever, there being a time
before he destroyed their marriage. He wished he could rip
up his return ticket to their current reality.
“My house is finally ready,” he said as she bagged broccoli,
cauliflower, and julienned carrots. “I’m going to start
moving next week.”
“Oh really? That’s nice,” she said, smiling. “You must be
very pleased.”
“Very. It’s the first place that has felt like home since…” he
swallowed down any words that would jeopardize their new
and fragile truce. “In a long time. The kids have their
bedrooms like they do here, so at least we won’t have to
fight over that every time they visit.”
“Now that I’m sure they’re over the moon about,” Morin
laughed. But as her laughter faded, she didn’t look away.
“You’ve done very well, Mofe. I’m proud of you.”
Their eyes held in a gaze deeper than any they had shared
in longer than he even remembered, the depth of her
brown eyes shortening his breath.
And he wondered how he could ever have forgotten this,
how he could have ever forgotten how her eyes had once
melted him to mush.
How they still did.

Morin
“Dad, you’re still here?”
Michaela’s voice was a welcome distraction and Morin
peeled her eyes away from Mofe’s, returning them to the
vegetables she was bagging, relieved to have been snapped
out of a moment that was not just fleeting but illusory.
There was nothing more between her and Mofe. Whatever
had once been there, his betrayal had destroyed. But not
even that reminder was enough to tame the wild, disloyal
butterflies fluttering in a frenzy in her stomach.
“Yeah, just waiting out the traffic,” he said, smiling at
Michaela.
“Will you stay for dinner?” his daughter asked. “So you
don’t have to go hunting for food tonight.”
Morin looked up, panicked, just as Mofe cast a questioning
look at her. Realising Michaela was also looking at her,
Morin had no choice but to shrug.
“Sure,” she answered with forced cheer.
“Shepherd’s Pie?” he asked.
Morin hated the monotony and predictability of her life that
made her still make the same meals on the same day of the
week. Since the early days of their marriage, Shepherd’s
Pie had been a Sunday evening staple and, two years after
their separation, it still was. She was tempted to counter
him, tempted to start the process of cooking something
entirely different, but apart from not having the mental
bandwidth to figure out what ‘something entirely different’
was, she didn’t want to disappoint Michaela and Malachi.
“Yep,” she answered with a tight smile. “Luckily, there’s
enough to go round.”

Mofe
It wasn’t the best Shepherd’s Pie he’d ever had. It wasn’t
even the best one Morin had ever made. But seated around
the small table in the kitchen as he ate the meal with her
and their two children, the meal tasted like bites of heaven.
He half listened as Michaela and Malachi talked about their
upcoming interhouse sports day, his attention on Morin the
whole time, watching as she ate her meal in quadrants and
as her jaw muscles barely moved as she chewed, fascinated
by her like he was seeing her for the first time even though
she had eaten that way since they were teenagers. He
watched as she listened as the children spoke, knowing
when she was really paying attention and when her mind
was wandering. Occasionally their eyes met across the
table, but she always looked away, not allowing their gaze
linger. But he didn’t even mind that. Even though dining
with the children was something he had done frequently in
the last year, sitting for a meal with Morin felt like he’d
won the lottery.
“Are you coming, dad?” Malachi asked, breaking his
reverie.
Mofe turned to his son, having no clue what the boy had
asked him.
“I’m sure your dad will be too busy to,” Morin answered
Malachi but finally looking at Mofe for longer than five
seconds. “We can send him pictures.”
“Too busy to what?” Mofe asked.
“Attend this year’s interhouse sports,” Michaela answered.
It felt like a kick in the gut, especially considering he’d
been the one to attend their school’s annual sports event in
the past, given Morin’s busy schedule. That he was being
invited as a guest was the reminder that even though they
were seated and eating as one big happy family now, he
was still on the fringes of their tight unit.
“I thought neither of you was participating this year,” he
answered.
With Michaela having moved to their school’s secondary
arm and Malachi precluded from the track activities he
excelled in by virtue of being in an exam class, he hadn’t
thought they’d be excited about this year’s event.
“Yeah, but Mali is captain of his house,” Michaela
answered, stopping short of rolling her eyes, her tone
indicating it wasn’t a question he should have asked or a
detail he should have forgotten.
“Mofe, don’t worry about it. I’ll go,” Morin said.
“But you never used to attend,” he answered.
Something flashed across her face before she returned her
attention to her plate. “I’ve attended the last two.”
He deserved that.
Silence descended on the table as everyone focused on
their meals, but the food had lost all taste in Mofe’s mouth
as despair and remorse coursed through his body.
“I’d like to attend, if that’s okay,” he said, a good ten
minutes after Morin spoke. “It’s on Thursday, right?”
Morin looked up at him. “Yes, but I already have the day off
work…”
“We could both be there. I’ll just sit in the bleachers
cheering on,” he looked at Malachi for confirmation,
“Cardinal House?”
A wide smile broke on Malachi’s face. “Would you really?”
Looking from Malachi to Michaela, and the pure unabashed
joy on their faces, there was no appointment he wouldn’t
have canceled to be there on that day.
“That’s if it’s okay with your mom,” Mofe said, casting an
imploring look at Morin.

Morin
She pursed her lips as their eyes held, hating that she was
not only enjoying his company at the dining table – even if
he was barely speaking and instead staring at them, her
especially, like he was seeing them for the first time – but
that she quite liked the idea of having him at their
children’s interhouse sports event. It had been many years
since they’d both attended, what with her having delegated
the activity to him as her responsibilities at work grew. But
after having worked the event into her work calendar in the
years of his absence, she quite liked the idea of sharing the
achievements of their children with someone bound to be
as overjoyed as she was, even if Malachi wasn’t running
this year and Michaela wasn’t cheerleading.
Dropping her eyes, she shrugged, hoping she wasn’t
coming across too eager. “Sure. It’s fine.”
She reached for her glass of water as the children squealed
their delight, hoping to God she wasn’t making the worst
mistake of her life agreeing to have their father attend.

Mofe
The following Thursday, Mofe sat in the bleachers, his eyes
on Morin as she walked across the field with a couple of
other mothers after participating in the female parents’
race. In a black t-shirt and grey form fitting track pants,
she never would have been caught dead in an outfit like
that before, believing she was too fat, too overweight to
wear them despite how many times he told her how
beautiful her body was…until he stopped bothering to. His
eyes stayed on her when she got to the canopied podium,
not moving away even when the male parents’ race had
everyone cheering at the daddies on the track. He stared at
Morin like someone hypnotized, watching as she jumped
and cheered with the other mommies, his eyes straying
from her visor-shielded face to the gentle bounce of her
breasts beneath the loose t-shirt she wore, wanting her
with a hunger that was marrow-deep and exponentially
expanding like a permanently cresting wave. His eyes
dropped to the pronounced flare of her hips, her cotton
encased thighs fleshy and rounded, and vivid memories of
being ensconced between them alchemized with the lust
already rushing through her veins. He wanted her. He
wanted her bad.
When Cardinal House was declared the winner, he smiled
as she did what she hardly ever did in unfamiliar company;
lose her cool. He walked down the bleacher stairs as the
Cardinal parents invaded the field, running to their
victorious children, getting there in time to see Malachi lift
the trophy for his house. He beamed when his son looked
his way, giving him the thumbs up sign as he raised his
camera to capture the moment. As he took pictures, his
eyes fell on Morin where she stood a few feet away and the
smile they exchanged was one of shared pride. Turning his
phone to her, he chuckled when her smile broadened, and
she made the peace sign. He clicked away as she changed
her pose several times, sticking her tongue out in some,
flexing imaginary muscles in others. He must have taken at
least twenty pictures of her before another parent called
her attention. But Mofe’s eyes remained on her even as she
walked away with the other mother towards the canopy
designated for the children’s entertainment.
No doubt about it. He had it bad.

Morin
“When did you start participating in the mommy race?”
Mofe asked as he and Morin sat in her kitchen drinking
cold glasses of water, minutes after returning from the
games.
“Question is why didn’t you join the daddy race?” she
asked, raising a brow. “You used to before.”
He shrugged and she was certain she knew why. After
being absent for two years, he hadn’t felt eligible to.
“Anyways, well done, mom of a champion,” he said, raising
his glass.
“Well done to you, too, dad of a champion,” she answered,
raising her glass as well.
“Here’s to sports scholarships and pro athlete money in the
near future,” he chuckled.
“Here, here!” she chimed, sipping her water.
He set his glass down on the table, his gaze not departing
from her.
“I better go,” his voice huskier than it had been mere
moments before.
“Yeah, it’s getting late,” she answered even though, at
7pm, it was hardly.
As they walked out of the kitchen, he flicked the switch of
the main overhead pendant light but stopped when it didn’t
come on.
“That’s not working,” she said. “It hasn’t worked for a few
weeks.”
“I wondered why only the recessed lights were on on
Sunday because I know how well-lit you like the kitchen to
be.”
She shrugged. “I tried to change the bulb, but it didn’t
work. It’s probably the holder. I’ve been meaning to get
someone to take a look at it, but…”
“May I?” he asked.
She’d barely nodded when he pulled a chair from the table
and stood on it to check out the pendant lamp holder. She
watched as he twisted the lamp in inspection, everything
from the furrow of his brows as he scrutinized it to the flex
of his upper arms as he untwisted the bulb, flaring to life
the sparks she had tried to suppress since the afternoon
they’d spent together after his return from Omoruyi’s
funeral, multiplying them into millions of tiny embers
raging through her bloodstream, sparking a desire so feral,
it took her by surprise.
“I’ll get someone to fix it,” she said, clearing her throat
with the hope it would also clear from her system the
wayward recalcitrant thoughts that were suddenly
spreading through her like a virus.
“Done,” he said, screwing the bulb back in. “It was loose
from the grip.”
He jumped off the chair and she had to look away, certain
her face was flushed, certain he would see the wanton
desire in her face. Walking over to the switch and clicking
it, the flooding of light in the room pleased and infuriated
her; pleased her because she’d missed the room’s bright
illumination and infuriated her because of how even more
appealing it made the man standing before her.
“Thank you,” was all she could manage in response.
“You’re welcome,” he responded. “I’ll stop by Jonathan’s
place on my way out.”
Jonathan, Malachi’s classmate, was hosting his housemates
to a victory party in his house.
“Okay,” Morin answered. “Have a good evening.”
Shutting the door behind him, she exhaled, determined to
do all she needed to, to purge her mind and body of any
thoughts, any feelings, that still lingered for her soon to be
ex-husband.
Book made for [email protected]
 CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CRUSH ON YOU

MAY - AUGUST 2021

Mofe
It was another three weeks before Mofe saw Morin again,
and for the first time since beginning their arrangement, he
welcomed the time between the weekends spent with the
children. After over a year pining for her, he had only just
started the process of accepting this as their new reality.
But after the ignition of every one of his senses the last few
times he'd been in her company, and the incendiary
thoughts he was still battling with days, even weeks, later it
was in his best interest to keep away before he got more
carried away than he already was.
But the Friday he was to pick the children up, rather than
feel dread over what being around Morin would do to him,
he awoke with a racing heart and pulsing energy that got
him out of bed over an hour before he normally did. He
spent the day checking his watch, counting down the hours
till he went to the house. And rather than go straight there
from his office, he made a detour to his barber to tidy up
his fade and then home for a quick change, substituting the
kaftan he wore for a Hollister t-shirt in the shade of blue
Morin once thought suited him best. Dressed, he set off for
Lekki, stopping at Crust Alchemy to buy the apple crumble
and cinnamon croissants that were her favourite. As he
made the drive down the link bridge, his palms sweaty and
his heart slamming against his ribcage, even though he
knew all his efforts would very likely be for nothing, he was
content if the only payoff would be just another glimpse of
her face.

Morin
“You’re early,” Morin remarked as she opened the door to
let Mofe in, schooling her face not to reflect the inner
turmoil she had battled for the last three weeks, where she
had struggled to keep him from being her sleeping and
waking thought and, worse, from invading her night
slumber in dreams so sensual and erotic, she awoke
panting.
“It’s 5pm,” he answered as he stepped in.
“Didn’t the kids tell you about their stuff today? Malachi’s
revision classes and Michaela’s practice for next week’s
game?”
Mofe’s shoulders slumped. “Malachi did mention something
about extra classes.”
“Not to worry. The school bus should be here by 6, so you
won’t have to wait too long,” Morin said, leading the way to
the kitchen. “What’s in the bag?”
“Some treats for the kids,” Mofe answered. “Chocolate
cupcakes, raisin cookies, apple crumble, and cinnamon
croissants.”
She perked at the mention of her kryptonite treats.
“You know I’m the only one in this house who likes apple
crumble, Eyimofe!” she chuckled, accepting the bag from
him.
A smile curved his lips. “I couldn’t leave you out now, could
I?”
She opened the bag and closed her eyes as she inhaled the
sweet, spicy smell of the pastry. Without hesitation, she
grabbed a croissant and bit into it, letting out a moan as
the sweet yet spicy flavours burst in her mouth.
“I can’t believe they actually had this,” she said through a
mouthful of the croissant. “Every time I go there, it’s never
available.”
“That’s because you’ve been going to the wrong branch,”
Mofe answered, his smile pleased and teasing. “They just
opened a smaller one in Ikoyi and it’s a gem, I tell you.
That’s where Alain operates from, but nobody knows that.”
Alain was the French baker the pâtisserie hired when it
opened almost two decades before and the brains behind
their renown pastries.
“Well, now I know,” Morin said, taking another large bite.
“And that’s where I’ll go from now on.”
“Isn’t it out of your way?”
She moaned again through another mouthful. “I would
drive out of state for these.”

Mofe
Her moan short circuited his brain, rattling the cage he had
tried to confine the raging beast that was his desire for her.
“Do you want any?” she asked, turning to him with a raised
brow. “Or did you already eat the lemon cake you like
before you got here?”
“Umm, I’m good thanks,” he answered, forcing a smile.
“And no, no lemon cake for me today. Trying to lay off the
sugar.”
“Way to make some of us look bad,” she laughed, licking
her fingers as she put the bag on the counter.
His eyes trailed the motion of her mouth on her hand,
watching the movement of her tongue as if in slow motion,
his longing for her unleashed from its prison.
If this was how his body was always going to react to her,
then they had a problem.

Morin
“You know how I am with sugar. Once I start, I can’t stop,”
Mofe answered with a small smile.
She nodded, remembering his propensity to indulge in
sweet treats.
“Well, I’ll save that apple crumble for later tonight when
I’m alone,” she said. “I’ll have it nice and warm with a glass
of Baileys.”
“Sounds like a fun evening,” he chuckled before gesturing
at her mouth. “You’ve got a little crumb action going on
there.”
“Here?” she asked, dusting the right corner of her mouth.
He shook his head and reached for the left corner of her
mouth with his thumb. But it wasn’t the flakes he dusted off
that sent sparks of electricity flashing through her body.
The movement of his finger, no longer brushing but now
slow and concentric, sent heat rushing down her spine and
sensations mustering in the part of her that was hungriest
for him. She looked up at him, his own yearning gleaming
feral in his stare, and it felt like she was in a furnace, the
air between them smoldering with lust. Breathless, she
swiped her tongue over her bottom lip, an action that
snapped him into action, his hand moving to the back of her
head and his face lowering to hers. Her hands flew to cup
his face just as his mouth reached hers in a kiss that was
neither tentative nor gentle, but immediately demanding,
immediately ravenous, immediately voracious. She moaned
into the familiarity of his pressing lips, searching tongue,
and gently biting teeth, the trifecta of which had always
made his kisses drive her crazy. As they kissed with
increasing urgency, she pressed into him, desperate for
more than just his mouth.

Mofe
Their lips moved with a synchronicity that couldn’t be
taught, a harmony that couldn’t be learned, his mouth
consuming hers in a desperate plea as he tasted the
unabashed reply of her hunger. Her hands snaked beneath
his t-shirt and the feel of her gloriously soft and delicate
palms snapped the last thread of his self-control. Moving
his hands down, the feel of her generous bottom made him
both want to burst into happy tears and want to tear off the
cotton tunic she was wearing. She moaned as he leaned
into her, moans that he swallowed and savored whole. He
lifted her to the island as she reached for his belt buckle,
and with one lift of her dress, one swipe of the flimsy fabric
of her underwear, their two bodies became one in a slide of
flesh. She gasped and a harsh exhale escaped his lips in
their carnal reunification, a reunion that left every cell in
his body demanding more. As their bodies moved,
interlocked like they had never been ripped apart, the
world stopped on its axis for him. Ensconced in her, what
he felt was more than temporal pleasure, it was a click in
his soul, it was a long-lost key slotted into the lock that
opened his heart, it was a connection deeper and more
tangible than anything he had ever felt. And as he felt the
oncoming wave of his climax, as he worried about his
satisfaction preceding hers, her walls quickened around
him, and she let out a loud cry as her body undulated. Her
fading tremors rolled into his intensifying ones, every cell
and atom of his body shattering as his climax touched down
like a hurricane.

Morin
Her breathing was ragged as she floated back to earth and
as she emerged from her euphoric haze. But even though
the rest of the room was still slowly coming back into focus,
Mofe was crystal clear, his eyes on hers searching,
questioning as he also tried to catch his breath. But before
either of them could speak, the beep of the control panel on
the wall broke their silent exchange.
“The kids are home,” Morin said, pushing him away as she
jumped off the island, almost tripping as she adjusted her
underwear and pushed down her dress.
Not waiting for him to pull his trousers back up, she rushed
out of the kitchen, slamming the door shut behind her as
she rushed to the front door.
What the hell had she just done?

Mofe
He’d just about managed to get himself decent when the
chattering Michaela and Malachi walked into the kitchen.
“Dad, you’re early. You didn’t remember I had practice
today? Or that Mali had revision class?” Michaela asked as
she embraced him.
“I just got here, actually,” Mofe lied. “I guess I timed your
return perfectly.”
“Is that a Crust Alchemy bag?” an excited Malachi asked,
rushing to the bag where it lay on the floor, having gotten
shoved off the kitchen island in the heat of his parents’
passion.
“You can take that with you,” Morin’s voice came from
behind them. “You guys better get going. It’s late.”
Mofe looked up, wanting to catch her eye, wanting to
unpack what had just happened, but she kept hers averted,
not looking at him as she followed the children upstairs,
and not coming down with them when they were changed
and ready to leave.
But even though she’d chosen to avoid him, there was no
way he was going to pretend nothing had happened. There
had been a monumental shift between them and, if she was
honest, she’d felt it just as strongly as he had.

Morin
Morin remained in her bedroom long after the sound of
Mofe’s car and the gate sliding closed signaled their
departure. She wanted to beat herself for what happened,
for how she’d offered herself like some floozy to the man
who had shattered her heart and destroyed their marriage.
But the pleasure waves still coursing through her
cannibalized any shame or remorse she wanted to feel, the
head-to-toe tingle in her body too much of an endorphin for
regret to thrive. But wonderful though her body did feel, it
was nothing but a physical reaction to the man she had
once shared a life with. Nothing had changed between
them. While their physical attraction was clearly still there,
they were irretrievably broken.
And it would do them both good to remember that.

Mofe
The following weekend, Mofe walked into the garden party
where the celebration of the tenth birthday of Malachi’s
best friend, Zakari, was taking place. Having formed a
friendship with Zakari’s parents from when their sons met
in preschool, even though the children weren’t with him
that weekend, Mofe decided to stop by to drop a gift,
felicitate with the family…
And catch a glimpse of the woman he had spent the whole
week thinking about.
“It’s good to see you,” Audu, Zakari’s father, said as he
embraced Mofe in welcome.
“Thank you so much for this,” Hannatu, Zakari’s mother,
beamed as she received the large present in shiny black
and silver metallic wrapping.
As Mofe smiled and exchanged pleasantries with the
couple, his eyes roved the field, lighting up when he
spotted Michaela talking with Zakari’s older sisters,
Malachi engaged in a game of darts…
And literally bursting into flames when he spotted Morin
standing by the food table, in conversation with two
familiar mothers from their children’s school. As if feeling
his gaze, she looked up, saying nothing as their eyes held,
their sexual energy palpable despite the several feet that
separated them. She looked away as she continued her
conversation, but his eyes stayed on her, raking slowly
down her body, greedily taking in the sight of her arms and
legs exposed in the loose yellow romper she wore, her full
breasts and thighs apparent even with the generous give of
the outfit.
And he wanted nothing more than to rush over, grab her,
and have her.
Over and over and over again.
She exchanged parting embraces with the women she was
speaking with and, throwing the most of fleeting of glances
his way, turned around to leave. Mofe watched her walk
across the field, watched as she motioned to Zakari’s
parents that she would be returning later to pick up the
kids, watched as she walked out of the gates, and
immediately followed. He got outside as she was entering
her car, their eyes meeting as he got into his. Keeping a
reasonable distance, he tailed her from Victoria Island to
Lekki Phase One, increasing his speed as they got to the
estate until he was driving behind her. Any doubts he might
have had about her being aware he was tailing her were
dispelled when the gates to their house didn’t close behind
her, allowing him drive in. Exiting his car, he got to her as
she was opening the door, holding her from behind, his
hands roaming her body as he sprayed kisses on her ears
and neck, holding her close enough for her to feel just
exactly how his body was reacting to hers. She moaned and
threw her head back as his hands explored, placing hers
over his as they moved, guiding him but escalating his own
pleasure.

Morin
She pulled away from him to open the door, turning around
to face him as she backed into the house, every reason why
this was a bad idea shouted down by the parts of her that
wanted to be ravaged by him again. He walked, closing the
distance between them, his eyes never leaving hers.
Shutting the door behind him, they fell into each other’s
arms in a kiss that was slow, almost languid, a kiss sensual
enough to unfurl heat from the roots of her hair to the tips
of her toes, their tongues rolling and twining in a sensual
dance.
Taking him by the hand, she led him upstairs to the
bedroom that was all hers now but which they had once
shared. Once there, he loosened the shoulder ropes of her
romper just as she popped open the buttons of his shirt.
Before long, they were fully disrobed, their bodies fused
and riding as one force, one wave cresting and troughing,
desperately seeking, desperately giving as if trying to make
up for lost time, the intensity obliterating all other feeling,
numbing everything but the sensations arrowing through
her body that finally broke through in a loud scream as she
fell headlong into a wave of unmitigated pleasure that
shook her body long after his own release followed.
They lay beside each other as they tried to catch their
breath. When she turned to look at him, he was already
looking at her with fevered eyes, the look in them sated and
desirous at the same time. He wanted her again. And she
wanted him again. And falling into each other’s arms again,
they gave and took…again.
And again.
Not much was said. Not by words anyway. Their bodies did
all the talking, pouring out pent-up feelings their mouths
could not. It was almost 6pm when they finally got dressed
and left the house, Morin headed back to the party and
Mofe back home.
Both more sated than they had ever been.
But neither having a clue what the hell they were doing.

Mofe
Later that night, Mofe sat up in bed, replaying in his mind
everything that had happened that day. While the previous
Friday could have been blamed on rash spontaneity, that
day’s encounter had been anything but. From all indication,
Morin was just as hungry for him as he was for her. And, by
God, he was going to use it to make her realise that,
despite all that had happened between them, they were
meant to be together.
So he reached for his phone.

Morin
It was just sex.
That was the mantra Morin was repeating to herself as she
applied the toner and serums that made up her nighttime
routine. Yes, the sex had been great…better than great…
but that was all it was. And she was going to make sure it
didn’t happen again.
But when her phone vibrated from where it lay on her
dressing table, her breath hitched when she saw
notification of a text message from Mofe. At 11pm, it was
unlikely this was a message about Michaela or Malachi.
MOFE: You up?
She couldn’t keep a smile from forming on her face as she
got into bed, the same bed that still smelled like him.
MORIN: Not for much longer. I’m tired and just might
sleep in tomorrow.
MOFE: Not surprising, considering how you wore me
out today. I don’t remember you being this voracious.
She let out a bark of a laugh as she texted back.
MORIN: It was the other way around. You wore me
out!
She held her phone in her hand, her eyes keenly on the
screen waiting for a reply. Just when she thought no more
messages from him would be forthcoming, the ellipsis
message bubble popped up again.
MOFE: Today was wonderful. I’m yet to come down
from my high.
This prompted a smile from her, her heart singing and
wanting to echo his sentiment, her entire being wanting to
shout that it was wonderful to her, too. But she replied with
a wink and fire emoji instead.
MOFE: I better let you go to bed.
She hated the stab of disappointment she felt that their
flirty exchange was over but decided to respond in kind.
MORIN: Good night.
MOFE: What are you doing right now?
MORIN: We just said goodnight.
MOFE: No, YOU just said goodnight
She smiled, butterflies of every specie fluttering in her
stomach.
MOFE: Are you lying in bed?
MORIN: Yes.
MOFE: Can you do me one small itty-bitty favour?
MORIN: What’s the favour?
MOFE: Promise you’ll say yes.
She put the phone down as she giggled before picking it up
again to respond.
MORIN: I can’t say yes to a request I don’t know.
MOFE: Take a picture right now and send to me.
Her smile faded as she considered her oily face, fuchsia
pink polka dotted satin hair bonnet, and the Betty Boo
nightshirt she’d had for way too long. A visual of Keji,
beautiful and sexy in a silk and lace teddy and flawless
makeup, lying in bed with a come-hither look flashed
through her mind, and the thought of this being what Mofe
had grown accustomed to tempered her excitement.
Defiant, Morin raised her phone and took a selfie with her
mouth in a pout and her fingers in a peace sign.
His reply was swift.
MOFE: Beautiful.
Morin’s smile returned, as did the warmth in her chest she
was trying to deny.
MOFE: And that Betty Boo nightshirt! I remember it.
The reminder of their once shared life together dimmed her
smile, reminding her it was time to end their conversation.
MORIN: I have to go now. Good night.
MOFE: Good night, Morin. Sleep tight.
Setting her phone on the nightstand, she lay awake in the
dark for a long while after, her mind returning to their text
exchange and passionate afternoon despite everything she
tried. Forcing her eyes shut, she snuggled into the pillow
that carried his smell the strongest.

Book made for [email protected]

 CHAPTER FOURTEEN
JUST THE TWO OF US

Mofe
After only sleeping a few hours, he reached for his phone in
the darkness of the room, and went back to staring at
Morin’s picture like he’d done before falling asleep, the
familiarity of her nighttime oily, dewy face, the plumpness
of her bare pink lips in a pout, the nightshirt he’d peeled off
her many times in the past, and even the sheets he had lain
on only hours before, soothing and aching his heart at the
same time. Looking at the picture, he could smell the
products on her face, he could feel the silkiness of the satin
bonnet grazing his skin as it once had, he could hear the
ticking of the small clock she kept on the nightstand of her
side of the bed. Looking at the picture, he was right there
in the room with her, cuddled with her on the bed in a
spooning position the way they used to before things went
pear shaped. He stared at the picture, wishing he could be
teleported into it somehow, wishing the events of the last
two years hadn’t happened, wishing he could undo all the
hurt with the snap of a finger. But wishes weren’t horses
and, alas, he couldn’t be teleported there, the last two
years couldn’t be undone, he had hurt her, and it was going
to take a whole lot more than baked treats from Crust
Alchemy to make reparation for his actions.
As the sun rose, he couldn’t wait any longer to text her
again, desperate to keep this new and fragile line of
communication alive. But as he swiped open his texting
app, he wanted more than just reading words on a screen,
even if those words were typed by her. So even though it
wasn’t even 7am yet, even though they hardly
communicated any other way but text message, he tapped
the green dial button on his phone.
Desperate to hear her voice again.

Morin
After awaking several times in the night from the most of
vivid erotic dreams, dreams made even more intense by her
too recent encounter with its antagonist, she had just
drifted back to sleep when her phone rang from where it
lay on the pillow beside her. Reaching for it with the
intention of giving a telling off to whomever could be
calling so early in the morning, the reprimand fled her lips
and the sleep her eyes when she saw Mofe’s name on her
screen.
“Hello?” she answered, her sleep-infused voice wary.
“Did I wake you?” he asked. “I’m so sorry. Let me let you
sleep.”
“It’s fine,” she said, trying to sound impassive even though
her heart was now in a frenetic pound. “Is everything
okay?”
“Yes…no,” he answered. “I just…I wanted to hear your
voice. I barely slept last night. I couldn’t stop looking at
your picture.”
A part of her wanted to melt to butter upon hearing that. A
part of her wanted to levitate right off the bed and float to
the skies. But the part of her determined not to get carried
away prevailed.
“My picture?” she scoffed. “What’s so special about a silly
selfie?”
“Everything, Omorinsola,” he answered. “Looking at it
takes me back to when…”
“Don’t,” she cut in. “Don’t say it, Mofe. Let’s not talk about
any of that. Please.”
Because for as long as she could, she wanted to enjoy their
state of make belief in the bubble where he wasn’t the man
who had cheated on her and destroyed their marriage. She
wanted to enjoy him without any of the baggage that came
with their actual reality.

Mofe
She wasn’t ready to talk about their past, and he could
understand that. If stowing away his heartfelt apology
would make her comfortable enough to let him into her
world without just orbiting around it, he was ready to do
that.
“What are your plans for the day?” he asked, smiling so it
conveyed in his voice.
“Laze in bed, read, daydream…the usual,” she answered,
stretching. “With Michaela and Mali studying for their
exams, I’m free to do whatever I want.”
The visual of her limbs outstretched and chest pushed out
as she stretched awoke his body parts that were already
buzzing for her.
“You’ve always liked your own company,” he remarked,
trying to numb his aroused body because no good could
come from wanting her this badly so early in the morning.
“Not always. Other company is good sometimes,” she said.
His lips curved in a smile. “Other company like this
company?”
“So you still fish for compliments, Mofe?” she chuckled.

Morin
They were on the phone all morning, breaking when she
had to make breakfast for Michaela and Malachi, and
resuming later that night as they prepared for bed. In the
coming days and weeks as Malachi wrote the last of his
secondary school entry exams and Michaela, her final
exams of the academic session, speaking on the phone
became Morin and Mofe’s routine. Between the children’s
exams and Mofe making an impromptu trip to Dwight’s
cashew farm, the phone calls and text messages were their
only avenue to do what it was she was most comfortable
with; flirt with reckless abandon, flirt like their relationship
didn’t have lorryloads of baggage, flirt like it was 2009.

Mofe
Mofe returned to Lagos the day after the children finished
their exams and the day before they were to travel to Abuja
with his mother as they used to in summers past. Since his
father’s passing, his mother had taken to spending the
months of July and August with her twin sister, also
widowed, in Abuja. In the last few years, she had insisted
on going with the children, who, in turn, had also looked
forward to the six weeks of being pampered and fawned
over by not one but two grandmas. Since Mofe and Morin’s
separation, the children hadn’t accompanied their
grandmother for her trip, so they were excited about the
return to their annual tradition.
Having offered to drop them – the children and his mother
– at the airport, Mofe was bitterly disappointed when he
got to the house to pick the children up and Bimbo was
there with them instead of Morin. He’d counted down the
days while in Sapele, looking forward to seeing her again.
It being a Saturday morning, he’d taken it for granted she’d
be home. Adding to his disappointment was that she hadn’t
thought it important to wait to see him.
“Your mom is running errands?” he targeted the question
at Michaela, avoiding her aunt’s stern gaze behind her.
“She’s busy,” Bimbo answered anyway, the edge in her
voice present like it always was since it replaced their easy
one-time mutual affection.
“She’s recording,” Michaela answered, handing her travel
bag to Mofe.
“I thought she records on Thursdays.” It was out of Mofe’s
mouth before he could censor it and he threw an anxious
look Bimbo’s way, hoping she wouldn’t wonder why he
knew so much about his estranged wife’s calendar.
“Something about recording again because of poor audio
quality,” Michaela answered with an impatient huff. “Lets
go, dad. You know grandma hates it when we get to the
airport late.”
On Mofe’s way back from dropping the kids and his mother
at the airport, having waited until their flight was
announced before leaving, he dialed Morin from his car.
“I thought I’d see you today,” he said when the line
connected.
“I had to leave the house last minute. Aize and I had to
repeat the recording for this week’s podcast episode
because of some feedback issues with the audio.”
“Yeah, Michaela said.”
Silence followed with the unspoken question from Mofe
who was desperate for the chance to see her again, even if
it meant nothing but just feasting his eyes on her.
“How did it go in Sapele?”
Her question about what had taken him out of town caused
his shoulders to fall in his disappointment. Clearly, he had
been the only one of them pining.
“It went well. We were able to load double the number of
cargoes for shipment and I think the farm’s management
has finally gotten a hang of what they need to do to ensure
enough products are ready for export.”
“That’s good.”
“With the kids gone, I won’t have any need to come to the
house for a while,” he said, dangling the carrot he prayed
she would bite.
“I guess.”
“So I don’t get to see you for another six weeks,” he
pressed further.
“It appears so.”
As he sifted through his brain for whatever reason,
whatever excuse he could give for going to the house,
regardless, she spoke again.
“Do you want to come over?”
The question uncorked all the longing and yearning he had
struggled to bottle, shooting adrenalin through his veins.
“It’s the same code you used this morning,” she said, not
waiting for him to respond.
And then she disconnected the line.
But he needed no further prompting.
Being a Saturday afternoon, traffic headed to the estate
was heavy and the frustration the forty minutes added to
his usual commute almost made him park his car on the
expressway and run the distance, his fear that she would
have changed her mind by the time he got to the house
adding to his frustration. He eventually got to the estate at
a little past 4pm, entering the compound with the code he’d
received earlier in the morning. Tapping the knocker,
Morin opened the door almost immediately, like she, too,
had been anxiously waiting.
“Hi,” she said, her voice a little breathless.
He said nothing in response, his eyes drinking in the sight
that was her in a grey t-shirt and black track downs, a
nondescript outfit to the ordinary eye, but one that charged
his body to cracking point with the way it clung to the
bumps and dips of her body, hardening him to the point of
pain. Cupping her face, his lips took hers as he backed her
into the house, the soft kiss quickly flaring into something
needier, hungrier, greedier. They didn’t make it up the
stairs, barely falling into the living room as they disrobed
and attacked each other with a voracity to satisfy weeks…
years…of pent-up yearning and craving. He couldn’t get
enough of her as he kissed her, held her, lost himself inside
her, the give and take of their bodies obliterating any other
sensation. And after she had climaxed in a chorus of groans
and whimpers, as his own body came apart, it felt like his
heart was splitting at its seams.
Even though his body was sated, it wasn’t enough. He
wanted more than her body.
He wanted her heart.
Morin
“You should go,” she said as they lay in the afterglow of
what might have been the third, fourth, or fifth time of
them having sex. She had lost count.
“Hmmm,” he sounded in response from where he lay
behind her, the tight grip of his arm around her showing no
signs of loosening, the rumble of his voice reverberating
down her back.
She closed her eyes, tempted to drift off to sleep like he
already was, tempted to give in to the bliss she felt
ensconced in the circle of warm muscle that was his chest.
But falling asleep together would signal more intimacy not
just to him but to her brain as well. Intimacy would mean
them having to address issues she really didn’t want to, so
she pulled away from his hold and started feeling around
the darkened living room for her clothes.
“There’s no rush, babe,” Mofe protested from where he still
lay. “The kids aren’t here.”
“I have work to do,” Morin muttered, her back to him as
she slipped on her underwear and pulled her t-shirt over
her head, but her insides twisting at the sound of the term
of endearment they hadn’t used for each other in years,
long before the implosion of their marriage.
“It’s 10pm on a Saturday.”
She stepped into her track downs, not responding. From
the corner of her eye, she saw him get off the floor and had
to angle away her face so her peripheral vision wouldn’t
catch a glimpse of his magnificent body, chocolate
coloured, perfectly toned, and layered head to toe with
thick hair. As he dressed, she busied herself tidying the
chair cushions and throw pillows that had been displaced in
the heat of their passion, walking him to the door when he
was done. When she opened the door, she stepped aside to
let him exit but was taken by surprise when, rather than
walk out, he tipped up her chin and kissed her, the velvety
strokes of his tongue making her want to pull him back into
the house.
“Tomorrow?” he asked as he pulled away, a pleasure drunk
blur to his gaze.
She nodded, her body controlling the motion of her head
and not the brain it encased. There was nothing wrong with
them continuing to have meaningless sex. As long as he
didn’t sleep over, as long as they didn’t take things beyond
casual, they were fine.

And that began their pattern. He came every day after

work, and as early as 9am on weekends, and they had brain
numbing sex, their mutual desire ferocious beasts that
couldn’t be satiated. But no matter how late it got, she was
always sure to send him home. Even though she convinced
herself it was to keep her heart out of their arrangement,
as the days and weeks progressed, it became harder to
convince herself that it hadn’t preceded even her body into
whatever this was that they were doing.

Mofe
He tried to ignore the gentle nudge as he slept, unwilling to
detach himself from his position on the soft Egyptian cotton
sheets, with his head nuzzled at the base of Morin’s neck
and her soft, smooth body spooned against his, their bodies
a relaxed tangle of limbs. Truth was he could remain in that
position forever.
“Mofe, you have to go. It’s almost midnight,” she said,
tapping his arm but making no move to break away from
his hold.
“Haven’t you missed this?” he asked, snuggling even
closer. “Haven’t you missed us lying in bed this way?”
She stiffened at his question but said nothing in response.
Taking advantage of her delayed reaction, he pulled her
even closer, inhaling the glorious scent that was all her,
feeling as her body gradually relaxed until she was liquid in
his arms again. He trailed kisses on her neck and
shoulders, soft kisses with no destination, tender kisses
that spoke into her skin the words she didn’t want to hear
from his mouth. Being apart from her had been a physical
ache, a bereavement, and now that he had her, he was
never going to let her go.
Sunrays peeking into the room through the blinds awoke
him. From her even, shallow breathing, Morin was still
asleep. He was afraid to move, lest he wake her, cautious of
her hesitation about his sleeping over in the first place. But
her soft fingers wove through his, not only indicating she
was also awake but that she, too, was in no hurry to move
from their position. They lay there in silence, neither of
them speaking, the emotions he felt thick and intense, a
layered parfait of everything he’d felt in the past and
everything he was feeling now, the connection he felt to her
deep and tangible, no longer just theoretical but biological.
This was where his soul was at rest…and he hated himself
for ever forgetting that.
A little over an hour later, as they stood by the door after
she’d finally gotten around to asking him to leave, their
gazes held, the million and one things that were left to be
said floating in the space between them. He knew he
couldn’t go much longer without talking about the mistake
he’d made that had cost them two years and laying his
heart before her in the most profound of penitence. But, for
now, he was going to respect her wishes.
“See you later,” he said, leaning forward to plant a light
kiss on her forehead, before turning around and leaving
before he was no longer able to will his feet to move,
determined it would only be a matter of time before he
returned home.
For good.

Book made for [email protected]

 CHAPTER FIFTEEN
DEEP

Morin
MORIN: I’m working late tonight.
She chewed the insides of her mouth as she tapped the
send button, the third night in a row that she was bailing
on Mofe. His reply was swift.
MOFE: Again?
MORIN: Yeah, between work and producing two
episodes of the podcast this week, it’s been very busy.
MOFE: That Aize guy better be paying you good
money for the work you’re putting in.
She scoffed. Without any sponsors, her work for Aize’s
podcast was still pro bono.
MOFE: I can wait, you know that right? I can come
over no matter how late you get home.
MORIN: I’ll be too tired. Maybe tomorrow.
MOFE: That was what you said yesterday…and the day
before.
Exhaling, she turned her phone face down, her eyes on the
idling screen of her laptop but seeing none of the words of
the pitch deck she was reviewing. Letting him sleep over on
Saturday night was a mistake. Falling asleep in his arms
was a mistake.
But at the time, it had felt like anything but a mistake.
“Haven’t you missed this? Haven’t you missed us lying in
bed this way?”
She’d meant to send him home the moment he said those
words, but the snug feel of his arms around her, the
pounding of his heart behind her, the featherlight kisses all
over her, had rendered her immobile. And in her stillness,
the muffled screaming from the chambers of her heart
finally overpowered the barking commands from her brain.
Her heart wanted him to hold her, wanted him to lie with
her.
Wanted him to love her.
She’d opened her eyes to a warmth that radiated from her
heart and not between her legs, his breath ghosting her
skin the reminder of everything she didn’t want to
remember, retelling the magical love story they had once
been. Of their own accord, her fingers had snaked through
his, wanting to touch him, wanting to feel him, wanting the
oneness that came from not knowing where one ended and
the other began. Like a slow-moving creature, the deep,
bottomless affection she’d once felt for him slithered
through her veins, more potent, more unnerving than ever.
Except it was more than just affection. It was love.
She was still in love with him.
Long after he’d left, she sat in her bedroom, jarred by this
reality. After hating him so long, being in love with him was
not an option. Not after how he’d disseminated her heart
once before. So she’d decided to end whatever it was they
thought they were doing, whatever it was that had
somehow morphed from only satisfying a physical itch to…
to something more.
And more was something she could not afford to feel.

Mofe
The next day, Mofe didn’t bother texting to ask if he could
come over. No, this time, he decided to do what he should
have done all week; go over to wait for her.
So he did, pulling up in front of their house at a few
minutes before 8pm, and leaning on his car in wait. It was a
long wait, with 8pm soon becoming 9pm. But he waited
patiently, determined not to leave without seeing her. At a
few minutes before 10pm, just when he’d started to wonder
if she was coming back home that night, her black Audi Q7
approached. His eyes were trained on her as she drove,
noting the surprise on her face when she saw him.
“What are you doing here?” she asked as the driver’s side
window slid down.
“It’s the mountain coming to Mohammed,” he answered, a
slight smile twisting his lips as he continued to study her
face, wanting to see if she really wanted him to go…or if his
instincts about her also desirous of him were accurate.
“You shouldn’t have come. It’s late.”
“I wanted to see you. I promise I won’t stay long. Just one
hour to talk. Thirty minutes, tops.”
It was her turn to smile. “Just talk?”
He chuckled as he placed his right hand over the left part
of his chest. “Promise.”
The smile still on her face, the window slid back up as the
gate opened. He got into his car, started it, and drove in
behind her, grateful for even if only a few minutes in her
company.
“So you really were working late,” he remarked as he took
in her formal attire of a black silk pussycat bow blouse
tucked into a grey pleated skirt.
“You thought I was lying?” she asked as she walked past
him to open the door.
“Maybe stretching the truth a little,” he answered,
following her inside.
He walked behind her into the living room, watching with
nostalgia as she kicked off her shoes and released her
braids from their tight bun.
“Wine?” she asked, walking to the stack of bottles at the
other end of the room that were supposed to be more
aesthetic than for actual consumption.
“Since when did you start drinking after work?” his smile
broadened as he observed her.
“Since this evening,” she said, uncorking a bottle of
Chardonnay and pouring it into two wine glasses from a
row also stacked. “I’m so stressed, this is the only thing
that will do tonight.” Then holding his eyes with a glint in
hers, she smiled coyly. “And also because you won’t try to
touch me if I’m too drunk.”
He laughed, a deep belly chortle like none he’d had in over
two years.
“Smart,” he said, grinning.
“It’s 11pm, Mofe,” she remarked as they sat side by side on
the floor, with their glasses of wine. “Don’t you have other
people to entertain you on a Thursday night?”
“Nobody I’d rather be with.”
She smiled taking another sip. “A few months ago, if
anyone had told me I’d be sitting with you, sharing a bottle
of wine, I wouldn’t have believed it.”
It was at the tip of his tongue to remind her they had done
a whole lot more than drink wine in the past few weeks.
“Bimbo would lose her mind if she saw us now,” Morin
chuckled. “She would completely lose her shit if she saw
me entertaining you like this.”
“And if she knew we were sleeping together?” Mofe was
keen to know.
Morin’s eyes rose to his face, her smile dimming a fraction.
“She’d call me a fool.”
Mofe nodded in painful acceptance, accepting why anyone
would consider Morin stupid for being in his company after
all that had happened.
“Morin…”
She raised her hand and shook her head. “You know the
rules, Mofe. No serious talk, please!”
He sighed in his rising exasperation, desperate to address
the poorly concealed elephant in the room, an elephant that
had tried to stay invisible, but which was as evident as a
neon sign.
“Do you ever wish you could go back in time to change
everything that happened?” he asked, regardless. “I’d pay
good money to rewind the clock two years and fix the awful
mess I made.”

Morin
His declaration sat in the space between them, nothing
different from what he’d already been silently implying in
the last four weeks of their sexual dalliance but hitting
differently this time.
“I wish we hadn’t fought as much,” she said, her eyes
affixed on the bare wall before them, a wall from which
once hung their wedding portrait. “Sometimes I think about
the ugly words we said to each other, and I wish we’d been
different.” She turned to look at him. “I wish I’d been
different. I wish she…”
She wished she hadn’t come back into their lives.
Pursing her lips, Morin looked away, not about to speak
Keji’s name.
“I wish I’d shown you I loved you more,” Mofe said. “I wish
I’d been more vocal, more expressive.”
“And I wish I’d been less vocal and less expressive,” Morin
laughed, turning back to him.
“Well, I guess there are different types of expressive,” he
chuckled in response.
Their eyes held as they laughed, and as their laughter
faded, the intensity of his gaze unleashed every emotion
she had tried to cage, allowing them race through her body
ungoverned, an anarchy of love, longing, and lust swelling
her heart big enough to truncate her breath.
“This isn’t a good idea, Mofe,” she said, her voice no louder
than a whisper. “You and I, this time we’re spending
together isn’t a good idea. We need to stop before we
can’t.”

Mofe
“Stop before we can’t?” he repeated. “It’s too late for me,
Morin. I’m already in too deep.”
Her eyes widened a fraction before she schooled her face
back to an unreadable expression, but not before he
noticed the throbbing pulse in her neck, the cracks in her
armor of indifference widening. He wanted to reach for
her, wanted to put his arm around her to pull her closer,
wanted to kiss her to show her just how much he wanted
her. But he knew it was time to try something different.
That she was still physically attracted to him wasn’t in
doubt. He had her body, but he wanted her heart.
“Let me cook for you tomorrow,” he said. “You haven’t
visited my new place.”
“I didn’t visit your old place, either,” she scoffed.
“Well, I’d like to fix that,” he prodded. “Let me cook you
dinner tomorrow.”
She looked away again, tugging at her bottom lip with her
teeth, her mind clearly in overdrive. After what felt like
eternity, but which was only a few seconds, she returned
her gaze to him and nodded.
“Okay. I’ll let you cook me dinner. I’ll look for the text you
sent a few months ago with the address…” she finally
answered.
“No, Morin,” he cut in. “I’ll pick you up. I want to take you
there myself.”
He expected her to protest but instead she nodded.
“Okay.”

Morin
Even though she had been seeing him pretty much every
day and been intimate with him for most of that time, the
sight of Mofe at her door the next day made her feel like a
schoolgirl set to go on her first date. In a simple black shirt
over a pair of jeans, he was more casually dressed than he
typically was, so why then was an entire herd of butterflies
flying in a rampage in her chest and stomach? Why then
did it feel like her lungs were operating at half capacity,
unable to draw full breath?
“You look beautiful,” he said.
“Thank you,” she answered, absentmindedly running a
hand down the shirt dress she’d chosen, hoping the belt
she’d added last minute had elevated the outfit enough for
whatever he had planned.
He stretched his hand and when she placed hers in it, the
feel of his firm palm covering hers sent hot and cold
sensations zipping down her spine. Over the last few
weeks, there was no part of her body he hadn’t explored
but the simple act of holding his hand made her lose sense
of every other thing around her – the evening breeze on her
face, the cinch of the belt at her waist, and the slight pinch
of heels higher than what she ordinarily wore. And when he
released her hand to guide her into the passenger seat of
his car, she felt bereft of it.
“What did you do with your old car?” she asked when
seated in the BMW X7 that had replaced his Lexus SUV.
“I sold it when I needed to send samples of the nuts to the
Swiss chocolate guys. Dwight wasn’t convinced at the time,
so I had to pay for the cargo myself.”
Morin nodded as she assimilated the information, trying
not to notice how much headier his smell – the woody
ginger notes of his perfume and the musky undertone that
was all his – was in the confine of the car. Friday night
traffic on the link bridge was heavy, so it took forty minutes
to make the drive to his house.
“Nice,” she remarked as he led her through the front door
when they got there. “You always did like black.”
With its stark white walls, black and white vinyl floor
treatment, and black leather sofas, the living room couldn’t
be more different from the rustic earthy vibe of the home
they’d once shared. As she sat on the leather sofa, the
dichotomy of old and new – an old love in a completely new
place - was both unnerving and exciting.
“I spent all day cooking for you,” Mofe called from where
he now stood in the kitchen visible from where she sat with
the open-plan layout of the space.
She leaned back in the sofa, food the last thing on her mind
as she watched him open the oven. Seeing him move
around in his kitchen was bringing back memories of when
he made breakfast on Saturday mornings as had once been
their ritual. And, with the combination of that reminder and
watching him in his new habitat, he had never looked
sexier to her.
“Morin?”
She started when she realised he’d said something.
“Sorry, I missed that.”
“Are you ready for the starter?” he repeated. “I made
spring rolls with the rice paper wraps you like.”
“Did you now?” Morin asked, getting up and walking across
the room to him. “Tell me what else you cooked.”
“There’s a choice of pasta or rice with beef chili.”
It was another favourite of hers and the thought he had put
into the menu intensified her yearning for him.
“Yum,” she said, when she reached him. “And dessert?”
“Let’s not push it,” he chuckled, looking up at her. “As if I
know how to bake.”
“Who said anything about baking?” she asked, putting her
arms around his neck and draping her leg around his. “And
who says we can’t have dessert first?”
His gaze intensified as realisation set in, and he shook his
head. “That’s not why I brought you here, Morin. I brought
you here to cook for you and spend quality time.”
A smile curved her lips as she looked at him, waiting to see
if he was serious, but when he didn’t even as much as crack
a smile, she realised he was. Stepping away, she started
walking back to the living area.
“Can I connect my phone to your speakers?” she asked.
“What are you doing, Morin?”
Still smiling, she located the speakers and connected her
phone via Bluetooth. When Silk’s Freak Me started playing,
she turned to look at him, satisfied by the darkening of the
gaze. Once upon a time, this had been the song they made
love to, the song to which she had performed many a strip
tease before she lost the confidence to.
“Omorinsola.”
Without breaking gaze, she snapped off her belt and
popped open her top button, then the one after, and then
the one after that.

Mofe
As he watched her unbutton her dress, the response of his
body to the flash of the black lace of her bra on her honey-
coloured skin was secondary to the squeeze in his chest
from the significance of the song, and of the striptease that
had once been the precursor to their nights of passion until
those had stopped. It was the reminder of what he once
had, a reminder of what they once were.
And he wanted more.
She smiled as he walked to her, her buttons now fully
undone, leaving her dress open. With two shrugs of her
shoulders, the dress slid of her body and dropped to floor.
Clad only in her underwear, she took a step forward to
close the gap between them, placing her hands on his waist
as she moved her hips against his. Even though he was now
painfully aroused, he wasn’t about to continue this charade
of pretending whatever they were doing was enough for
him.
“Stop it,” he said, his voice part whisper, part growl.
“Why stop when it’s what we both want?” she asked,
raising her hands up to undo the buttons of his shirt.
His hands covered hers, halting her mission. “Stop, Morin.
This isn’t a game for me. All these weeks, I’ve played along
and acted like I’m cool with only sex, but I’m not. I want
more.”
Her hands stilled in his as she looked up at him.
“I don’t want to fuck you,” he said. “I want to make love to
you, Omorinsola.”

Morin
And her insides turned to mush.
Their eyes held and she knew that, deep inside, she wanted
more too.
He tipped up her chin, his lips a gentle stroke against hers,
slow, unhurried, tracing the outline of her mouth from the
fullness of her bottom lip to the dip of her Cupid’s bow, his
tongue lightly touching, lightly grazing. The kiss deepened,
softer and more tender than anything they had shared in
the past weeks, a kiss that was more than urges and
instinct, a kiss that was more a connection of hearts than
bodies, a kiss that with every exchanged breath and swipe
of their tongues punctuated their past from this present, a
kiss that let them both know nothing would be the same
after it.
As the kiss slowly ignited, he lifted her off her feet and she
straddled him, her hands interlocked behind his neck, their
mouths not parting as he carried her with little effort
across the room and up the stairs, kicking open a door at
the end of the hallway. Laying her on the bed, he did
nothing but look at her for the first few seconds, his gaze
sweeping over her body, greedy and possessive. Then he
reached beneath her to unhitch her bra and then slid her
lace panties off her. Under his scrutiny, a part of her brain
screamed, pleading with her to cover her rounded stomach
and hide her dimpled thighs. But the hunger in his eyes,
raw and untamed, was anything but judgmental. Far from
it.
As their naked bodies aligned, there was a tenderness to
the way they touched, the way they explored, the way they
caressed that hadn’t been there before. This time their eyes
held, this time their hearts spoke, this time their souls
connected through skin, bone, and muscle. With the curves
of their bodies melted together, they moved slowly, heavily,
intentionally, their bodies communing, their bodies
confessing. And as powerful cascades of pleasure crashed
over them, as she exploded in a climax so intense it left her
weightless, as they held each other in the afterglow
breathless, she knew she’d been lying to herself. She knew
she could never be satisfied with only a physical
relationship with him.
Because she still loved him.

Mofe
“Your beard is fuller and lengthier now,” she said as they
lay in his bed as the sun began its ascent at dawn and as
her fingers ran through the soft mass of hair on his face.
“Why?”
“I grew it back when I returned to Nigeria after being clean
shaven while I was away, and I decided to keep it fuller.
You don’t like it?”
“I love it,” she answered.
Her hand trailed from his beard to his neck to his equally
maned chest, before grabbing his abdominal oblique
muscle.
“And you got rid of all the flesh here,” she said, her hand
grabbing more of the lean muscle on his stomach.
He smiled, remembering the pouch of flesh that had slowly
and silently grown around his belly area over the years, a
pouch he’d very intentionally lost.
“I decided I didn’t want to be walking around like a middle-
aged man,” he chuckled.
“Well, you are almost forty.”
“Not until next year, and you’re a month behind me, lest
you forget,” he chuckled, trailing circles on her shoulder.
“But if you want me to grow the belly back, I’ll ditch my
gym membership in a heartbeat.”
“No, I like this,” she giggled.
“Is that where the tour ends?” he asked as her hands
moved back up his chest.
“I think the tour bus has made enough trips down south for
today,” she laughed.
Silence followed when their laughter ebbed, and the
intensity of his emotions as he held her in his arms was
stronger than anything he could continue to diminish,
anything he could continue to minimize just because she
asked. As they breathed in syncopation, the rising and
falling of their chests in rhythm, it was clear that things
were different.
“I love you, Morin,” he said, breaking their congenial
silence. “I’m desperately in love with you and I want what
we had back. I want to come back home. I want us to be a
family again.”
She didn’t answer, her hand going still on his chest. He
waited, his hand also immobile on her, too afraid to move it
lest she snap and retreat even further than she already
was, too afraid to say any more lest she decide not to give
him even this, even if this was only a fraction of what it was
he really wanted.
“Have you been with anyone else?” she asked. “Apart
from…from her, have you been with anyone else since?”
He was shaking his head before she even finished speaking.
“Not one person. I’ve been back over a year and haven’t
slept with anyone else.” His brows furrowed. “Have you?”
She scoffed and looked up at him with a raised brow.
“Not even that Aize guy who’s just using the podcast as an
excuse to get close to you?” he asked, trying not to smile at
the indignant expression on her face.
“You know the answer to that question,” she answered.
More silence followed and just as he was about to dial the
conversation back to his earlier declaration, she finally
spoke again.
“Did she ever talk about me?”
He contemplated her question, pondering the wisdom in
telling her how deftly Keji had refrained from discussing
her, how the first time she’d brought her up had been on
their mothers’ shared birthday, how hearing him speak her
name and confess the feelings that still lingered had been
what finally pushed her over the edge.
“No,” he answered instead, deciding to err on the side of
caution. “Not after we…not after I went with her to
Geneva.” At least that much was mostly true.
More silence followed before she spoke again.
“Why did you do it?”
Finally, it was there. Even though he had spent so long
trying to have this conversation with her, now that she’d
given him the opening, he was momentarily tongue-tied. As
tempting as it was to glaze over what had happened, if they
were to truly move past it, the truth was the only option.
No matter how ugly it was.
“I felt unseen by you,” he hesitated before continuing. “She
looked at me like I was all that mattered.”

Morin
A part of her wanted to flare up in self-defense, a part of
her wanted to attack him for his admission, but the self-
awareness spreading through the other parts of her
restrained her.
“We did and said very ugly things to each other,” she said,
remembering all their arguments and the verbal daggers
they had both thrown in the latter part of their marriage.
“It’s no excuse for what I did,” he said. “I regretted it the
moment it happened. I regret not fighting harder for your
forgiveness. I regret going back to her. I regret leaving the
country with her. I regret all of it, Morin, and I would go
back in time to erase it all if I could.”
His words formed a lump in her throat, and she looked up
at him through the sheen of tears forming in her eyes.
Their eyes held, his also glassy from his own emotions and
she knew she also didn’t want to ever lose this again. She
never wanted to be without him again.
“Let’s start from the beginning,” he said, a tear rolling
down his face. “Please, Morin. It’s been two years. Let me
come back home.”
“And what happens to this fancy new place?” she asked,
smiling even as her vision blurred with more tears.
“I’ll sell it in a heartbeat!” he chuckled. “I’ll sell it so fast,
my realtor won’t know what hit him.”
She laughed along with him but the other core factor in
their equation made her laughter fade. This wasn’t just
about them. They had their kids to consider.
“Let’s not rush this, Mofe,” she said. “Let’s be sure this is
what we want before rushing into it headlong.”
“I’ve never been surer of anything in my life, Morin. If it’s
the kids you’re worried about, you and I know how happy
and excited they’d be if we get back together.”
“I know they will, but we need to be sure,” she maintained.
“They’re back next week. We don’t have to immediately
shove it in their face. Let’s just take things slow for a while,
that’s all I ask.”
“Taking it slow doesn’t mean us not seeing each other, does
it?”
The mere thought was enough to make her heart sink.
“No,” she answered, smiling. “We just need to continue
being…creative about it until we’re sure.”
A slow smile curved his own lips. “I can do creative.”
And as he proceeded to show her just how creative he
could be, as they lost themselves to the intense passion
that, rather than ebb, was strengthening with every union
of their bodies and linkage of their hearts, she was grateful
for what they had been blessed with.
A new beginning.

Book made for [email protected]

 CHAPTER SIXTEEN
NOTHING LIKE THIS

AUGUST 2021 - JANUARY 2022

Mofe
As it was, creative turned out to be their turning point.
With Morin spending the last days before the children’s
return at his place, leaving for and returning from work
from there, with the walls that had bordered her heart now
toppled to the ground, with the tender moments she now
opened herself to share with him - the deep conversations,
the quiet cuddles, the wordless communication with just
their eyes – Mofe was more than happy with creative. And
when their kids returned to Lagos and Morin had to go
back home, even though their time together was truncated,
even though they had to contend with phone conversations
and stolen moments when the kids were away at school or
busy with extracurricular activities, Mofe was more content
than when he only had access to her body and nothing else.
Now, he knew he had her heart, he knew their souls had
fused back together, he knew the worst was over and it
would only be a matter of time before they made things
official and moved back in together.
“Let’s wait till Christmas,” Morin said, every time he
pressed. “Malachi just moved over to St. Clara’s secondary
school. Let’s not distract him while he settles.”
Mofe knew her hesitation was borne more from her
wanting to be more certain about them than not wanting to
distract their children, but he was happy to go along with
whatever was comfortable for her. Christmas was only
three months away. He could wait three months.
He'd already waited almost three years.

Morin
MOFE: Did you know about this?
Morin smiled at the picture attached to his message, a
picture of Ogugua, their high school head girl, holding
hands with late Omoruyi’s younger brother, Olumese, at a
gala hosted by the Abia State Government in honour of
Nonso’s contributions to his home state. Having already
seen pictures from this event on the Malomo High Alumni
Instagram page, and read comments from their classmates,
Morin already knew about the unlikely pairing between
their former head girl and the much younger man. But if
the way Olumese looked at Ogugua was anything to go by,
Ogugua’s heart was in good hands.
MORIN: Yes. They look so cute together. What’s he
like, Omoruyi’s brother? Last I saw him was at our
graduation when he came with their parents.
MOFE: He’s a great guy. He held everything down for
Eva at the funeral. Good head on his shoulders, too.
MORIN: I’m glad. They look happy.
MOFE: If O.G. can be with a guy ten years younger,
and Bioye can be married to our former teacher, then
we have nothing to worry about. Us getting back
together is child’s play compared to them.
Morin chuckled as she tapped a reply.
MORIN: That could be argued.
“Earth to Morin,” came Aize’s voice from where he sat by
his microphone. “It wouldn’t be a bad idea for you to pay
attention.”
“Sorry,” she said with a contrite smile as she sent Mofe
another message.
MORIN: Gotta go. Episode’s about to record.
MOFE: Will you swing by on your way home?
She bit her lip as she smiled in contemplation. She could
spare a few minutes before Bimbo had to leave the kids.
MORIN: Briefly. Save me a bite of whatever you’re
having for dinner.
MOFE: Oh, there will be bites for sure. Not sure about
the food, though.
Morin laughed as she tapped what she hoped was her final
message.
MORIN: BYE!!!
Setting her phone down, she smiled again as she looked up
at Aize, whose brows were furrowed as he spoke to their
sound engineer, his gaze still on her. Putting on her
headphones, she flipped through the questions they were to
tackle during that recording for an episode on maintaining
an optimal work-life balance while progressing with one’s
career. She zoned in and out as Aize droned on with his
usual monologue about what he got up to during the week
outside of work, which wouldn’t have been a bad idea if it
was more than going to the gym and tinkering around his
house with DIY projects. It was the same old update every
week, delivered in his mostly monotonic voice, the British
inflections in his accent the only uplift to an otherwise flat
opening. Luckily, his work, health, and DIY hacks were
enough to keep people listening and their downloads
growing.
“The next question is from Drummer Girl from Ebute
Metta,” Aize said, reading one of the selected questions for
that week’s recording. “’Hello, Aize. I want to say a big
thank you for your hack on unclogging blocked drains with
coffee. As a single girl living alone, you don’t know how
much that helped. Thank you. I also want to hear more
from your lovely producer, Lady M. You two make such a
lovely couple and I can’t wait for the official announcement.
Wink, wink.’” Aize chuckled into the microphone. “It’s not
an emoji. She actually did write ‘wink, wink’.”
But Morin wasn’t laughing, a frown on her face as she
flipped through the messages planned for the episode.
After being featured on a past episode that focused on
juggling motherhood and a career, their inbox had been
overflowing with messages from listeners ‘shipping’ them,
claiming they – her and Aize – had great chemistry. Having
been coaxed into the episode in the first place, the glass of
wine she’d taken beforehand had relaxed her a bit too
much, making her chattier and gigglier than she typically
was, something that had erroneously been interpreted as
chemistry. But that aside, what she didn’t understand was
how that message had made it to Aize’s table when she had
weeded it, and others like it, from the questions to be
tackled for that episode.
“No official announcement, Drummer Girl,” Aize spoke into
his mic. “But watch this space.”
Morin raised her hands in exasperation as Aize raised his
eyes to her. Watch this space?! He knew better than to
encourage them. And after the recording was done, she
told him just that.
“Don’t encourage them, Aize.”
“No harm dangling a little carrot,” he laughed. “If it keeps
them coming back, why not give them something to wonder
about.”
“And how did that letter make it to the selected pile? I
specifically remove letters from ‘shippers’ and you know
this.”
Aize shrugged. “It was the only letter that mentioned the
coffee sink drain hack. Besides, why shouldn’t we read
letters from ‘shippers’? If it makes them excited, I don’t see
why we can’t tease them. As a matter of fact, I was going to
ask you to reconsider your decision not to record another
episode with me…”
“Hard no, Aize,” Morin was shaking her head and
answering even before he finished talking. “I already told
you that. Look what we’re still dealing with after that one
episode.”
“An episode that’s our highest rated so far? With quadruple
the number of our other downloads? That episode?”
She sighed. In truth, their co-hosted episode was their most
popular one, but it didn’t make it any more appealing for
her.
He raised a brow. “It’s not like there’s anyone who would
complain, is there?”
She didn’t answer, instead peeling off her headphones.
“You never told me how it went with the divorce lawyer I
recommended,” he prodded. “How’s that going? Did you
file? Did your ex respond?”
The vibration of her phone was a welcome distraction, and
she reached for it, smiling at a salivating emoji from Mofe.
Not bothering with a reply since she was already headed to
him, she dropped the phone in her bag and slung it over
her shoulder.
“You’ve been doing a lot of that lately,” Aize said, keen eyes
still on her. “Smiling at your phone.”
“I have a life, Aize,” she said, patting his arm as she walked
by him. “And you should, too. It will make for a more
interesting opening monologue, that’s for sure.”
“It wouldn’t have anything to do with your ex, would it?”
Aize asked. “I saw him drop you off at work last week.
You’re not considering taking him back after what he did,
are you?”
Sighing, Morin regretted the night she’d broken down and
confided in him about the details of her separation from her
husband. It would have been one less person to judge her
for what was coming.
“Are you, ‘Morinsola? For the love of God, I hope not!”
“Don’t worry about me, Aize,” she smiled at him as she
walked out of the glass doors. “I can take care of myself.”
Walking to her car, she knew she was going to have many
more of such discussions when her reconciliation with Mofe
came out in the open. But she didn’t care. She was happy.
Happy enough to push back the reminders of his betrayal
with Keji when they tried to emerge from where she had
buried them after deciding to love Mofe again with no holds
barred.
All that was in the past. Now, the future was all that
mattered.

Mofe
Two weeks before Christmas, they were invited to Saint
Clara’s annual gala for parents. Mofe hadn’t attended the
last two but, when the email invitation dropped, he knew
nothing would keep him from this year’s.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to pick you up?” he asked
as he and Morin talked on the phone as he knotted his tie,
the phone on speaker. “It’s a party for parents so we won’t
have to explain anything to the kids.”
“We said Christmas, Mofe. Why so impatient?” Morin
giggled in response.
He smiled, the sound of her laughter warming him from the
inside out as it always did.
“Turn on your camera so I can see what you’re wearing,”
he said, lifting the phone.
“I’m still doing my makeup. I’m not dressed yet.”
A slow smile curved his lips. “All the more reason why you
should turn on your camera.”
“Pervert!”
“That’s why you love me,” he grinned, already counting the
seconds to when he would behold the woman he loved with
every fiber of his being.
“If I don’t get off the phone, I’ll never get ready,” she said.
“See you there?”
“I miss you already.”
Boy, did she bring out the sappiness in him or what.

A few hours later, Mofe was stood in the packed hall, gaily
decorated with green, red, and gold garlands, fairy lights,
and animated parents in the red and gold colour theme for
the party. As he nursed a glass of champagne and
exchanged greetings with teachers and parents, his eyes
stayed on the door in anticipation of his wife’s arrival. And
when she finally emerged over an hour later, the glorious
vision that she was in a floaty red chiffon dress with long
transparent sleeves and a neckline that plunged to her
cleavage was well worth it. He watched as she scanned the
room and as her eyes lit up when she saw him. He saw the
same excitement in her eyes, the excitement he felt over
seeing her even if they’d stolen thirty minutes the previous
morning when the children went to school for the last day
of the school term. He smiled as he walked to her, just as
she smiled as she walked to him.
“Hello, Mr. Thompson,” she said when they were standing
before each other.
“Hello, Mrs. Thompson,” he said, loving the taste of that
address in his mouth, appreciating it now more than he had
in the ten years he took it for granted.
“You look very dapper,” she said, smiling as she brushed off
lint from his jacket. “I love the tie.”
“Red and gold, like they asked,” he grinned. “And you, Mrs.
Thompson, are too stunning for words!”
She looked around. “Not so loud, Mofe. We don’t want any
of the parents overhearing and telling their kids before we
tell Michaela and Mali ourselves.”
He nodded in perfect understanding, still smiling. But his
smile waned as their eyes held, falling for her a little bit
more with every blink of her long lashes and movement of
her lips, their intimacy swirling so thick around them, he
could taste it. Everything else faded, the world on pause
and all other sights and sound erased, until it was just the
two of them. This was the woman who anchored his soul,
the woman his entire world began and ended with. No, that
wasn’t true. His world didn’t just begin and end with her.
She was his world.
“Can I at least hold your hand?” he asked, a smile playing
on his lips as he extended his hand.
She smiled, not replying with words as she placed her hand
in his, but her dancing eyes doing all the talking for her.
It took everything to keep from raising her hand to his
mouth, the way he wanted to. Instead, he covered it with
his, not releasing it as the evening progressed and they
drank and mingled with other parents, not wanting to
release it even after walking her to her car.
Christmas couldn’t come soon enough.

Morin
On Christmas morning, Mofe drove to the house before the
children woke up and, seated around the dining table as
they dined on buttermilk biscuits and candied bacon as had
always been their Christmas tradition, they broke the news
to Michaela and Malachi.
“Your dad and I have decided to…” Morin began, smiling as
she held Mofe’s eyes across the table. “We’ve decided to…”
“Get back together?” Michaela cut in, her eyes wide in
anticipation and a broad smile across her face.
“Yes, get back together,” Mofe answered, smiling and his
eyes still on Morin’s.
“Duh, of course. You said you weren’t getting a divorce,
remember?” Malachi chimed, rolling his eyes as if
wondering what the big deal was.
Morin’s smile waned as she looked at her son, wondering
how she would have told him the news if she and Mofe had
gone along with the divorce.
“Are you moving back here? Or are we moving to your
house?” Michaela asked, her voice an excited squeal and
her body wanting to shoot right out of her chair. “Mom, can
we please move to his house? Please, please, please?”
Morin looked across at Mofe again. It wasn’t something
they had discussed in detail yet.
“We haven’t quite decided, baby,” she said to Michaela.
“Let’s take a few weeks to ease back into things and we’ll
decide by the time you’re home for the holidays at Easter,
okay?”
With Malachi drafted into the school’s track team, and
following passioned pleas from his new coach and the
school’s sports director, Morin and Mofe had made the
decision to move both Malachi and Michaela to the school’s
boarding campus in Lakowe.
“Easter?” Mofe asked her when they were alone, the kids
now busying themselves with their presents; Michaela
reading her Girl (In Real Life) novel and Malachi on his
PS5.
“We need to take things slow, Mofe,” Morin said as she
rolled the dough for the crust of the apple and cinnamon
pie she made every year. “We only just told them. They’ve
spent almost three years with us living apart. Let’s all get
used to the idea of being a family again.”
“We never stopped being a family.”
“You know what I mean,” Morin answered, throwing him a
knowing glance. “Besides, we also need the time to figure
out where we’re going to call home.”
“I’d move here if you asked. I’d move you over if that’s
what you want. Your wish is my command.”
“Charmer,” Morin chuckled as she cut vents in the crust. “I
quite like the idea of living in a new, shiny house though.”
A house without the memories she was desperate to
permanently erase, memories of them doing nothing but
fighting and hurling hurtful words, memories of her
throwing his clothes out the window after his affair.
Those memories.
“I must confess, I don’t mind us starting over someplace
new,” he conceded, winking at her. “So my place then?”
“Slow down, tiger. I…we…haven’t decided yet.”
He walked over and held her from behind, nuzzling his face
in her neck. “It feels so good to be able to do this without
worrying about the kids seeing us.”
She smiled at the familiar feel of his strong arms wrapped
around her stomach and his beard on her skin. It sure did.
“Let’s just make sure that Easter isn’t when we’re making a
decision but actually when we’re doing the moving. Either
me here or you to mine. Promise?”
She giggled as he lightly bit her neck. “Promise.”

Mofe
Almost as wonderful as breaking the news to their children
was walking into his mother’s compound for her Boxing
Day luncheon, holding hands with his wife. From her
squinty-eyed confusion, to wide-eyed exhilaration, to tears
of joy, his mother wasn’t the only emotional person in the
room. His aunts and cousins were tearful, as were his
sisters when they called, all of them relieved and grateful
for the reconciliation of the estranged couple. Grateful
though Mofe was for his family’s support, he knew it
wouldn’t be as easy with Morin’s, and with good reason.
Even though it was something he woke up every day
regretting, it didn’t change the fact that he had hurt Morin
gravely. And he was determined to do whatever he needed
to, to convince her mother and cousin, Bimbo, especially,
that he would die before hurting her like that again.
But for that evening, he was going to enjoy loving up on his
woman without having to hide. And that was what he did;
love up on her, mouthing the lyrics of one of the songs they
had considered special in the early days of their marriage,
R. Kelly’s Step in the Name of Love. With her hands round
his neck and his on her waist – only because of the children
watching as he would have preferred to rest them on her
generous ass, his favourite part of her body – as they both
sang the song, as his family members watched them with
unmasked glee, he was so happy, so content, so thankful
that, despite his foolishness, he’d gotten back everything
he’d lost. As he dipped her to the rapturous applause of
their children and the rest of the people around, it was not
only the best way to end the year, not only the best way to
begin a new one.
But the best way to step into the renewed phase of their
love.

Morin
Despite their worries, Morin’s mother was also emotional
when they told her they were back together, laying hands
on their heads in tearful prayer rather than the scolding
they’d anticipated. But even though her mother’s
forgiveness had come easier than they’d expected, Mofe
still went about the acts of contrition he had planned,
dropping on all fours in a penitent prostration and
profusely promising never to repeat his mistake. But the
old woman was won over without any of that.
Bimbo, on the other hand, was a different matter.
“He lived with that girl for a year, ‘Morinsola,” she said, not
at all impressed by anything her cousin was saying. “You
want to just pretend it never happened?”
Yes, was what Morin wanted to yell. Yes, she wanted to
pretend none of that ever happened. She wanted to wish
away the awful years of their marriage. And with how
deliriously happy she was now, it wasn’t difficult to do.
Sooner or later, Bimbo would come around. When she saw
how happy Mofe was making her, she’d come around.
Confident in this, Morin hadn’t bothered trying to persuade
her cousin, convinced time would do that for her. She
retrieved the wedding and engagement rings she’d
removed after their separation, and slipping them back on
her finger felt like a statement not only to her cousin or any
other doubting Thomases, but for them as well; her and
Mofe. Having the rings back on her finger was proof that
they were back on track.
In January, the weekend after Michaela and Malachi moved
to boarding school, Morin and Mofe attended their first
proper function as a couple; the wedding reception of their
classmates, Bonju and Alero. Having already married in
England the year before and now pregnant with their first
child, the Lagos party was to appease the friends and
family – mostly family – who’d missed their proper nuptials.
But as Mofe and Morin walked in holding hands, they stole
the new couple’s thunder, with their classmates - Bonju and
Alero inclusive - unable to mask their delight over seeing
them together again. For the first time in the company of
such a large gathering of their old classmates, Morin didn’t
feel the cloud of their judgement and condemnation
looming over her. As she and Mofe mingled, all she saw in
the eyes of their old friends was genuine happiness for
them. For the first time, being with Mofe in their company
felt legitimate, even with them aware of the messy
happenings of the last three years. That part of their lives –
hers and Mofe’s – was a nightmare.
A nightmare she was happy was finally over.

Book made for [email protected]

 CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
TOO BROKEN TO FIX

JANUARY - MARCH 2022

Mofe
Being able to freely love his wife again was everything
Mofe had longed for. Being able to plan to live together
again as a family was something he’d once thought lost to
him forever. But as he did both – love on his wife and work
towards moving her and the children to his house – he was
living his dream.
In the weeks and months following the children’s departure
for boarding school, as he and Morin planned the design
changes to his house before the Easter move, they
alternated between both their homes. With an interior
decorator engaged, a contractor identified, and a timeline
of the last week of March agreed for the revamp,
everything was going better than Mofe could have
imagined.
But all that changed the morning of March 2nd when he got
a phone call from Dwight. A phone call that changed
everything.
“Guy, my dad and I have been talking and we’ve agreed not
to renew your agency agreement,” Dwight said. “We think
we can do it on our own now.”
“What do you mean you’ve agreed not to renew the agency
agreement?!” Mofe exclaimed. “That’s not possible. It’s a
ten-year renewable agreement.”
“It’s two years, Mofe. Remember the addendum we signed
when we got the Zoete deal?”
“When I got the Zoete deal!” Mofe exclaimed, the reminder
redundant as he scanned his brain for the content of the
document he had signed with his partner increasing his
agency percentage commensurate with the volume of
business he was bringing.
“Whatever, Mofe. My dad and I agreed at the time to
reduce the term of the agreement. Everything is in there,
Mofe; an increase to your rate and a reduction in the
duration of the agency arrangement. Didn’t you read it?”
Mofe felt all the blood drain from his body, his blind trust
having precluded him from getting a lawyer to review the
update to the agreement like he’d done when it was first
executed over a year before they got into business with the
international chocolatiers.
“I’ve been in touch with Hans and Julien, and we’ve begun
the paperwork for direct supply from the farm,” Dwight
continued. Hans and Julien led the procurement teams for
SweetzerRhône and Zoete respectively.
“You can’t do that! I brought those deals!” Mofe yelled.
“As Fregene Farm’s agent,” Dwight cut in, his voice also
rising. “A position you ceased to hold as of February 28th
when the agreement lapsed.”
“We signed that agreement in April, asshole,” Mofe
retorted, wiping sweat from his brow, despite the room’s
airconditioning.
"We backdated the agreement at your request, in case
you’ve forgotten,” was Dwight caustic answer.
Mofe’s heart sank as he remembered asking for the
addendum to the agency agreement to be backdated so as
to have an earlier execution date than the purchase
agreement with Zoete.
“So you’re going to screw me over, Dwight? When it was
my sweat and hard work that brought these deals that
changed both our lives?”
“The nuts I grow are what changed our lives, Mofe
Thompson,” Dwight retorted. “And I see no reason why I
should continue paying you forty percent in perpetuity, in
exchange for the introduction of a business prospect which,
quite frankly, I could have found myself.”
Mofe sighed, his heart racing as he sank back in his chair.
“Look, listen, if it’s the percentage that’s the issue, we can
work something out. We could drop that to thirty.”
“Mofe…”
“Twenty, Dwight. We can make it twenty.”
“My guy, you’ve gotten your pay off,” Dwight cut in. “It’s
time for the farm to make the money it’s entitled to. In
appreciation of your efforts, you don’t have to leave the
office right away. I’m happy to give you three months to
find another space to operate from.”
The reminder that even his office space was about to be
lost buried even deeper the dagger his friend had plunged
in his back.
“Very generous of you,” Mofe muttered. “But I don’t need
your fucking office. Get ready to hear from my lawyers. I’m
not going to bend over and let you screw me.”
“Suit yourself,” Dwight answered before disconnecting the
line.
The call over, Mofe threw the phone to the table and dived
into his laptop in search of the signed agreement, hoping to
find something that proved the addendum didn’t have the
two-year tenure Dwight had alluded to. But opening the
contract and seeing the twenty-four-month term clearly
stated and his own signature appended, Mofe’s hopes of
legally fighting this unceremonious ouster dissipated in
smoke before his eyes. Even though, with over two years of
commissions and a year of investments that Bonju had
guided him to make, he was a long way away from being
financially depleted in the short term, it was still a loss to
his livelihood, a loss of the business he had struggled tooth
and nail for.
And he wasn’t going to let it go without a fight.

Morin
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Morin asked for the third time
as they sat across from each other at dinner.
“I said I’m fine,” Mofe muttered, not glancing up from his
barely touched meal of grilled plantain and stewed fish.
“You’ve hardly eaten your dinner and have had a face like
thunder since you got home…”
“I’m fine, Omorinsola!” he snapped, his voice several
decibels higher.
“Don’t shout at me,” Morin answered, her eyes widening
and voice quivering in response. “You know I don’t like
that.”
He sighed and covered her hand with his. “I’m sorry, babe.
I didn’t mean to yell. It’s just…” He sighed again. “It’s just
something that happened with Dwight.”
“What happened with Dwight?”

Mofe
“Two years ago when we were signing the purchase deal
with Zoete, Dwight and I executed an addendum to our own
contract, increasing my agency percentage. But he snuck in
a reduction to the term, reducing it from the original ten
years to two,” Mofe answered, the words in his mouth the
acerbic reminder of the soured business relationship with
the man he considered his closest friend. “Now, he’s saying
the agency agreement is over and that the farm will be
dealing directly with Zoete and SweetzerRhône from now
on.”
Morin’s brows furrowed. “What do you mean snuck in a
reduction to the term? You didn’t see it?”
Mofe pursed his lips, hating the reminder of his idiotic
mistake.
“You didn’t have a lawyer look at it?” Morin was still
questioning. “Tell me you had a lawyer look at the
agreement before you signed it, Mofe! Tell me you didn’t
sign an agreement like that without having a lawyer look at
it first!”
The wide-eyed disbelieving look on Morin’s face awoke
buried insecurities and Mofe immediately regretted
bringing it up at all.
“Of course I had a lawyer look at it,” he scoffed, returning
his gaze to his plate even though he had long lost his
appetite. “That’s why I’m sure this is no big deal. It’s all a
big misunderstanding and we’ll fix it by tomorrow. Don’t
worry about it.”
Morin
She watched with dismay as Mofe picked up his cutlery and
cut up some plantain and fish, remembering all the times
he’d told her ‘don’t worry about it’ in the past, and how
each time she really should have worried.
“Don’t sugarcoat this, Mofe,” she pressed. “You’ve been
worried about something since you got home. Something is
clearly wrong and…”
“Nothing is wrong, babe,” he smiled in reassurance, a smile
that didn’t connect with his eyes. “Dwight is looking for a
way to get me out of the picture, but we have a binding
contract that won’t allow him. Everything is good.”
But Morin wasn’t convinced, not even as Mofe offered her
another assuring smile and went on to eat the rest of his
meal. Something was wrong, and him not telling her the
true extent wasn’t even the worst part. No, the worst part
was the fear that they were returning to old ways.

Mofe
“This is going to be tough,” Mofe’s lawyer, Shina, sighed as
he scrolled through the executed contract addendum on his
tab as he and Mofe sat for lunch at Atmosphere restaurant
a few days later. “Unless you can prove you signed this
under duress, this is a valid agreement.”
“But he screwed me,” Mofe said in his exasperation. “We
weren’t discussing the duration of our agreement at the
time. The only change this agreement should have had was
an increase in my percentage from thirty to forty. I didn’t
expect him to include any other thing.”
“You should have sent this to me, Mofe,” Shina sighed, still
scrolling. “Under no circumstance should you have signed
this under assumption.”
“I need to do something. I can’t just let this go. These are
businesses that I fought for. It was through my sweat and
blood we got both deals, and now they just want to throw
me away.”
“The purchasing agreements are both between the
chocolatiers and Fregene Farms, with you listed as an
agent,” Shina answered, still scrolling. “You’re not a direct
party to either contract. An addendum would be all it would
take to remove you as Fregene Farm’s agent.”
Mofe covered his face with his hands, his lawyer’s
prognosis the last thing he wanted to hear.
“While we can’t exactly sue for breach of contract, you
could sue for lost business or some form of compensation,”
Shina sighed again, putting his tablet down and looking at
Mofe. “But it’s going to be tough. If you had insisted on a
partnership agreement with Dwight like I advised, a
partnership dispute lawsuit would have been possible. But
as it is,” he shrugged. “As it is, it’s going to be really hard.”
Mofe shut his eyes, still pondering the possibilities that
would ensure he wasn’t ousted from the businesses he had
worked so hard to secure.
“What about…” he began to say when his phone started to
ring.
He frowned as Keji Oladoyinbo flashed on his screen.
Since her text message in the days following Omoruyi’s
death almost a year ago, they’d had no contact at all. That
she was calling him now that he and Dwight were at odds
could hardly be a coincidence.
“Excuse me, I have to take this,” he said to Shina as he
swiped the answer button before raising the device to his
ear.
“Hello?”
“Hey. Are you at Atmosphere?”
He frowned. “How do you know that?”
“Look up. Two o’clock.”
He looked in a sixty-degree direction in time to see Keji
waving at him from where she stood, her other hand
holding her phone to her ear.
“What are you doing here?” Mofe asked, a frown bunching
his brows as their eyes held, neither waving nor beckoning
her over.
“Not following you, that’s for sure,” she laughed. “I’m
meeting someone here. Hey, what’s this I hear about you
and Dwight?”
“What did you hear? What did Chantal tell you?”
“Plenty,” she answered. “Want me to come over so we can
talk?”
Mofe glanced from her to Shina, who was taking the last
sip of his drink. “Okay.”
“I need to run. I have another meeting in fifteen minutes,”
Shina said as he rose to his feet. “Will you let me know how
much…”
“It’s my treat, man. I dragged you here, remember?” Mofe
said as he also stood. “Please keep thinking about this. If
you find any loopholes we could use…”
“You don’t even have to say it, Mofe. I want this for you. I
know how hard you’ve worked and want you to get as much
as you can out of this. I wish you’d listened to me about
Dwight back then…”
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Mofe cut in, just about fed up with all
the I-told-you-so’s, Shina having been vocal about his
distrust for the sweet talking, happy go lucky Dwight as far
back as their trainee days at Union Trust Bank.
“Hello, gentlemen,” came Keji’s husky voice as she reached
their table.
Shina’s eyes widened behind his thick dark frames, and
who could blame him? In a figure molding bandage dress
the colour of her skin, Keji looked like sex on legs. But even
though Shina’s tongue was practically on the floor, Mofe
was now impervious to her allure.
“Hi, Keji,” he said. “Shina, meet Keji. She went to school
with Morin and me. Keji, meet Shina.”
Mofe didn’t miss the narrowing of Keji’s smile at the
mention of Morin’s name, an inclusion he had made
intentionally.
“The pleasure is all mine,” Shina said, shaking her hand,
before turning to look at Mofe and nodding. “We’ll talk
later.”
Keji didn’t look at Shina as he scurried off, her attention
back on Mofe.
“Mofe! It’s so good to see you again,” she said as she made
to embrace him.
But he wasn’t going to risk having even a whiff of her
perfume travelling back home with him. So he stepped
away from her embrace.
“It’s good to see you, too,” he said, motioning towards a
seat. “Want to order a drink or something?”
“No, I’ll wait till the person I’m meeting gets here,” she
answered, her voice registering neither resentment nor
displeasure from his brush-off as she sat. “Aaaah, Lagos.
I’ve missed this town.”
“You were going to tell me what Chantal said,” Mofe
prodded, not wanting to encourage any small talk.
“Just that Dwight said you were no longer his agent, and he
was doing business direct with SweetzerRhône,” she
answered, her smile disappearing as her keen eyes held
his. “Tell me it’s not true. Tell me Dwight didn’t screw you
over like that.”
“Not just with SweetzerRhône but with another chocolatier
in Belgium,” Mofe said. “What else did she say?”
“Not much else, considering Dwight has been giving her
the run around as well,” Keji said. “He hardly takes her
calls now and hasn’t been to Geneva to see her in over two
months. He’s also stopped her from coming over to visit.”
The small bubble of hope popped, Mofe covered his face
and groaned into his hands.
“I’m so sorry, Mofe. I know how hard you worked for this.”
“This is the first thing that’s worked for me,” he moaned
into his hands. “I’ve been a fucking mess. It’s been almost a
week but I’ve hardly eaten or slept. I fucked up!”
“Don’t say that.”
“I fucked up,” he repeated. “I should have read that
agreement. I should have shown it to my lawyer. I shouldn’t
have trusted Dwight so blindly.”
“All’s not lost, Mofe. I have friends who know people at
SweetzerRhône. I’ll talk to their contacts, and we’ll fix this,
I promise. Let’s meet up tomorrow so we can come up with
a plan.”
The word we was what snapped him back to reality.
Lowering his hands from his face and seeing the same
keenly interested look on her face that had seduced him
three years before, he was well aware what road this we
would lead to. And even though his business hung in the
balance, it wasn’t worth losing the marriage he had fought
even harder to win back.
“Umm, thank you,” he answered instead. “I appreciate your
concern. I’ll speak with the SweetzerRhône team and see
how they can help.”
“But I’m sure my friends can…”
“That won’t be necessary,” Mofe said, standing. “Thank
you. It was great seeing you. Tell Chantal to forget about
Dwight. If he could screw me over after almost two decades
of friendship, imagine what he would do to her.”
“I don’t bite, Mofe,” Keji said, making no move to stand.
“Can’t we just sit and have a proper conversation?”
He clasped his hands. “I beg you, Keji. I don’t want any
trouble. Morin and I are finally in a good place. I’ve already
fucked up my business. I don’t want to fuck this up as
well.”
She regarded him, her face impassive until she scoffed and
shook her head.
“Glad to hear you two are in a ‘good place’,” she said,
making air quotes with her fingers. Uncrossing her legs,
she stood. “Alright then. Good luck with Dwight.”
“Thank you,” he muttered as she walked away.
Beckoning for a waiter so he could quickly pay and leave
lest she return, Mofe was desperate for all the luck that
would be required to fix the ugly episode with his business.
God knew he needed it.
Morin
Something was wrong and she knew it.
Even though Mofe’s answer to her questions about the
issue with Dwight was that things had been resolved and
there was nothing to worry about, even though he tried to
act like everything was fine, she knew from the occasional
drift of his gaze, the intermittent frowns that creased his
face when he thought she wasn’t looking, and the
shallowness of his breathing when he pretended to be
asleep that all was not well. And it broke her heart that,
once again, he was shutting her out. Once again, he wasn’t
letting her in. And as she, also, lay restless in bed, she
began to wonder if it was any issue with Dwight that was
causing his mind to wander…or something else.
Or someone else.

She was reviewing a client presentation the following week

when her phone vibrated with an incoming call from a
number she didn’t recognise.
“Omorinsola.”
The hairs on the back of her neck stood as her heartbeat
accelerated. Even though it had been decades since she’d
heard that voice call her by that name, time and
circumstance had done nothing to mute her perception of
the timbre and cadence of the voice that had once been as
familiar to her as her own.
“Omorinsola,” Keji called out again.
“What do you want?” Morin answered, because familiarity
or not, this was no longer the voice of one who was most
like a sister to her but the voice of one who had betrayed
her in the worst possible way.
“You and I need to talk,” Keji answered. “It’s long
overdue.”
Morin grit her teeth, wanting to disconnect the line,
wanting to reel off every curse word in her vocabulary, but
also wanting the closure that would come from finally
confronting Keji face-to-face.
“I agree,” Morin answered, doing everything to pace her
frenetically pounding heart.
“I’m at The Mandarin hotel. Meet me poolside in an hour.”
And before Morin could say anything in agreement or
dissent, the call terminated. Morin sat on her chair, her
phone in hand, contemplating not going, contemplating
calling Mofe to tell him about Keji’s request to meet, but
the part of her that was eager, desperate, and curious to
hear what her best friend turned adversary had to say won
the tug of war in her mind. So, after shutting down her
laptop and touching up her makeup, she set off for the
meeting.

It was almost 5pm when Morin got to The Mandarin hotel.

Making her way to the pool, she looked around, scanning
the sitting area comprised of cane chairs arranged around
tables for the woman she was there to see. Not sighting
Keji, she sat on one of the cane chairs, removed her
sunglasses, and adjusted her blouse, hating that she hadn’t
listened to the voice in her head prompting her to go home
to change from her crepe pleat-neck blouse and wrap skirt
outfit. As she looked around for either Keji or a waiter to
take her drink order, she caught sight of a form in the pool
swimming in the direction away from her. Morin’s eyes
remained on the form as it reached the other end of the
pool, as it climbed out using the ladder, as recognition
dawned.
Keji.
She watched as Keji walked to the bar, as she laughed at
something the person behind the counter said, and as she
accepted a glass of a white drink that looked like a pina
colada. Morin watched as Keji leisurely sucked on the
straw, unrushed and unhurried, and as she dropped the
glass on the counter, saying something to the bartender
with an accompanying wink. Morin was still staring as Keji
looked in her direction, as a slow smile curved her mouth,
and as she began the walk towards her.
As Keji glided over in a barely existent bikini, Morin was
unable to peel her eyes from her body – the taught
concavity of her stomach, the perky and well-rounded
globes that were her breasts, and the fleshy yet firm
muscles on her thighs that flexed with every movement of
her legs – and the feeling of inadequacy she got there with
multiplied a million-fold. Unbidden, long suppressed
images of Mofe lying entwined with Keji flooded Morin’s
head, images that her reunion with him had blurred but
which now grew more vivid the closer Keji got.
There was no logical way any man would choose her over a
woman with a body this perfect.
“You always were good with time,” Keji said, sitting on the
chair across from Morin. “There I was thinking I’d have
time to go up to change before you got here.”
All Morin could manage in response was a tight smile. She
didn’t know this version of her one-time friend well, but
even from the little she knew, she was ready to wager a bet
that she had no such intention.
“It’s good to finally get the chance to sit with you after,
what, twenty years? Twenty-one?” Keji remarked, a smile
playing on her lips.
It was twenty-two, but Morin wasn’t there to play catch up,
so she didn’t bother answering, instead steadily holding
Keji’s gaze.
“Did you ever look for me?” Keji asked.
Morin shrugged. “I’m sure you can answer that question
for yourself. There was no trace of you anywhere. At a
point, I was worried you’d died or something.”
There was an edge to Keji’s smile this time. “I bet you
were.” She sat back in her chair, her eyes lazily scanning
Morin. “I can’t believe you let yourself go like this. What
are you, a size 16?”
“Is that what you called me here to discuss? My size?”
Morin retorted, hating the accuracy of Keji’s guess. “After
what you did, I shouldn’t even be sitting in the same space
as you.”
Keji’s chuckle rankled Morin even more than she already
was, adding to her regret. She never should have agreed to
come.
“Your weight is of no concern to me. Expand till you burst
for all I care,” Keji said, her laughter fading as she held
Morin’s gaze. “I called you because of the issues Mofe is
having with Dwight.”
“How do you know about that?” The question was out of
Morin’s mouth before she could stop it, and she hated the
smug look on Keji’s face as she leaned back in her chair.
“Mofe and I still talk, or didn’t he tell you that?” she asked,
her lips curving in a satisfied smirk. “He and I are very
close and talk almost every day.”
“That’s a lie,” Morin retorted, ready to beat her chest about
that fact.
“I’m not about to argue about that with you. Believe what
you want. The issue is that Mofe is in a bind. He signed a
contract that has given Dwight the upper hand and he’s on
the verge of losing the business he secured with his sweat.”
Morin deflated, not only from hearing Keji talk about
Mofe’s problem thus confirming her claim of still being in
contact with him, but because she even had more
information than she, Morin, had.
Her face must have given her dismay away as Keji raised a
brow.
“You don’t know about this?”
Morin hissed under her breath and reached for her bag,
done with the conversation. If not for civility, what she
really should have been doing was pulling Keji’s hair,
scratching her face and pushing her into the pool for the
pain she had caused her, not sitting across from her
exchanging notes about the man they, unfortunately, had in
common.
“No wonder he keeps running to me to talk,” Keji retorted.
“If you can’t even get off your high horse to pay attention
to your husband, is it any wonder he seeks a listening ear
elsewhere?
“You better shut your mouth,” Morin snarled, her fists
clenching on their own accord. “It was my mistake coming
here and giving you the impression your opinion about
anything matters to me. Why don’t you slither back to
whatever hole you crawled out from and stay there! After
what you did to me, you have some nerve to even face me.”
“What I did to you? Omorinsola, you did that to yourself,”
Keji retorted. “There you were, throwing away millions on a
useless party when your husband was struggling to get his
business off the ground. Now that you’re making the same
mistake again, are you going to blame me when he leaves
for the person who’ll give him a listening ear again?!”
“Is that right? When he leaves again?” Morin repeated with
accompanying mirthless laughter. “Educate me, please.”
“Laugh all you want, but I’m the one squeezing every
contact I have to help Mofe. What are you doing?” Keji
threw back. “Remind me again what it is you’re doing to
help him. When he makes his decision, try not to be
surprised and act the victim this time.”
‘Of course I had a lawyer look at it.’
“This is no big deal’.
‘It’s all a big misunderstanding and we’ll fix it by
tomorrow.’
‘Don’t worry about it.’
Mofe’s words of assurance echoed in her head, words of
assurance that were misplaced, if what Keji said had any
merit.
“If he chooses you, you’re welcome to him,” Morin said
before turning around and walking away, swallowing down
the building lump in her throat.
But the tears found her as she made the drive home. As
much as she didn’t want to believe Mofe was still in contact
with Keji, he had a lot of explaining to do about why she
knew so much, why she knew even more than his wife did.
Getting home, not even a shower, change of clothes, and
glass of wine were enough to raise her spirits. She swiped
away tears as she waited for him, her anger rising with
every passing hour, her frustration amplifying as the skies
darkened. When she finally heard his car pull into the
compound, she stood from her sitting position on the sofa
but didn’t leave the living room as she waited, two weeks of
frustration finally coming to a boil.
“Hey,” Mofe said as he walked into the living room, his
brows furrowing when he saw her standing. “Is everything
okay?”
“Have you been speaking to Keji?” she demanded. “Have
you spoken to her?”
The blanching of his face was a shot of lethal venom into
her bloodstream, his nonverbal confirmation shattering
her.
“I saw her once. I saw her just one time,” he stuttered. “I
ran into her at Atmosphere a week ago.”
“You ran into her at Atmosphere?” Morin repeated, feeling
stupid for harboring the hope that there was no way he
could have been in any contact with Keji. “A week ago?”
“It was purely coincidental. I was having lunch with Shina,
and she was there…”
“If it was purely coincidental, you would have told me. If
you had nothing to hide, you would have told me you saw
her,” Morin cut in. “You didn’t tell me you had lunch with
Shina. Was this about Dwight’s contract?”
Mofe’s eyes lowered. “Yes, it was.”
“And you told her about it, didn’t you? You told her
everything you’ve kept from me about what’s really going
on.”
Mofe sighed and took a step towards her. “I was ashamed,
Morin. I made a very foolish mistake and was too ashamed
to admit it to you.”
“But you weren’t too ashamed to admit it to her,” Morin
said, her voice quivering.
“Her friend is dating Dwight, and I thought she could help.”
“You thought she could help?” Morin yelled. “The same way
she helped three years ago? That’s the kind of help you’ve
been longing for?”
“Morin, please. That’s not how it is.”
“Is she the one you want? If she’s the one you run to when
you have a problem, if she’s the one who can give you the
help you need, clearly she is.”
“Omorinsola, don’t be ridiculous!” Mofe said, his voice
beginning to rise. “I saw her one time. Yes, I told her, but
only because I wanted a solution…”
“You need to leave,” Morin cut in. “I want you to leave now.
I need you to leave because I can’t look at you right now.”
“Morin, please stop this!” Mofe yelled. “Stop running away
when things get heated. You always did this. That’s why…”
“That’s why what?!” Morin screamed, tears pouring down
her face as she glared at him. “That’s why you chose her?
That’s why you fucked her?!”
Mofe placed his hands on his head as he grimaced. “Morin,
please! Don’t do this!”
“I need you to leave, Mofe.”
“Omorinsola, PLEASE!” he cried, grabbing both her hands.
“I goofed, okay? Please, just sit down and let me explain!”
“I need time to process this, Mofe,” she cried back, pulling
her hands away from his. “Please give me that.”

Mofe
A tear rolled down Mofe’s face as he stared at her, feeling
like his most prized possession was slipping out of his
hands. But he’d die first before he lost her again.
“How much time?” he asked, unable to mask the quiver in
his voice.
“I don’t know,” she answered. “I just need to process
this…”
“Morin, I swear to you, last week was the first time I saw or
spoke to Keji in a year, and I haven’t seen or spoken to her
again since. I swear it,” Mofe implored. “I fucked up by not
telling you everything. And I fucked up some more by
talking about it with her. But I haven’t been unfaithful to
you. I swear it.”
Morin nodded as she wiped tears from her eyes. “I know.”
“So what do you want to process?” Mofe moaned in
exasperation. “Let’s go upstairs and talk about this.”
“Just give me tonight, Mofe. This has taken me back to a
bad place and I just need…” She covered her mouth and
looked away, turning back to him after a few seconds. “I
just need tonight to get my head right. Give that to me,
please.”
“I’ll be back tomorrow. I’ll be right back here this time
tomorrow, Morin,” Mofe pressed, desperate for that much
assurance.
“Okay,” she answered, her voice so small, it was barely
audible.
Knowing he had no choice but to be satisfied with that, he
turned around to leave. The twenty-minute drive to his
house seemed like twenty years. Just when he thought his
past indiscretion dead and buried forever, it had returned
like a demon, an apocalyptic nightmare intent on devouring
the marriage he had fought to reclaim. As images of Keji
sitting across from him at Atmosphere flashed through his
head, as enraged as he was by her uninvited emergence, he
knew he was to blame this time. If he’d only he’d been
upfront with Morin about the issue with Dwight, if he’d
only told her about seeing Keji at Atmosphere, none of this
would be happening. The shame he’d been trying to avoid
from Morin knowing the full extent of his blunder he could
live with but losing her he could not.

His eyes didn’t close once that night. Instead, he tossed

and turned in his bed that seemed too big without Morin,
willing the hours away, hating that he’d agreed to leave her
even if only for the night. By morning, he was as fatigued
as someone who hadn’t slept in a week but also with the
nervous energy of a man on the verge of losing everything
that mattered to him. As the day progressed, he paced
around his bedroom and then his living room, struggling
not to call Morin, but unable to do anything else, unable to
eat, unable to speak with his contacts at SweetzerRhône
and Zoete like he had been doing all week. His eyes were
glued to the clock and when it finally struck six in the
evening, he went to have a shower, determined to set off
for Morin’s as soon as the hour hand of the clock hit seven.
He was buttoning on his shirt when his phone rang. He
glanced at the screen, determined not to answer it, but
seeing the +41 number piqued his interest. It was a Swiss
phone number. Though not one he recognised, considering
what he was fighting for, ignoring the call wasn’t an option.
“Hello? Mr. Thompson?”
“Yes. Speaking?” Mofe answered.
“My name is Aurel Blaser. I work with the Swiss Federal
Department of Foreign Affairs. Your matter with
SweetzerRhône was brought to my attention. I’m in Nigeria
for a few meetings and was wondering if we could,
perhaps, meet tonight so we can discuss it in more detail.”
Adrenalin surged through Mofe’s body, his heart pounding
hard against his chest with the first ray of hope beamed on
him. But eager though he was, important though this
meeting was, he had a much more important one that
night.
“It’s good to meet you, Aurel,” he said, trying not to let his
excitement project in his voice. “But I’m afraid tonight
won’t work as I have another commitment. Maybe
tomorrow?”
“I leave Lagos tomorrow morning,” Aurel answered. “Durs
says you stay in Ikoyi and I’m just leaving the Alliance
Française premises where I came for a meeting. If it’s fine
with you, I could stop by your house. It won’t take long.”
Durs was one of Mofe’s procurement contacts at
SweetzerRhône, the only one trying to make a case for him.
As Aurel spoke, Mofe had to remind himself that he was the
one with the problem, not Aurel. So he was the one who
should be eager for a meeting to discuss the issue, not
Aurel.
“Sure, you can stop by,” Mofe said, glancing at his watch
and figuring an extra hour wouldn’t hurt. He could leave
for Morin’s at eight. Maybe the extra time would further
help her realise that what they had was too strong to throw
away a second time.
“Great. Please text me your address and I’ll be there
shortly,” Aurel said.
Mofe did that and fifteen minutes later, his guard was
letting into the compound the SUV with the Swiss national.
But as the tall, lean, fair-haired man got out of the car, it
was the person who disembarked on the other side that
stopped Mofe in his tracks.
“So this is where you live,” Keji smiled as she walked up to
him with Aurel. “Lovely place. Way better than your small
apartment.”
Mofe gaped at her, slack jawed. “What are you…”
“I ran into your friend at Alliance Française,” Aurel
beamed. “She approached me about the same thing Durs
did.”
Keji nodded. “When I heard he works with the Swiss
government, I went to speak with him and was pleasantly
surprised that he’d already heard about you.”
“Because my trip is so short, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to get
in touch with you, but she convinced me to call you,” Aurel
said, smiling at Keji. “It was her idea for us to come see
you.”
Mofe forced a tight smile, the Swiss’s impromptu visit
making more sense now. He looked at Keji as she smiled
like the cat who got the cream, not knowing whether to
hate her for her sly wiles or be grateful for her relentless
push to help.
“Won’t you ask us in? Or do you want to discuss with Aurel
out here on your driveway?” Keji asked, her raised brow
and slight smile the indicators that she knew exactly what
she was doing.
“Please, come in,” Mofe said, his forced smile still plastered
on as he led them into the house.
The ensuing discussion with Aurel was brief, so brief it
could have happened over the phone. With the expiration of
Mofe’s contract with Dwight legally binding, and with the
purchasing agreement being between SweetzerRhône and
Fregene Farms, there was little Mofe could do by way of
circumvention, or that even Aurel could in his capacity as a
representative of the Swiss Government.
“I will engage with the Department of Justice and Police
when I get back to Geneva,” Aurel said as Mofe walked him
and Keji to the door. “But it’s unlikely anything can be
done. Outside of a termination of appointment with
Fregene Farms, SweetzerRhône can not insist on your
continued inclusion as Fregene Farms’ agent.”
Mofe nodded, having finally come to this acceptance.
“Understood. I’m grateful for your help, however it turns
out.”
“Yes, thank you so much, Aurel. We appreciate it,” Keji
said. “’l’ll stay behind as I have some things to discuss with
Mofe. But I’ll call you.”
Mofe’s head spun to her swift enough to cause whiplash.
She was what?!
“I’m on my way out, Keji,” he said, maintaining politeness
more for Aurel’s benefit than hers. “I’m sure we can have
this…this discussion some other time.”
“No, it can’t wait,” she said, the smile still on her face as
she walked back to the sitting area.
“It was lovely meeting you, Keji,” Aurel called out before
turning to Mofe with a small bow. “And you, Mr. Thompson.
I will give you a call before the end of the week. Hopefully
I’ll have some more positive news for you.”
But Mofe was hardly listening, his attention on the woman
who was now pouring herself a glass of wine. He managed
a wave to Aurel as he got into his car before shutting the
door behind him. He was already forty-five minutes behind
schedule. He wasn’t going to allow anyone, lest of all the
genesis of his problems, cost him any more time with the
woman he loved.
“Keji, you need to leave.”
“Is that how you thank someone who’s done nothing but
help you?” she asked, raising the glass of burgundy liquid
to her lips, her eyes on his in a piercing gaze.
He sighed, hating himself for wanting to grab her by the
shoulders and push her out his house, hating himself for
the weakness of body that had inserted her into the
equation of his marriage in the first place.
“I beg you,” he said, his hands clasped in supplication. “I
have somewhere I need to be.” He was wise enough to
know the mention of Morin’s name would make her less
willing to leave. “I truly appreciate your help but I’d rather
you stopped. I can figure this out on my own.”
“Really? Because it doesn’t seem so,” Keji said as she sat
on the chair she’d only just vacated. “Last I heard, Dwight
was finalizing plans for a cargo to Lucerne and Brussels.
Looks like business is going ahead without you, Mofe.”
Mofe clenched his jaw, having already heard from Durs of
the expected cargo of nuts from Fregene Farms, a deal
that, for the first time since Mofe brokered it, wouldn’t
include him.
“I’ve got it, Keji,” he said, deploying every ounce of
willpower to remain calm, to not raise his voice, to not tell
her exactly what he thought of her crafty behaviour.
Because no good would come from any of that. As it was, all
he needed was for her to leave.

Morin
The nightmares she had were vivid, nightmares that were
an amalgamation of visuals of Keji, sexy and sultry at their
high school reunion, of Mofe lusting after, of both of them
brazenly flirting on the deck of the yacht as guests to her
and Mofe’s tenth year anniversary watched, of Mofe
returning home reeking of guilt and adultery, of the social
media posts of them displaying their relationship to the
world, of Keji in her skimpy bikini, her body flawless and
perfect, and of Mofe kissing, fondling, and worshipping that
flawless and perfect body. The latter ones were the worst,
the dreams where she would be in the room with them as
they made love, dreams where she would be at the foot of
the bed as Mofe plunged into Keji whose eyes would be on
her as she moaned loudly and clawed at Mofe’s back. As
Morin awoke with a start from the last one, she sat up in
bed until daybreak, too afraid to close her eyes for fear of
being assaulted again by the nightmares.
But as day dawned, the void of not waking up next to Mofe
for the first time in months, the void of not having the
warmth of his body encase her, was worse than the
nightmares. And through the day, not being able to talk to
him on the phone, send him a text message, or look forward
to being with him that evening was almost too much to
bear. And she made her decision. As bad as his deliberate
omission of the details of his business issues was, as bad as
Keji’s re-emergence was, as bad as the reminders of their
betrayal was, she wasn’t going to give up on her marriage
this time. So after work, instead of driving home, she made
a detour to Ikoyi instead, descending Falomo Bridge into
Bourdillon Avenue and turning off at Queens Drive, headed
to make amends with her husband.

Mofe
As Keji poured herself another glass of wine, Mofe sighed
and looked at his watch. It was now past eight.
“Instead of standing there like a policeman, come over here
so we can talk like adults. I’m not here to seduce you,” Keji
said before winking. “Unless you want me to.”
Mofe’s nostrils flared, and he was about to say just what he
thought about her delusion when he heard his gate open.
Panicked, he rushed to the door and felt his spirit detach
itself from his body at the sight of Morin’s black Audi
driving into the compound, his security guard having
granted her access without question. Turning around and
seeing Keji seated cross legged in his living room, he knew
he was totally screwed.
How would he ever explain this?

Morin
As she brought her car to a stop, as she beheld Mofe
standing at the door wide-eyed like a deer caught in the
headlights, the same guilt he had walked into their
bedroom with almost three years before on his face, she
knew.
Turning off the ignition, she got out of the car, her eyes not
on Mofe but on the front door that was ajar.
“Babe, I swear to God, this isn’t what it looks like,” Mofe
was saying.
Morin ignored him, brushing past and entering the house.
And she realised she was wrong. Being without Mofe
wasn’t worse than the nightmares. Seeing those
nightmares become reality was.
“Ah, Omorinsola,” Keji laughed, placing the glass of wine in
her hand on the coffee table. “We weren’t expecting you.”
“Babe,” Mofe said from beside her, taking her hand. “I
swear to God, she showed up uninvited. I’ve been trying to
get her to leave…”
But Morin wasn’t listening, her eyes locked with Keji’s, who
was smiling back at her, smug and triumphant, the same
look on her face like she’d had in Morin’s nightmares.
Suddenly Morin was surrounded on every side by those
visuals, the sounds of Mofe grunting and Keji moaning
echoing in her head. Pulling her hand from Mofe’s, she
turned around and ran out of the door.
“Morin, please!” Mofe called as he chased after her.
“No, you don’t get to leave!” Keji shouted from behind her.
It was Keji’s shout that made Morin stop and turn back
around.
“Is that all you’ve got?” Keji demanded as she pushed past
Mofe and walked towards Morin. “You’re just going to run
away like a coward?”
“I’m not going to fight you,” Morin answered, the calm in
her voice belying the emotions raging within her. “You’re
free to him.”
“No, you don’t get to do that!” Keji snarled, grabbing
Morin’s arm.
“Don’t touch her!” Mofe yelled, pulling Keji’s arm off
Morin’s. “If you don’t leave now, I’m going to call the
Police.”
But neither woman as much as looked at him, their focus
on each other.
“You don’t get to act like you’re the one giving him to me,”
Keji said to Morin. “You stole him. You stole my boyfriend!”
“Well, you fucked my husband!” Morin sneered. “Rocks,
paper, scissors, I win!”
“And I fucked him real good,” Keji taunted, moving close
enough to Morin for her breath to hit Morin’s face. “I
fucked him like he’d never had it before.”
“Don’t listen to her, Morin,” Mofe yelled. “Keji, for the last
time, get out of my house!”
“He told me he’d been longing for me for twenty years,”
Keji continued to goad, a smug smile replacing the snarl on
her face. “He told me he thought of me every time he slept
with you.”
“That’s a lie!” Mofe cried. “That’s a lie from the pit of hell!”
“He said you were so disgusting and fat, he could barely
stand to look at you, let alone touch you!” Keji continued
with a chuckle.
“I need someone off my property,” Mofe was saying into his
phone. “Please, immediately.”
Morin bit the inside of her mouth hard enough to draw
blood, and to keep the tears clustering at the base of her
throat from emerging. Because she wasn’t going to give
either of them the satisfaction of seeing her cry. But as she
turned around, as Keji’s derisive laughter followed her, the
rage that had been kindling in her stomach since seeing
her former best friend at the reunion finally bubbled over.
Grabbing a flowerpot, she hurled it at Mofe’s car, smashing
its windscreen and scattering soil all over the car. Fueled
by adrenalin, as the car’s alarm whined, she grabbed
another flowerpot and threw it, missing the car this time
but knocking down one of the bollard lights lining the
driveway. Kicking off one of her heels, she struck the
driver’s side window, wanting to shatter it like the
windscreen, but her heel either didn’t have enough
strength or the window had too much of it. But she
continued to strike regardless, until the cap of her heel flew
off and the smallest of cracks appeared on the window.
Dropping the shoe to the ground, she hit the weakened
glass with her fist, satisfied when that finally shattered it,
not noticing the sting of pain or the streak of blood that
now trickled down her hand.
“Morin!” Mofe shouted.
Stepping away, Morin turned back just as a frightened Keji
scampered back into the house. As Mofe ran to Morin, as
Morin looked at him, all she could see was the one whose
betrayal stung the most, the one whose treachery had
destroyed her the most.

Mofe
His heart broke with every throw of an object and every
strike of Morin’s shoe on the window of his car, his heart
breaking with every thump, his soul crushed as he saw the
extent of how much he had hurt her. As the windscreen of
his car shattered, as she proceeded to attack another
window, he absorbed every strike like it was his body
receiving it, wishing it was, wishing he could be the
channel through which she released her rage. Because he
deserved it. But when she used her hand to strike glass, his
feet uprooted and he sprang forward, the sight of blood on
her hand immediately sending him to fight mode, making
him want to destroy the car in its entirety for daring to hurt
her.
“Are you out of your mind? You better come inside before
she attacks us next!” he heard Keji say as she ran into the
house.
Keji’s voice registered in his subconscious as an
inconvenience he would handle after the more important
issue at hand. But as he approached Morin, she hobbled to
her car, one foot now unshod.
“Morin, wait please!” he cried.
But she was already reversing out of the compound at top
speed, almost running into the security guard in his haste
to open the gate before she slammed into it. Realising he
wouldn’t catch her on foot, Mofe ran to his car, swept off
soil and shards of glass from the driver’s seat, ignoring the
small pricks on his palm as he did, got into the car, and
drove after her even with a gaping hole in his windscreen.
He raced down Bourdillon Drive even though he could no
longer see her, getting on the Link Bridge and into her
estate, desperate to get to her quickly enough to undo
every awful thing the night had brought.

Morin
Knowing Mofe would come after her, she’d gone the
opposite direction, driving down Awolowo Road and King
George V Road, connecting Ozumba Mbadiwe through
Bonny Camp and driving down the expressway till she got
to Phase 1. But upon getting home, she saw with dismay
that Mofe had let himself in. He looked up from where he
sat by the front door as she drove in, rising to his feet as
she brought her car to park, his jeans stained brown and
his eyes bloodshot red.
“Morin, none of what she said is true,” he said as he walked
towards her, tears streaming down his face. “The only time
I spoke about you to her was to tell her I was still in love
with you. You have to believe me.”
She stared at him as he cried, her eyes soon drifting to his
car with its shattered windows before moving back to him.
She knew Keji was lying. Mofe was a lot of things, but a liar
wasn’t one of them. She also knew he would have been
foolish to bring Keji to his place when she had keys to the
place and could show up any minute. She didn’t know how
Keji found her way there, but she knew it wasn’t on any
invite from Mofe. But none of these made her feel any
better. As Mofe continued to cry and beseech, she knew
one thing for sure.
She was done with it.
“Please, Morin. You have to believe me,” he sobbed as he
reached for her hands.
“I believe you,” she said, her voice quiet. His shoulders
sank with relief but before he could speak, she went on.
“But getting back together was a mistake.”
His brows furrowed in his confusion as he looked at her. “A
mistake?”
She nodded as her own tears found their escape. “I thought
I could get over you cheating on me with her, I thought I
could move on from it, but I can’t. It still haunts me the
same way it did when you left with her, when you went to
live with her for a whole year.”
“Morin, please,” Mofe pleaded, squeezing her hands hard.
“I will do everything in my power to make you forget.
Please!”
She shook her head as her tears continued to surge. “I
can’t forget, Mofe. You broke us when you slept with her. I
thought we could be fixed, but we can’t. I can never get
over that.”
He let out a guttural cry as he sank to his knees and
wrapped his arms around her waist as he wept. “Morin,
whatever you want me to do, I’ll do. Whatever you need me
to do to make it all go away, I swear I’ll do it.”
“I want a divorce,” she answered, her voice now a
whimper.
Mofe
He stilled, impaled by the word he dreaded the most.
Slowly he raised his head and as he looked up at Morin,
even though she was crying, her face was set with a
determination he knew too well, a resolution that couldn’t
be broken. But determined or resolute though she was, he
was ready to fight to his death to show her she was wrong.
His indiscretion was the mistake. Their separation was the
mistake. Not their union. And he would do anything to
make her see this.
But not that night. He would give her the night to cool off.
Releasing his hold, she was walking away even before he
stood, entering the house and locking the door firmly
behind her, the click of the deadbolt ensuring he couldn’t
get in with his key even if he wanted to. Getting into his
car, he made his way back to Ikoyi, ignoring curious stares
from other commuters as he drove the twenty-minute
distance with shattered windows.
Despite his earlier phone call to the police being a bogus
one meant to compel Keji to leave, she was gone by the
time he got home, which was just as well as he might have
been tempted to do what he’d never done in his life which
was to lay hands on a woman so he could physically haul
her out. Parking his car, he sat in it for several minutes,
finally disembarking as his security guard hovered around
nervously. Inside the house, he stripped, showered, and lay
in bed, not delusional enough to believe he would find any
sleep again that night.
At exactly six in the morning, he threw on a t-shirt and a
pair of jeans, summoned an Uber, and headed back to
Morin’s house. With the gate code changed, he sat by the
front gate in wait, hoping to accost her on her way to work.
But the gate never opened, and he waited as one hour
became two, and three, and six, exchanging greetings with
neighbours who walked and drove past, giving them flimsy
reasons – wanting some sunlight, losing his key, waiting for
someone – to explain sitting on a slab in front of his house.
But at noon, he knew he could wait no more. So he dialed
Morin’s number. As expected, she didn’t answer. He dialed
several times and just when he’d started to worry and think
up ways to break an entry, the gate opened. Rising to his
feet before she changed her mind, he hurried into the
compound.
“What do you want?” she asked, leaning on her car in a t-
shirt and an old pair of track downs. “Why have you been
sitting here for hours? I’ve lost count of all the concerned
phone calls I’ve gotten from the neighbours.”
“I left yesterday to give you time to calm down,” he
answered. “And I came back as quickly as I could this
morning.”
“I don’t need time to calm down…”
“Hear me out, Omorinsola,” he cut in. “I’ve made a series
of mistakes. I should never have done what I did with Keji. I
should have told you about Dwight, I should…”
“You should never have married me,” it was Morin’s turn to
interject. “I think deep down, you’ve always wanted her.”
He gaped at her, momentarily speechless.
“You and I were a mistake from the beginning,” she went
on.
“Don’t say that,” he said, finally finding his voice. “You and
I were meant to be. We have two beautiful children,
Omorinsola!”
She sighed. “We’re not good for each other, Mofe. I think
you’ve always seen me more as a friend than a lover.”
“Are you for real?!” he exclaimed, flabbergasted. “More as
a friend when I can hardly look at you without getting a
hard on?!”
“I still remember the way you looked at her that reunion
weekend. You’ve never looked at me like that.”
“Whatever attraction I felt that blasted weekend, I have felt
for you a million-fold!”
“I’ve always wanted this more,” she said, gesturing at the
space between them. “I’ve always wanted us more.” She
looked at him. “I’ve always wanted you more.”

Morin
“That’s not true, and you know it,” he said. “How can you
not know how crazy I am about you? How obsessed with
you I have always been?”
She pursed her lips and wiped a tear from her face. But
devasted though she was, being able to verbalize the
demons she had grappled with for so long was freeing.
“Let me show you just how wrong you are,” he said. “Let
me spend the rest of my life showing you how you are the
very air I breathe.”
“For the entirety of our marriage, I have worried about
losing you. Worried about losing you to Keji if she ever
came back, worried about losing you because of how much
my body has changed, worried about losing you to another
woman…”
“Morin, please…”
“I’m tired of worrying, Mofe,” she went on. “I don’t like
how it makes me feel about myself, how it makes me
question everything about myself.” She covered her face
with her hands and exhaled, before lowering her hands and
returning her gaze to his. “I don’t like who I am with you.”

Mofe
“You don’t mean that. I know you don’t mean that,” he said,
the ache in his chest barely letting the words come out.
She exhaled again, as if freed of a heavy weight. “I’ll send
you the rest of your things.”
“Omorinsola, stop this!”
But she had already turned and walked back into the
house. As he stared at the door shut behind her, he realised
it would be harder than he thought to break her
determination and resolution. Summoning an Uber, even
though his own determination and resolution had been
activated, as he made the ride back to Ikoyi, somewhere
deep inside, he worried that it would be a fight in vain.

As the days passed, his fears were affirmed when he could

neither reach Morin on the phone nor see her in person as
she’d left her house for an unknown location. He went to
her office in search of her and even called Bimbo, but apart
from being told she’d taken some days off and getting a
telling off from Bimbo for whatever he’d done to make her
cousin flee, he made no headway.
Until the morning his security guard handed him an
envelope delivered to the house, an envelope containing a
divorce petition with a date of separation as April 2019.
Staring at the document in his hand, the world faded to
black around Mofe, catapulting him back one year when he
longed for his wife with a desperate ache, two years back
as he sat alone in his hotel room wishing away his mistake
from the previous year, three years back as he sat in his car
hating himself for the weakness he had caved to.
And he knew he’d lost her.
Finally this time.
In the days that followed, as his calls continued being
diverted and with Morin still missing in action, Mofe sank
into a depression so deep, and mental torment so strong, so
physical, it felt like a flesh and blood assailant. The
impending loss of his marriage reopened wounds he’d
thought healed, clawing them open and leaving them rawer
and more lacerated than they’d been in the aftermath of his
indiscretion three years before.
Making matters worse was the call from Aurel confirming
there was nothing the Swiss government could do to help
him, and a text message from Dwight ordering him to
immediately vacate his office space, reneging on the three-
month grace period he’d initially been accorded. Physically,
mentally, and emotionally exhausted, Mofe decided to stop
fighting. He accepted he’d lost the SweetzerRhône and
Zoete deals, and that he would have to go out in the world
to hustle for new business, considering his savings could
only carry him so far.
The day after receiving Dwight’s message, Mofe went to
clear out his things from the office. As he boxed his files
and stationery, footsteps made him look up, and the sight of
Keji walking into the room filled him with rage so intense,
he could taste it. He returned his attention to the box he
was filling as she approached, needing his hands busy, not
trusting what they would do otherwise.
“Why does this feel like déjà vu?” she asked when she stood
in front of his table. “It reminds me of finding you in that
hotel room, with bags and suitcases all over the place.”
Mofe grit his teeth, remembering it all too clearly, and
wishing he could go back in time to give the Mofe who’d
chosen the easy way out, chosen to succumb to his
temptress rather than fight for his marriage, a thump over
the head.
“What do you want?” he did ask.
“Chantal said Dwight told her you were moving out of here
today,” she answered. “I could get you some other place
to…”
Mofe dropped the box in his hands on the table with
enough force to shake it. “Keji, you’ve done enough. I don’t
need anything from you. What was that the other night?
Are you possessed or something? Are you on crack
cocaine? What the fuck was that about?”
“Morin also played dirty. Have you forgotten she trashed
your car?” she said, before reaching to touch him. “I’m the
one always ready to pick up your pieces, Mofe. You
shouldn’t waste any more time with her…”
He stepped away before her hand could connect with his.
“Keji, for the sake of the friendship we once had, I’m going
to try to stay calm and respectful…but best believe this is
the last time I’m going to say this as nicely,” he said,
maintaining eye contact with her. “I need you to stay away
from me, do you understand? I need you to stay away from
my wife…”
“Your wife?” she scoffed. “Some wife who’s never there
when you’re at your lowest.”
“I need you to stay away from me and my wife,” he
repeated, his voice almost a growl. “I never want to see or
speak with you ever again. We had no contact for twenty
years. I believe it’ll be better for everyone if we went back
to things the way they were.”
Keji looked at him, her face registering everything from
amusement to disbelief to anger as his own impassive face
communicated he meant every word he’d said.
“You’re nowhere near the kind of men who kiss my feet and
lay themselves on the floor for me to walk on,” she finally
retorted. “You’re a fucking waste of my time.”
“Then please go to them,” he exclaimed, raising his hands.
“By all means, go to the men who want you. Because I
don’t. All I want is my life back and the more you hang
about, the harder that becomes for me. Just go away.
Please!”
“I hope you enjoyed the brief taste of success while you had
it, because you’re never going to get it again,” she laughed
mockingly. “You’re a lowlife loser, Mofe Thompson. A low
life who will never amount to anything.”
His jaw clenched as she turned around and walked away,
her words lingering and continuing to mock him long after
she’d left. And it made him even more determined to prove
her, Dwight, and everyone who thought this was the end of
the road for him, wrong.
He was going to prove them wrong.
The same way he was going to get his girl back.

Book made for [email protected]

 CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
LOVERS ROCK

APRIL 2022

Morin
“Coffee?”
Morin’s eyes drifted to the door from where she lay on the
bed, barely registering Aize standing there with a steaming
cup, the way he’d done every morning of the almost two
weeks she’d taken refuge in the small chalet that housed
his recording studio. Even though he lived in Oniru, their
podcasts where recorded in a small apartment he was
renting from his uncle in Victoria Island. Morin knew it
would be the last place anyone would look for her, which
was why she’d come there when it felt like the walls of her
home were closing in on her. As much as she now believed
ending the relationship with Mofe was best for her, it didn’t
erase the memories the place held, new memories they’d
created, memories in addition to the ones already floating
about the house, good and bad. That and her need to put
distance between her fragile heart and Mofe, knowing it
would only be a matter of time before his persistence won
her over. And she couldn’t afford that. Not this time.
But it didn’t make it hurt any less.
“No, thank you,” she gave the same answer she gave Aize
every morning he showed up with coffee.
Since she’d tearfully asked for permission to stay, he’d
taken up residence on the couch in the studio, giving her
the foldable camping bed in the only room, leaving only
when he had to go to the office and returning as early as he
could, always armed with takeaway from restaurants she
liked. But food had lost all interest to her. How could she
enjoy lamb chops from Pitstop when the last time she’d had
them had been off Mofe’s plate? How could the dynamite
shrimps from Cactus not take her back to sharing a plate
with Mofe as they watched something on Netflix? All the
progress she’d made in the two years of their separation
she had undone in the last nine months.
“Orange juice then?”
Morin smiled, Aize’s persistence endearing.
“Orange juice sounds good,” she said, sitting up as he
walked away, returning shortly with a Styrofoam cup filled
with juice and a small plate with buttered bread rolls.
He sat on the only chair in the room and watched her as
she ate, his brows bunched in his concern.
“Has he responded to the petition?” he asked.
Morin shook her head, the lawyer Aize introduced having
confirmed the previous day that nothing had been received
from Mofe or his legal team.
“I have to go back home soon,” she said. “The kids come
home on Saturday.”
Whilst she’d been able to disappear from circulation with
only a text message to her mom and Bimbo, telling them
she needed time away to clear her head, she had no such
luxury with her children. But dashing their hopes was not
something she was looking forward to either.
“I knew he was going to mess up again,” Aize muttered, his
loathing of Mofe not something he concealed.
“It wasn’t anything he did,” she said, eager to correct his
impression. “He didn’t cheat on me again.”
“Stop defending him, Morin. Stop making excuses for him,”
Aize cut in. “That other woman is never going away. He left
you for her for a whole fucking year. You told me so
yourself, remember? If she’s still hovering, rest assured
there’ll be a repeat of what happened before, if it hasn’t
happened already. You should never forget that.”
Morin nodded as her eyes watered, knowing Aize was right.
Unable to stave off her tears, she placed the cup on the
floor beside the plate of uneaten bread rolls and covered
her face as she wept. She felt the depression on the bed as
Aize sat on it, and leaned into his embrace as he held her
and stroked her arm as she cried. She sobbed on his chest,
dampening his work shirt but unable to stop, her longing
for comfort superseding decorum.
“What do you need to feel better?” he asked after a while.
“What is that one thing that would make you not as sad?”
She didn’t immediately speak, a million and one answers
floating in her head, all of which involving a world where
Keji had never returned to their lives. But as she pondered
Aize’s question, one answer became the most obvious.
“I was looking forward to leaving that house,” she
answered. “I was looking forward to a fresh start at Mofe’s
new place, away from memories from before…” Her voice
broke. “…and reminders of us now.”
“Then leave. Put the house on the market and get another
place. You were going to sell the house anyway, right?”
“But how soon will it sell?” she asked. “I didn’t care before
about the long view to a sale because we had a place to go.
But to get a new place now, I’ll need to have already sold
this one.”
“My realtor can make it happen, trust me. I’ve seen your
house. He’ll get it sold in no time. Even if it takes longer, he
can arrange a lease to buy option somewhere else, don’t
worry,” Aize said, tipping up her chin to face him. “You
don’t have to worry because I’m here for you.”
She closed her eyes and burrowed her face in his chest
again, feeling lighter already. Now, all she had to figure out
was the best way to tell the children their parents were
getting divorced after all.

She finally returned home the next day, three days before
the kids were to return for their holiday. Back in her
bedroom, she sat on the bed, Mofe’s aura pervading the
place like he hadn’t been gone from it for three years. She
wished she hadn’t caved, wished she hadn’t succumbed to
her weakness, wished she hadn’t undone all her healing by
taking him back. Her eyes drifted to the suitcases she’d
bought to pack her clothes for the move to his house, a
move that now wouldn’t happen, and her heart sank. She’d
looked forward to leaving this house. She’d fantasized of all
the modifications she would make to Mofe’s place, how she
would decorate it to make it more her…more them.
But there was no longer any them.
“Then leave. Put the house on the market and get another
place. You were going to sell the house anyway, right?”
Aize’s words from the previous day rang in her head. He
was right. Just because she and the kids were no longer
moving to Mofe’s didn’t mean they couldn’t move. They
were going to move even if it was the last thing she did.
She wasn’t going to play house with reminders she neither
needed nor wanted. It was time to do what she should have
done three years ago; make a fresh start.
The vibration of her phone broke into her reverie, and she
frowned at the name that flashed on her screen.
Mommy Thompson.
Having just switched on her phone, Morin hadn’t even
gotten around to calling her own mother, but here was
Mofe’s already hounding her. But that wasn’t what made
seeing the name on her phone niggle. It was the realisation
that the woman, as well-meaning as her intentions were,
was yet another reminder of Mofe that she could live
without. She stared at the phone as it rang out, after which
she did what she should have done long ago.
Block the number.
Morin pulled up the phone numbers of Mofe’s three sisters,
all his aunts, all his relatives whom she was sure would
soon be spamming her with calls and messages and
blocked all their numbers. When she was done, she hovered
over Mofe’s own name, tempted to block him as well. But
that wasn’t practicable, not with their kids set to return
home in days. She couldn’t block him from their lives…but
she could erase him from hers.
Rising to her feet, she walked to the closet and the sight of
Mofe’s clothes that had returned felt like hands pressing
her chest with fingers burrowing through her skin and
squeezing her heart. She reached for the hangers from
which they hung, one by one, removing every shirt, every
pair of pants from these hangars and folding them neatly
into one of the suitcases. Unlike before when she’d pulled
them out in a blind rage, she was methodical this time,
carefully retrieving his things – his clothes from the closet,
his shoes from where they were stowed by the door, his
toiletries from the bathroom, the Richard Branson memoir
he’d left by the nightstand – and neatly boxing each one.
By the time she was done, she stowed his things away,
again, in the study downstairs. This was the first phase.
The next and more important phase would be packing up
the house in its entirety.
And going somewhere she could truly forget.

Mofe
As it turned out, Bimbo wasn’t the only one who didn’t want
to see Mofe’s face. As he turned to his sisters and aunts to
intercede on his behalf, everyone he spoke to shut down at
the mention of Keji’s name.
“You went back to that woman?!” his immediate older
sister, Bawo had screamed, not even waiting to hear the
rest of his narration.
“I don’t know what to say to you,” his oldest sister, Roli,
had said. “After all it took to get Morin back.”
“Omorinsola has tried,” his Aunt Dere had sighed. “I will
not force another woman to take what I advise my own
daughters to. Just let the poor girl rest.”
Only his mother had joined in his quest to find Morin,
paying frequent visits to Morin’s mother’s house and
calling Morin’s number daily, not giving up when the line
never connected, and sending him an excited text message
when it finally rang.
MOM: Your wife’s phone is back on. I called her and it
rang. You should call too.
Mofe’s heart had lurched upon reading it, but no sooner
had he poised himself to call Morin did his phone vibrate
with another message from his mother.
MOM: I tried her again, but it appears I’ve been
blocked. To be honest, I can’t blame her. You brought
this on yourself by getting entangled with that girl
again. At this point, I wash my hands off this matter.
And just like that, his hopes that had been raised sky high
plummeted all the way to the ground. He knew how deeply
Morin loved his mom and how close a relationship they’d
maintained even when he was away, so blocking her
number was more than a signal that Morin wanted nothing
to do with his family, it was a cymbal sound. But he wasn’t
done fighting. So he called her.
As the phone rang, grateful though he was that his line
hadn’t been blocked, he worried Morin wouldn’t answer the
call at all. His heart pounded furiously in his chest and he
contemplated grabbing his car key and racing there in his
disheveled state or taking the time to shower and make
himself presentable before going.
But then the line connected.
“What do you want?” Morin’s weary voice sounded.
Mofe’s heart pumped harder upon hearing her voice again
for the first time in a fortnight, his mouth immobile in his
anxiety.
“Where were you? Everyone has been looking for you,” was
what he did manage to say when his tongue loosened.
When she didn’t say anything in response, he cleared his
throat and dove straight in.
“I miss you,” he said. “Let me come home. Please.”
“Mofe, let’s stop doing this to each other,” she sighed. “I’ve
had enough time to think and I’m even more convinced that
you and I shouldn’t have gotten back together.”
“Babe, I swear there’s nothing going on with Keji…”
“It’s not Keji, Mofe,” she sighed again. “You not telling me
what happened with Dwight is exactly like what used to
happen before. It’s only a matter of time before we stop
talking to each other again, before we start hurting each
other again…”
“I’m never going to hurt you again, Morin. I swear.”
“But you already have,” she answered. “You and I are still
the same people, and soon everything will come crashing
down like it did before.” She sighed again. “And I can’t do
that to myself again. I’m sorry, Mofe, but I’m not going to
change my mind.”
Mofe sat on his bed, too devastated to speak, too distraught
to beg, too shattered to cry.
“I’ve packed your stuff,” Morin was still saying. “You can
pick them up next time you come to see the kids. And
speaking of the kids, we need to discuss the best way to tell
them we’re going ahead with a divorce.”
He lowered himself to the bed slowly as she continued to
talk, as she continued to say how much better a divorce
would be for them, not only as a unit but as individuals, the
finality of her words, the calmness and conviction in her
voice relaying that this was a lost battle. Like with his
business with Dwight and the moment he’d realised it was
over, he knew now that there was nothing he could do to
change her mind. He’d lost her.
For good this time.

Book made for [email protected]

 CHAPTER NINETEEN
AWAKENINGS

APRIL – JUNE 2022

Morin
Putting up an act when the children were dropped off by
Malachi’s friend’s dad on Friday was hard. Maintaining that
act through Saturday and most of Sunday was hard.
Opening the door on Sunday evening and seeing Mofe
again after three weeks was hard. But sitting before their
children and breaking their hearts was the hardest of all.
“But you said we were going to live together,” a distraught
Michaela cried. “You said we were going to live together by
Easter.”
Morin turned to Mofe hoping he could help but he stared
back at her, his face expressionless.
“Yes, that was what we thought but…but things didn’t quite
work out that way,” Morin answered. “Your dad and I have
decided it’s best we live apart.” She cast another look
Mofe’s way before returning her gaze first to Michaela and
then Malachi. “We’ve also decided to get a divorce.”

Mofe
Even though the divorce petition was still lying on his
dining table untouched since opening the day it was
delivered, hearing the word felt like a lance through his
core. It was real. It was finally happening.
He and Morin were getting divorced.
Not trusting himself to look at her, he kept his eyes on their
children, his heart breaking as their faces fell, their hearts
also shattered.
“But you promised,” Malachi said, his voice trembling. “You
said you wouldn’t get divorced.”
“I’m sorry, Mali,” Morin sighed. “I know this is hard to hear
and we really didn’t want it this way.” Morin said, turning
to look at Mofe again.
Mofe felt her gaze on him and knew she needed him to
jump in to help ease the conversation. But he kept mute,
not about to do anything to make the discussion easier, not
when it was her decision, not his.
“Can I please be excused?” Michaela said, her eyes
glistening with tears.
Mofe’s heart sank, Michaela’s tearful acceptance worse
than any tantrum she could have thrown. At that point, he
accepted that the best thing to do was to give her and her
brother space. Now was not the time for him to jump in
with any platitudes even he didn’t believe.
“Sure,” Morin answered, the concern she felt over their
daughter’s request to be excused from the conversation
stamped on her face.
“Me too,” Malachi said just as his sister rose to her feet and
walked out of the room, not waiting for anyone’s response
before following her.
Morin sighed and shut her eyes as she massaged her
forehead, as if she’d expected a different outcome. Had she
thought the kids were going to break out in song? Give her
a pat on the back?
“You could have said something,” she muttered as she rose
to her feet.
He didn’t answer as he also stood, not trusting himself not
to drop to her knees and beg her till his voice went hoarse.
But apart from knowing how deeply her continued rejection
would hurt, he had accepted the futility of that endeavor.
Her mind was made up and there was nothing he could do
about it.
“There’s one more thing,” she said. “I’ve decided to sell the
house. There are too many bad memories here. I’ve decided
it’s best to sell and buy another place.”

Morin
Mofe’s face was closed off in a way it had never been, not
even in the days following their earlier separation.
Standing before her, his eyes were shuttered, his face
betraying no emotion to what she had just said. She’d been
braced for an argument, been prepared to defend her
decision, but all she got in response was a deadpan stare.
“If that’s what you want,” he finally answered.
“I haven’t found a new place yet, but I’ll be sure to keep
you informed when I do. I don’t want to remain in the
estate, but I don’t intend to move anywhere too far.”
He nodded. “That’s noted. You said you packed up the rest
of my stuff?”
The abrupt pivot jarred her. Reminded of the other reason
she’d asked him to come, she nodded in response.
“Yes. Give me a minute and I’ll go get the bag.”

Mofe
He stood in wait after she’d left, schooling his face from
betraying the emotions warring inside him. Even though
they’d made the decision to sell the house, her going ahead
with it when moving in him was off the table felt like a kick
to the stomach. It was her throwing away the memories
they had created together, her reaffirming to him her
decision to move on with her life without him. If he weren’t
already sinking, already drowning in an ocean of regret and
despair, this would have done it for sure.
He knew he could push back if he wanted, knew he could
remind her that his name was also on the deed, knew he
could insist on a commensurate portion of the proceeds of
the sale. But he was done fighting.
The sound of her footsteps on the wooden floor broke
through his reverie. He watched as she made her way to
him, a small travel bag in her hand containing the trail of
his belongings from their recent time together. But it
wasn’t even the bag in her hand that caught his attention,
but her bare wedding ring finger. That she had removed
her wedding and engagement rings communicated louder
than any words she had already said, that she was done
with him.
Done with their marriage.
“Here you go,” she said, handing him the bag.
He accepted it in an act that was more than receiving his
personal belongings…but full acceptance of their reality.
“I’ll speak to the kids later in the week,” he said, knowing
he couldn’t leave things with their children the way they
were.
“Thank you,” Morin answered.
“Okay then,” he said, clearing his throat. “I’ll talk to you
later. Take care.”

Morin
She stood at the door long after he’d gone, feeling none of
the relief she’d convinced herself she would, but instead
hollow and bereft, the finality of their breakup descending
on her with a vengeance, the indifference he’d projected
and his final acceptance of what they now were making her
feel worse.
Wiping away renegade tears now spilling from her eyes,
she secured the door with the lock and went into the
kitchen where she poured herself a cold glass of water.
Nothing could be gained from regretting a decision she
should have made a long time ago. Yes, it hurt now, but in
the long run, all of them would be better for it. Right now,
all she had to do was focus on helping their children
through their new reality…and finding another house to
live.

Mofe
In the days that followed, he threw himself into the task of
looking for another agricultural produce partner, prowling
the internet for farms that produced not only cashew nuts
but cocoa, soya beans, and sesame seeds, reengaging with
contacts from other chocolatiers in Switzerland and
Belgium, and seeking introductions to others in France,
Germany, Italy, and Poland.
The following week, he set off for Abuja for the
commemoration of the first anniversary of Omoruyi’s death.
Sitting in a back pew during the Mass, it was a full circle
moment, considering it was around the time of Omoruyi’s
death that Mofe had hoped and prayed that the divorce
Morin threatened wouldn’t materialize, Now, exactly a year
later, it was materializing like the last year had never
happened.
After Mass, he and Nonso joined Abolore and the heavily
pregnant Bioye and Ogugua where they stood outside.
While Mofe had heard about Bioye’s pregnancy, Ogugua’s
was a surprise, especially after hearing something about
her and Olumese no longer being together.
“Wow!” Nonso exclaimed as they joined the group. “Wow!
Congratulations, O.G.” As Olumese joined them, Nonso
beamed at him. “And congratulations to you, my man.”
“Thank you,” Olumese answered, accepting the handshake
Nonso offered.
“Congratulations,” Mofe chimed in.
“You heard Alero and Bonju had a son a week ago, right?
And Tomi is set to have baby number two any day now,”
Nonso announced. “It’s raining babies for the Malomo
Class of ’99 for sure.”
“Divorces, too,” Mofe muttered before he could help
himself, immediately regretting his outburst as all eyes
turned to him.
“Divorces?” Bioye exclaimed. “I thought you and Morin
were making things work. You were together at Bonju and
Alero’s wedding party in January.”
Mofe shrugged. “We tried but we’ve accepted that some
broken things just can’t be fixed. She filed a new petition,
and I’ve decided not to fight it this time.”
There was awkward silence in the group, nobody knowing
what to say in response to that.
“Or bankruptcies, if these pipeline thieves continue stealing
my crude,” Nonso said, his nervous chuckle punctuating
the silence.
Mofe frowned as he turned to look at his friend. A little
over a year before, Nonso had invested heavily in a stake in
an oil field in Rivers State, divested by one of the major
international oil companies.
Abolore let out a low whistle. “I heard about that. And
nothing is being done about it?”
“Since November last year, of the fifty-five thousand
barrels of oil we pump through the pipeline, nothing gets to
the terminal,” Nonso answered, his phony laughter fading.
“And by nothing, I mean zero. Zilch. So, you can do the
math to work out just how much money I’ve lost.” The fake
laughter returned. “I promised myself I wouldn’t talk about
it today, but I guess even that’s a long shot.” He laughed at
the grim looks on everyone’s face and raised his hands.
“Guys, I was kidding about the bankruptcy. The acquisition
was part-funded by debt. It’s just a simple matter of
restructuring the loan with my bankers. Everything is fine,
don't worry.”
Abolore cleared his throat. “We need to head over to the
house for the reception. It’s getting late.”
They’d proceeded to the home Omoruyi had shared with his
wife, Eva, for a small reception. The next day, Mofe set off
to Ilorin from Abuja, to meet the owners of a cashew farm
he’d found online. From there, he went to Ogbomosho,
Abeokuta, Akure, and Ijebu Mushin, meeting with farmers.
By May, learning from the mistake he’d made with Dwight,
he executed sale and purchase agreements with three of
them for cashew and cocoa. He wasn’t about to be anyone’s
agent. No, he was done being a middleman. Any deal he got
in the future would be with him as a direct supplier. He
wasn’t going to get edged out again.
The agreements sorted, Mofe did what he should have done
weeks before; respond to Morin’s petition without contest.
Even though it grieved him to do so, and Shina to do this on
his behalf, it was something he needed to truly mentally
move on.
At the end of May, he was invited for Nonso’s fortieth
birthday party. He briefly contemplated not attending but
decided to last minute. He couldn’t run away from public
gatherings forever, no matter how much he dreaded having
to explain why Morin wasn’t with him or that their
marriage was over. So he’d dressed up for the black tie
event and headed to the grand ballroom of Le Mirage Hotel
where the event was to take place. As expected, it was a
grand affair, the extravagantly decorated hall – with glacier
chandeliers and crystal candelabra centerpieces – filled
with notable personalities in both politics and corporate
Nigeria, in addition to members of the Malomo Class of ’99,
most of whom were in attendance except the new parents
Bonju and Alero, Abolore and Bioye, the heavily pregnant
Ogugua, and – funnily enough – Zinna who had attended
every Malomo event since the reunion.
And Morin.
Ogonna, Nonso’s girlfriend, was the consummate hostess,
making up for Nonso’s social inadequacy as she welcomed
guests and flitted around the room making sure everything
was going as clockwork as she’d, clearly, planned. In a
fitted sparkly dress that looked like a gazillion diamonds
had been hand sewn onto it, she was already stealing the
spotlight, and nobody would have been chastised for
thinking it was her own fortieth birthday party. With a
sinking heart, Mofe was reminded that when his own
milestone birthday came along in August, Morin wouldn’t
be there to play this role. It was yet another reminder that
they were truly on the path to living separate lives,
intertwined only because of the children they shared.
“Finally, some peace,” Nonso muttered as he sat on the
table Mofe shared with Ikenna, who’d flown in that
morning and was set to return to L.A. the following
morning, where his wife, Tomi, had just given birth to their
son. “I don’t know how Ogonna got me to agree to a party
this elaborate.”
Ikenna chuckled and Mofe nodded, because it did seem
elaborate, even for Nonso.
“It’s your fortieth, man,” Ikenna smirked. “And your girl
wanted to make it special for you.”
“Special for me would have been a few friends on a beach
somewhere,” Nonso said, looking around at the partying
guests. “Half of the people here, I barely even know. Like
what the hell is the Speaker of the Tararba State House of
Assembly doing here?”
“Just enjoy it. Ogonna put in a lot of work, so stop pouting
and enjoy the evening,” Ikenna said.
Nonso looked at him with a raised vow. “Since when did
you start speaking in Ogonna’s defense?”
Ikenna scoffed, causing Mofe to laugh. That Nonso’s closest
friend didn’t like his girlfriend was no news. As a matter of
fact, if he were to be honest, Mofe was also not thrilled
about his friend’s relationship with the woman who had
mercilessly humiliated him back in school. But then again,
if Bonju and Alero could make it work, maybe Nonso and
Ogonna also could.
“Just be grateful you have someone who cares enough to,”
Mofe chimed in.
Nonso and Ikenna turned to him, concern etched on both
their faces.
“So you two are really going through with the divorce?”
Nonso asked.
Mofe shrugged and smiled, done with projecting the image
of a man forlorn. “Yes. It was a mutual decision.”
It was Nonso’s turn to scoff. “Divorce is never mutual. One
person always wants it more than the other,” he said, his
eyes holding Mofe’s. “The person that says its mutual is
usually the person getting dumped.”
Mofe’s jaw clenched as he looked away, breaking their
gaze, his friend’s postulation hitting too close to home.
Before he could say anything in response, Nonso was
summoned to the stage to cut his multi-tiered cake that
looked more like a piece of art than something set to be
consumed, what with its gleaming gold wrap, rum fountain,
and animated James Bond 007 topper. Mofe joined the rest
of the crowd as they sang the birthday song as Nonso,
supported by Ogonna, cut the cake, after which he gave a
stirring speech thanking everyone there, with special
thanks to his girlfriend for putting the party together last
minute. But as the DJ took over and everyone hit the dance
floor, Mofe remained seated, unable to maintain his happy
and cheerful façade. He watched as everyone, their
classmates and even the stuffiest of politicians and bank
MDs danced without a care in the world, envying their
ability to be uninhibited and carefree.
As Nonso and Ogonna danced, if her bulging eyes and rapid
gesticulations were anything to go by, the conversation
they were having wasn’t a pleasant one.
“Because I’m fed up!” she yelled just as the music stopped
as the DJ changed sets.
Mofe froze, the second-hand embarrassment he felt
reflected on the faces of the guests who weren’t chuckling
and whispering in their own amusement. Red faced and
clearly even more embarrassed than all the guests put
together, Nonso stood in the center of the room as a tearful
Ogonna ran off.
Making Mofe realise that every single one of them was
dealing with their own shit.

Morin
Even though Mofe had made good on his promise to speak
to the children before he left town, nothing Morin could do
could salvage the Easter holiday for the children. Not even
finding, through Aize’s agent, a large house in a gated
estate in Oniru that came with rooms double the size of
their current house, walk-in closets, and even a game room,
their disappointment over their parents’ final breakup
superseding everything else.
“Did dad live with another woman when he was in
Geneva?” Michaela asked one night as Morin lay in bed
with her, having gone to encourage her about the exams
she was set to write in the coming year.
Morin froze, unprepared for a question so direct. In all the
time Mofe had been away, that had been the one thing she
had done her best to protect their children from; their
father’s indiscretion.
“I overheard Aunty Bimbo talk about it when he was there,”
Michaela went on.
Morin pondered over her words, unsure how to respond,
not wanting to tarnish Mofe’s image in the eyes of his
children but not wanting to lie to her daughter either.
“Your dad and I weren’t in a good place,” was the neutral
answer she finally landed on.
“But over Christmas, you said…”
“We thought we were, but we really haven’t been in a good
place for a long time,” Morin answered. “And rather than
hurt each other, we think it’s best to end our relationship
as a couple.” She squeezed Michaela’s shoulder. “But we’ll
always be a family.”
Michaela nodded in her resignation, returning her mother’s
embrace. Things had gotten better with her after that night
and, thankfully, by the time they returned to school the first
week of May, Mali was no longer sulking.
With the children back in school, Morin set about working
on the new house, aimed at readying the place by their half
term holiday. Aize’s support made juggling monitoring
workmen with work easier. He followed her to the new
house every day, yelling at whomever needed to be yelled
at and glowering at whomever needed to be glowered at to
get things done. And as Aize helped as she prepared to
move her and the children’s personal items to the new
place the week before their return for half term, Morin
knew she couldn’t have achieved the move without him; not
finding a house like that that was available for lease to
purchase, not getting the contractor to have the house
ready in less than a month, and not refraining from falling
into a million and one pieces as she packed up almost of a
decade of memories.
On her final night in the house, as she cleared out the guest
room closet, the contents of an old box inside it almost
unraveled her. As she rummaged through it, a lemon green
with gold tulle invitation card caused a sad smile to form on
her face. Sitting on her heels, she stared at her wedding
invitation card, not having seen it since boxing up their last
house many years before. At the time of their wedding,
she’d loved the card so much, she’d kept one for herself,
and staring at it, it was like being volleyed back in time
thirteen years, the memories of sitting with Mofe in the
designer’s studio, browsing options for their wedding
invitation so vivid, Morin could practically smell the leather
of the designer’s brochure and the crispness of the paper
all over his studio. The design hadn’t been Mofe’s first
choice. He’d wanted something simpler, more minimalist,
but he’d acquiesced when he’d seen just how much she’d
wanted this one.
If only they knew.
She made to tear it, but stopped, wanting to share it with
the one person for whom it would strike just as poignant a
memory. So she took a picture of it and sent it to Mofe,
with the caption Look what I found.

Mofe
He was standing by the luggage carousel at the Ostend–
Bruges International Airport in Belgium waiting for his bag
when his phone vibrated. Pulling it from his pocket, his
heart jumped when he saw a message from Morin…but
when he opened it, it began a slow descent all the way to
his feet.
MORIN: Look what I found.
Without even clicking the picture open, he knew what it
was, the small thumbnail all he needed to remember. But
he clicked it open anyway, smiling at the old-fashioned
calligraphy that had been used to invite guests to witness
the union between the daughter of the late Engineer Josiah
and Mrs. Abike Biobaku and the son of Mr. Temisan and
Mrs. Tosan Thompson. He remembered the debate over
design choice, and even the one preceding it for their
theme colours. He’d thought navy blue went better with
gold, but Morin, her mother, and even his own mom and
sisters had thought gold paired better with lemon green.
But over and above all that, he remembered how excited he
and Morin had been to be taking that step, how much
they’d looked forward to a lifetime together. And his heart
broke for the young couple who could never have fathomed
what life had in store for them.
Forcing a smile, he typed Nice. Where’d you find this?
The guestroom closet, she replied.
He nodded, thinking it was a plausible place to have stayed
hidden for so long.
I’m about to destroy it. But if you want it, I could
send it to you, came another text from her.
His heart squeezed in his chest, both at the prospect of the
card being destroyed or sent to him as a meaningless
memento. No, he didn’t need to see the card. He didn’t
need to own it. It was better for it to suffer the same fate
their union had.
Destroyed.
I’ll pass, he texted, swallowing back a stubborn lump that
was forming in his throat. Shina says he hasn’t received
a response from your lawyer, he quickly added, needing
to steer the conversation back to safer territory. Safer
territory for him.
He stared at his phone, waiting for her answer but when
none came, he returned his gaze to the carousel, the tears
in his eyes blurring his vision. Wiping them away, he
spotted his bag already gone way past and bustled up front
to retrieve it, determined to keep his mind on the business
that had brought him to town.
And not the huge chunk of his heart he would never get
back.

Morin
She stared at her phone, Mofe’s reminder of the response
to her divorce petition hurtling her right back to earth.
Setting her phone down, she ripped the invitation card to
pieces and threw it in the trash. She did the same to most
of the other things in the box; old employment letters, old
hospital invoices. It wasn’t until the box was empty that she
picked her phone up to send Mofe a response.
MORIN: You should hear from my lawyer this week.
He says we might be lucky to get a court date in a few
weeks.
In actual fact, Jerome, her lawyer had told her no such
thing. The prompt was more for her than anything, a
prompt to not only expedite Jerome, but to move things
quickly along. They’d already been in a state of limbo for
way too long.
Okay, was all Mofe sent in response.
Putting the phone on the table, she set about her task of
clearing the room, all the while trying to ignore the
boulder-sized hole in her heart.

The next afternoon, Aize came by the house to help move

her final items, consisting of small suitcases and breakable
crockery, the moving company having already moved the
furniture she wasn’t disposing of. Walking into her new
house, the fragrance from the professional deep cleaning
the previous day lingered, a smell that was both welcoming
and daunting. This was her home, her new home, her
brand-new slate.
“I couldn’t have done this without you”, she said to Aize as
they sat in the airy living room, sipping wine.
“Stop thanking me, Morin. I never could have let you do
this on your own.” His gaze darkened as his eyes held hers.
“You know how much you mean to me.”
She dropped her eyes, his interest no surprise. Still feeling
the heat of his stare, she looked up and saw him still
looking at her. And she found herself wondering what if.
What if she allowed herself enjoy the attention of another
man? What if she opened herself to the possibility of
finding love again? Would it be wrong to chase her healing
in the arms of someone else? Would it be so bad to be loved
again?
His ringing phone tore through the moment, and by the
time he was off the call, they had the distraction of
discussing the next recording of the podcast. She hadn’t
been able to produce it in weeks but now that she was
settled, Aize was keen to have her return, just as she was
as well.
“What do you want to do for dinner?” he asked.
She shrugged. “Probably order take out or something.”
“Why don’t you come over to my place so I can cook for
you?” he asked.
“That’s not why I brought you here, Morin. I brought you
here to cook for you and spend some quality time.”
Mofe’s words from almost a year before echoed in her ears.
Looking at Aize, his desire emanating from every pore,
Morin knew what he was really asking her. She knew
saying yes would be agreeing to a lot more than a hot meal.
Unbidden, visuals of Mofe and Keji that had begun to fade
returned from her subconscious, visuals of them having
wild sex like animals. Despite being committed to her, Mofe
hadn’t thought twice before accepting what Keji offered.
Now that she was being offered the same thing, and
without any commitment constraining her, why then was
she thinking twice about accepting? Standing over six feet
tall and with a body honed from the grueling fitness regime
he religiously followed, Aize was an attractive man.
“Sure. What are you going to cook for me?” she asked, her
coy smile surprising her and, if the widening of his eyes
was anything to go by, Aize as well.
She followed him home and as they walked into his plush
serviced apartment, it was obvious that food was not on the
menu. No sooner were they inside did he reach for her,
pulling her close enough to feel the evidence of his arousal.
Morin’s breath caught in her throat, less from being turned
but more from the disorientation of being in another man’s
arms. And as Aize lowered his face to hers, as his mouth
pressed down on hers, as his tongue twined with hers, as
she eased into the alien feeling of being kissed by a man
other than Mofe for the first time in fourteen years, she
knew this was what she needed.
What she needed to forget.
Within minutes, they were in his bedroom, Aize’s skillful
prowess with his mouth and hands soon making her
aroused enough to want him. But skillful and masterful
though he was, as he kissed her, undressed her, lay
between her, and drove into her the way only two men
before him had, she couldn’t relax enough to give in to the
pleasure, thoughts of Mofe preventing her from reaching
her release. But it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter if she
didn’t explode in the kind of earth-shattering climax only
Mofe had ever brought her to. What mattered was that she
had finally taken that step, that much belated step, away
from him for good.
“’Morinsola,” Aize whispered from where he lay beside her
as they cuddled afterwards, his voice a slur in his post
coital haze. “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted this.”
She smiled at him, hearing in his voice just how much he
meant it.
“It was better than anything I could have even dreamt up,”
he chuckled. “You know I’m never letting you go now,
right?”
Morin laughed, knowing he meant it as a joke but not
minding if he didn’t. She was ready for this, ready for
whatever this next phase of her life would come with.
A phase that did not involve her pining for the man who
would soon be her ex-husband.

Book made for [email protected]

 CHAPTER TWENTY
STEPS…FORWARD & BACKWARD

JULY 2022

Mofe
After over a month away, Mofe returned to Lagos in time
for a meeting scheduled between the coach of Malachi’s
track team and parents of students intending to pursue
sports scholarships for university. Even though some like
Malachi were years away from this happening, it made
sense that the school wanted to map out their paths to
ensure neither academics nor sports suffered. Mofe had
been in Krakow when he’d gotten the email and had
rearranged his meetings to ensure he was back in time to
attend it. Even though he and Morin hadn’t communicated
since their text exchange as he landed in Belgium, he sent
her a message as soon as he returned, letting her know
he’d be at the meeting.
I’m attending that meeting, had been her reply.
He’d glared at the message in all its passive aggression,
reading the subliminal dare for him to challenge her. But
fighting with her was the last thing he wanted to do. With
three of the thirteen European chocolatiers he’d engaged
on the verge of signing supply contracts with him, and an
additional two in the final stages of agreeing terms of an
agreement, he wanted to save his energy for that.
We can both attend, he texted back. I can give you a
ride if you want. It won’t make sense for us to journey
all that way in two cars.
Okay, that works, she replied.
Relieved to have reached an understanding, he spent the
next few days looking for suitable office space near his
house.
On Saturday morning, he was up early, mindful of the time
Morin had agreed to have him pick her up. As he picked out
his outfit, he hated that he was thinking more about making
an impression on her than looking generally presentable.
Selecting a white Ralph Lauren polo shirt over jeans, he
couldn’t help but nurse the minuscule hope of her taking
one look at him and changing her mind about their
impending divorce. And as he made the longer drive to her
new address, the hope grew from minuscule to substantial,
substantial enough for him to contemplate the resale value
of her new house as he brought his car to a stop before it.
Larger than their old house, like the houses that flanked it,
it didn’t have the massive, imposing gates the old house did
and instead was framed by impeccably trimmed hedges
dotted with the flowered cacti Morin liked.
Walking from his car to the door, Mofe tapped lightly on
the doorbell and inhaled deeply to compose himself for the
first sight of the woman he loved in way, way too long. His
heartbeat accelerated as he heard footsteps approaching
the door, but everything in him stilled – his pulse, his
breathing, even the blood flowing in his body – as a man
opened the door, a bare-chested man with pajama bottoms
sitting low on his waist, a man he recognized as Morin’s
colleague, Aize. Mofe glanced up at the gold numeral above
the door, wondering if he’d somehow found his way to the
wrong house. Because, surely, this had to be a mistake. The
immediate furrow of Aize’s brows confirmed to Mofe that it
was, indeed, a mix-up…but the slow upward curve of his
mouth in a smile that was as smug as it was triumphant
told Mofe that no, it was no mistake.
“You’re early,” Aize said, still smiling. “Come on in.”
Mofe stood, rooted to the spot as Aize turned around,
leaving the door open for him.
“Who is it?”
Hearing Morin’s voice unglued Mofe’s feet from the
ground, pulling them one after the other into the house a
few paces behind Aize. Aize didn’t answer, instead glancing
back to make sure Mofe was still following him. Mofe didn’t
take notice of the bright hallway, his attention focused on
the direction of the sound. Aize made a left turn into a
large, well-lit kitchen and Mofe stopped in his tracks at the
sight that greeted him. Morin was standing at the sink with
her back to the door, the short yellow silk housecoat
moulded to her wide hips…and betraying the fact she wore
nothing beneath.
“Who was it?” she asked.
Aize walked to her and held her by waist before dropping
his hand to her one of her ass cheeks and squeezing.
Mofe’s car keys dropped from his hand as he stood there,
his body vibrating with a volatile combination of emotions;
shock, disbelief, despair…and rage. He wanted to charge,
the sight of another man groping Morin flashing crimson
before his eyes like a red cape before a bull. But he was
also rendered immobile, feeling like he was under a deluge
alternating between scalding hot and freezing cold.
“Your visitor,” was Aize’s cavalier answer.
Morin turned around, her widened eyes not lessening
Mofe’s anguish but amplifying it. It would have been easier
to think she’d deliberately staged the scene to make him
jealous. But the genuine horror on her face was proof this
wasn’t something planned for his benefit.
“Let me give you two privacy,” Aize said, a smile on his face
as he walked past Mofe and bounded up the stairway a few
feet away.
“You’re sleeping with your podcast guy?” Mofe exploded.
“Is that why you asked me to come here? So you could
show me?”
“You weren’t supposed to get here until noon!” Morin
shouted back.
“The meeting starts at noon and it’s a two-hour drive!”
Mofe yelled. “What other time would I have gotten here?!”
They glared at each other, Morin’s face reddened from her
embarrassment and his, well, his fast crumbling as grief
fast overpowered as the reality of the situation dawned on
him.
His wife was sleeping with another man.
“Let me quickly shower,” she said, dropping her eyes. “I’ll
show you the living room so you can wait…”
He didn’t wait for her to finish before turning around and
walking down the accursed hallway where his life had
changed forever. Exiting through the doorway he’d come
through, he leaned on his car, the heat from the morning
sun not registering, not even with it beaming directly on his
face. Squatting, he grit his teeth as tears threatened.
Another man had touched his girl. Another man’d had sex
with the love of his life. The memory of Aize in his low-rise
pajamas and a smirk on his face made Mofe’s stomach
clench, bile rushing up his throat. Staggering to the hedge,
he heaved, desperate for the relief that would come from
expelling all his pain, releasing all his hurt with the
contents of his stomach a conduit. But he got no such relief.
Standing back, he glared at the house that mere minutes
ago had been the piece of property he’d hoped would soon
return to the market when Morin came back to him but
which was now a den of iniquity in which she was breaking
their marital vows. With his hands covering his face, he
staggered to his car and, once inside, turned the air
conditioning on full blast. But it didn’t help. It didn’t help at
all. He was still drowning, still suffocating, still dying on
the inside.
Thirty minutes later, a tap on the passenger side window
was the indicator that Morin had come down. Without
looking at her, he clicked open the central lock, starting the
car once she was seated, and setting it into motion. She
made no attempt at conversation or offer any explanation,
and he was grateful for that because he didn’t want to hear
her voice. She had betrayed him in the worst possible way,
and he didn’t even want to be near her.
Traffic along spots on the road extended the ninety-minute
ride to almost two hours, and they didn’t get to Saint
Claire’s until a little before one o’clock. They walked in
stony silence to the assembly hall, joining the other athlete
parents as they listened to the school’s sports director,
Coach Folorunsho, talk about the importance of
maintaining a schedule not only during the school term but
holidays as well. Mofe kept his eyes trained on Coach
Folorunsho as he talked, but the only thing he saw was the
image of Aize groping Morin’s ass. Not even when the
school’s nutritionist took the mic to speak about the
importance of diet or when the head teacher spoke about
the local and international meets planned for the upcoming
academic year did the visuals of Morin moaning beneath
Aize stop looping in Mofe’s head.
Not even shutting his eyes could wipe them away.

Morin
She knew the day would eventually come, the day she
would have to inform Mofe of her month-long relationship
with Aize. She just hadn’t expected it to happen that
morning…with Aize just as barely dressed as she was…and
with his hand on her ass. She’d fantasized about giving
Mofe a taste of his own medicine, about making him feel
everything she’d felt but turning around and seeing him in
her kitchen two hours earlier than she’d expected him,
smug and triumphant were the last things she felt.
Watching him dry heave from her bedroom window had
wrung her from the inside out. She knew that pain well and
it wasn’t something she wished on anyone. Not even the
one who had inflicted it on her. But by the time she was
dressed and joined him in his car, his lethal silence had
flipped the switch for her. She had nothing to be guilty
about. They were separated and on the path to divorce. He,
on the other hand, had broken their marital vows and lived
with another woman for almost a year. So, no, she had
nothing to feel guilty about now that they had swapped
roles of victor and vanquished.
Sitting through the talks at the school, from the corner of
her eye, she saw Mofe’s face remain a mask of thunder
from start to finish. And as the teachers and parents
mingled afterwards, he remained sullen and withdrawn,
avoiding any eye contact with her.
“I’ll ride back to town with Trevor’s parents,” Morin said to
him after the fifteen minutes they were allowed with their
kids, during which time Mofe had managed to feign a few
smiles. “I think it might be best to…”
She hadn’t even finished talking when he walked away. She
watched as he walked to his car, got into it, and sped off.
Screw him. She didn’t want to be with him either.

Mofe
He fell to the floor the moment he walked through his front
door, all the emotions from the day descending on him
thick and heavy. He remembered kissing Morin for the first
time in the deserted car park at The Palms, making love to
her for the first time in his tiny apartment, snuggling up to
her in their bedroom after they found their way back to
each other, carrying her to his bedroom the first time he
invited her over for dinner, making love to her as they
reaffirmed their love for each other, and he let out a loud
cry, a mournful wail like a wounded animal, his heart
shattered to pieces.
He lay on the floor as daytime turned to night and when he
finally pushed himself up, he reached for his phone from
where he’d tossed it. Swiping it open, he set about texting
her.
I should have known not to trust what you said about
that Aize guy being just a friend, he tapped, his thumbs
flying across his keyboard as his tears blinded his eyes. You
couldn’t wait a decent amount of time before opening
your legs for another man. I never would have
thought you’d do something like that. I never would
have thought you would disrespect everything we’ve
shared and built…
“You exchanged phone numbers, and you invited her. You
kept us at the dock waiting for her. You wanted this. You
planned for this to happen.”
The memory of Morin crying the night he’d confessed to
sleeping with Keji flashed through his mind, and it was
quickly followed by memories of her crying as she struck
his car window with her shoe. And he knew he had no right
to castigate her…not when he’d hurt her just as badly. So
he backspaced the fiery words on his screen and instead
typed, When did you start seeing him?

Morin
Having asked Aize to give her time alone that night, she
was sitting alone in her bedroom when her phone vibrated.
Reading the text message from Mofe, the emotions she had
bottled all day broke forth from their confinement. His
simple question hurt worse than any diatribe, his
acceptance stinging worse than his passive aggressiveness
the whole day. Wiping her eyes, she texted back, Recently.
Is it serious? came the reply from Mofe.
She bit the inside of her mouth hoping that pain would
mask the one that was burgeoning in her heart. I think it
could be, she replied.

Mofe
More tears rushed down his face as he read her reply, and
he wanted to ask her why she couldn’t wait for their
divorce to be final, why she couldn’t give them another
chance. Pressing the phone against his face, he allowed
himself sob, allowed himself accept the painful reality that
he had not only lost her, he had lost her to another man.
Lowering his phone, he typed, I wish you well,
Omorinsola. If you’re happy, I’m happy.
The message sent, he turned off his phone and lay in a fetal
position on the floor, hoping the words he’d typed would be
his reality.

Morin
His reply broke her, and she set her phone down as she
covered her face with her palms. This was what she
wanted, wasn’t it? A new life without Mofe. A new life with
a man who was crazy about her.
So why then did the finality of it all feel like a spear
through her heart?

Book made for [email protected]

 CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
MOVING ON

JULY – AUGUST 2022

Morin
Morin allowed herself that night to wallow in nostalgic
grief and when Aize returned to her place the next day, she
gave in once again to the romantic relationship that had
formed between them in the month since she’d released
herself to truly change the trajectory of her life. Because
what she wasn’t going to do was put herself through the
torment and torture of the last time she and Mofe had
parted ways. This was the reminder she’d given herself the
morning after sleeping with Aize the first time, when she’d
been consumed by a lethal mix of sadness, grief, and guilt.
As if understanding her conflicted emotions, Aize had been
careful not to crowd her, dropping her off at home with
only a chaste kiss to her forehead. But the next time she
saw him, when she went to their recording studio the next
day, she’d made up her mind to go with it.
So she did.
In the month of their relationship before Mofe found out
about them, and the weeks that followed before the kids
returned for their summer holiday, Aize showered her with
affection exactly how she needed it; a listening ear, a solid
shoulder, a warm embrace, and decent sex. He was good
company. He didn’t make the butterflies in her stomach
flutter neither did his touch leave her breathless and
desperate for more. But he made her feel good in other
ways. His company filled what would have been an aching
loneliness especially with the kids away in school, his
doting attention bolstered her self-confidence, and the
more time she spent with him, the less she thought about
Mofe.
The only thing that had niggled slightly had been him
outing their relationship on his podcast.
“I’d like to dedicate this episode to the woman who is the
light of my world, the woman who has my whole heart,”
Aize spoke into his microphone as recording wrapped on
the podcast one evening, smiling at her where she sat
across him. “The lovely Lady M, the love of my life.”
Morin stared back at him with a raised brow and had been
tempted to edit it out of the episode. But remembering the
Instagram posts Mofe had willingly participated in with Keji
made the decision for her. So she’d left it in the episode.
The response from their listeners was epic, with the
podcast’s social media handles blown up and the episode
topping their previously most downloaded one by several
multiples, proving correct Aize’s theory. Their listeners
might have come for the life hacks, but they’d stayed
because of Aize’s chemistry with his mystery female
producer. The numbers didn’t lie, and the downloads from
the episode where the kind they could pitch for sponsors
with. So even though she’d been vehemently opposed to
being pictured on the podcast’s Instagram page, she’d
agreed to a silhouette picture of her and Aize standing
before each other with his hand tipping up her face as if
leaning in for a kiss, to be posted. The picture garnered
thousands of likes, following on all their handles trebled
overnight, and the downloads on their next episode even
topped the previous week’s high. By the time Morin agreed
to co-host with Aize and for the infamous picture to be their
show’s avatar across all its social media platforms, Life
Hacks with Aize was now the one courted by sponsors, no
longer the other way around. And Morin felt good about it,
proud of whatever role she had played in making this
happen.
When Michaela and Malachi came home for the summer
holiday, Morin had to scale down the time she and Aize
spent together. The kids were still trying to get over the
disappointment of their parents’ looming divorce. They
didn’t need another layer of confusion and complexity. Aize
respected her wishes to hang back but as soon as the kids
left for Abuja with their paternal grandmother, he returned
with a vengeance.
“Let’s go on a cruise,” he proposed as he and Morin lay in
bed the night the children left. “There’s this amazing
Mediterranean cruise my brother told me about. It leaves
from Athens and passes through Santorini, Sicily, Naples,
and then Barcelona.”
“I can’t just up and go on holiday. The kids…”
“Are with their grandmother,” Aize cut in. “And if there’s
an emergency, their father can step in. After all the
prancing around he’s been doing, it’s his turn to do the
heavy lifting.”
Morin contemplated Aize’s words. He was right. She’d been
carrying the load of responsibility where their children
were concerned for way too long. It had been too long since
she’d done anything just for herself and a cruise did sound
like a great way to do just that, a great opportunity to
relax…and be spoilt rotten.
So she agreed, and a week later, she and Aize were on a
plane to Greece.

Mofe
After the soul crushing discovery of Morin’s involvement
with Aize, Mofe threw himself into his business with the
tunnel-visioned focus of a man for whom the only option
was success. He worked himself to the bone, journeying to
partner sites and operating on as little as two hours of
sleep sometimes as he stayed up reviewing contracts with
Shina, scanning all documents with the eagle-eyed
attention of someone who’d already been badly burned. By
the time Michaela and Malachi returned for their holiday,
his first two cargoes had been successfully exported and
the outstanding sale and purchase agreements with new
chocolatiers had been executed. With the majority of the
market shutting down for the summer holiday, Mofe had no
choice but to also scale things down even if he wasn’t
looking forward to the freeing up of his time that would
inevitably lead to his mind torturing him about Morin and
her new lover.
He'd seen the picture uploaded to their podcast’s
Instagram page. Even though it was only a silhouette, he
knew it was Morin, and the intimate picture of them in a
near-kiss had burned his eyes, scorched his heart, and
seared his soul. But worse was the fanatical engagement on
the page, the never-ending comments from their listeners
delighted by the ‘ship’ they’d been desirous of for so long.
They didn’t know her true identity, they only knew her as
Lady M and had only heard her voice and seen the
silhouette of her face, but that didn’t make it sting Mofe
any less. He listened to the blasted podcast every week,
their inside jokes and giggles pelting him like a million tiny
daggers thrown at once, slicing his chest like a scalpel
whittling away at bone.
But the worst came when she called to tell him she was
going away for a month…with her lover.
“The kids are in Abuja anyway,” she added, as if expecting
him to argue.
But he was too dazed, too wounded to put up any
resistance.
“That’s fine. I’m in town,” he answered instead. “Enjoy your
trip.”
He spent the next month wishing he hadn’t said that
because that was all he thought about whether his eyes
were open or closed; just how much she was enjoying it.
On the 20th of August, his fortieth birthday, he left for
Abuja to celebrate his special day with his children,
mother, and aunt. Even though his mother and aunt fawned
over him, even though his children treated him to
homemade treats for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, even
though his sisters threw him a Zoom party in the evening,
with almost all their relatives in attendance, it was the one
call he didn’t get, the one message he didn’t receive that
dulled his landmark event.
The day after, he texted Shina to ask how quickly the
divorce could proceed. Having heard from Morin’s lawyer,
the next step was for their case to be mentioned in court.
Despite this having been something he’d dreaded from the
first time Morin uttered the word, Mofe was now eager to
get it over and done with.
Maybe then, the pain of losing her would start to ebb.

Morin
The cruise was amazing. As the cruise liner sailed through
Greece, Italy, and Spain, even without Aize’s doting
attention and the endless entertainment both onboard and
whenever they disembarked to tour a town, the gorgeous
Mediterranean Sea was the therapy Morin didn’t know she
needed, the blue expanse of water that twinkled either
from sunrays or moonbeams helping her mind still for the
first time in years. It was this tranquility that was her
highlight, not the live music shows and deck parties, not
the food, not the walks through the picturesque
cobblestoned streets of the port cities they passed through,
and definitely not the sex which, despite Aize’s incredible
stamina and prowess, left her underwhelmed. Adventurous,
spontaneous, and with the vigor of a twenty-year-old man,
sex with Aize should have been explosive. But all it did was
leave her sore, exhausted, and drained. Still, she soldiered
on, determined to work on her own stamina so it could not
only match his, but so she could enjoy what was potentially
mind-blowing sex. She’d had the same partner for over a
decade, so it was bound to be difficult being with someone
else.
But on the 20th of August, not even the beautiful blue ocean
was enough to lift the heavy weight that pressed down on
her chest when she opened her eyes in the morning, before
it sank to her stomach by midday where it sat until she
closed her eyes at night. It helped that the ship didn’t dock
that day and that her phone network was sporadic, because
speaking to Mofe on his fortieth birthday would have been
hard. Too hard. So she’d spent the day pretending not to
remember it, pushing Mofe to the back of her mind and
making sure he stayed there.
And she managed to, for the most part.
They spent the last week of their holiday in Barcelona,
returning to Lagos on the 29th of August, the day before
Michaela and Malachi were to return from Abuja.
“Want me to stay and keep you company?” Aize asked,
nuzzling her neck as he held her after helping carry her
suitcases to her bedroom. “Let’s enjoy our last night
together before your kids get back.”
“No, I need to get the house in order,” Morin said in
response, and it wasn’t a lie. Even though Bimbo had
supervised the house’s professional spring cleaning the day
before their return, Morin needed time to herself to
regroup and recharge for the life that lay ahead of them
with the impending divorce.
“Okay,” Aize reluctantly acquiesced. “I’ll come over
tomorrow evening.”
The kids knew him as the man their mom both worked with
– at the consulting firm – and for – with the podcast – so
even though having him over at the house wasn’t out of the
ordinary, she worried how they would react when they
found out there was more to their relationship than just
work. But she couldn’t run away from that possibility
forever.
_
The next day, she was a ball of nervous energy from the
moment she awoke and when Mofe texted to inform her
they were entering their estate, she was equal parts excited
about seeing the children again after a month and agitated
about seeing Mofe for the first time since their trip to the
children’s school. She was already standing at the door as
Mofe’s car pulled up in front of the house and the smile on
her face as she raced to Michaela and Malachi as they got
out just as the car came to a stop was brighter than the
sun.
“Look how tall you both are!” she exclaimed as she
squeezed them both in a tight embrace. “What was
Grandma Abuja feeding you?”
She laughed as Michaela and Malachi talked over each
other, describing all the things their Great Aunt did feed
them; good and bad. As they chattered and walked into the
house, her eyes drifted to the person lingering behind
holding their suitcases.
“Hey,” Morin said to Mofe, hating how breathless the
greeting came out.
“Hey,” Mofe answered, his voice flat and his face
impassive.
“How was your summer holiday?” she asked. “And belated
birthday wishes, by the way. How did the day go?”
“If you really cared to know, you would have called,” was
his terse answer.
That was enough to wipe the smile off her face.
“When did you get back from your cruise?” he asked.
“Yesterday,” she answered, her voice without the
congeniality it had only seconds before.
Mofe nodded. “A month. Must have been fun.”
“It was,” she said, now more than a little defiant.
“Good for you. I hope you’re not thinking of introducing
that man to my kids.”
“What do you mean your kids?” she retorted. “They already
know him, so it’s too late for that. They don’t know we’re
dating yet…”
“And I’d prefer you kept it that way,” he cut in. “They’re
going through a hard enough time without having to wrap
their heads around their mother sleeping with another
man.”
“As if their father didn’t up and leave the country with
another woman!”
“Well at least I didn’t rub it in their faces!”
“Oh go to hell!” she retorted, flipping her hand in disdain,
just about done with their conversation.
Before Mofe could respond, Michaela’s voice rang from the
doorway.
“Daddy, where are you? You promised to let me show you
around the house!”
Mofe glared at Morin as she glared back at him, both their
hands tied by their daughter’s request.
“Coming, sweetheart,” he called as he brushed past Morin
and entered the house.
Morin shut her eyes and exhaled to calm herself,
wondering how she could have ever felt anything but
disdain for the man. With one final exhalation, she turned
around and entered the house, ready to read her kids the
riot act if they kept their father in the house longer than
thirty minutes.

Mofe
His resentment grew as Michaela showed him her bedroom
and then Malachi’s, noting they had all the décor and
modifications he and Morin had planned for their rooms at
his place; the 3D wall mural of the white daisies that were
Michaela’s favourite flower in her room and the map of the
world that covered one wall in Malachi’s, further
reaffirming that they had made this new place their home.
“And this mom’s room,” Michaela said as she made to push
open the door of the room at the end of the hall.
“No, let’s not go in there,” Mofe immediately cut in, pulling
his daughter’s hand gently, because he did not need to see
the place where another man was banging his wife.
“Mom won’t mind.”
“Maybe some other time,” Mofe offered with a smile he
hoped was convincing enough. “You said you wanted me to
set up your ring light?”
Having convinced him she needed it for video recordings
for auditions to join her school’s press club, Mofe had
bought her a ring light before they left Abuja and he was
only too happy to use setting it up as a distraction from
images of Aize and Morin entwined and rolling all over her
bed and on the beaches of whatever islands they visited.
She was sun kissed and a shade darker, and just thinking of
all the things she and her lover got up to in the month they
were away felt like a million soldier ants traipsing across
his body and leaving venomous stings in their wake.
It took Mofe and Michaela thirty minutes to set up the ring
light but as they descended the stairs, he heard a rumble
laughter that was too deep to belong to Morin or Malachi.
“Hi, Uncle Aize,” Michaela said as she walked into the
kitchen, still holding Mofe’s hand.
As Aize looked towards the door, a broad smile on his face,
if looks could kill, he would have been incinerated to dust
from the heat of Mofe’s glare.
“Hey, beautiful!” Aize grinned at Michaela. “It’s good to
see you again. I got you a little something.”
Mofe’s fists curled as Michaela squealed as she was
presented with a colourfully wrapped box. It was then that
Mofe noticed Malachi happily tearing open the wrap of a
gift of his own.
“Wow! Sweet!” Malachi exclaimed, his eyes wide and his
grin from ear to ear. “I’ve always wanted one of these!”
Mofe looked from the silver and black Bluetooth
hoverboard on the table to Morin, the same person who’d
vehemently kicked against them gifting the boy the same
thing for fear it was too dangerous. But she made sure to
avert her gaze. Michaela’s squeal as she unboxed a pink
patent leather Dolce & Gabanna bag also made Mofe
wonder what happened to the decision not to buy their
daughter designer bags until she was eighteen. Mofe stood
by and watched as his children jubilated over their
extravagant gifts and as their mother smiled, equally
thrilled. And his rage amplified.
“Want something to drink, Mofe?” Aize asked as the
children bounded upstairs to drop their gifts.
The easy way he moved around in the kitchen, the fluidity
with which he opened cupboards to retrieve first a glass
and then a coaster and then an opener, his familiarity with
the space felt like molten lava pouring on Mofe’s head,
burning him from top to bottom.
“No thanks,” he managed to mutter.
“Let me have your phone number,” Aize said, dropping the
glass in his hand on the kitchen counter and fishing into his
pocket for his phone. “In case I ever need to reach you.”
Now this was the last straw.
“What the fuck do you want my number for?” Mofe
retorted.
Aize looked from Mofe to Morin and back to Mofe, a smirk
on his face. “In case I need to talk about the kids…”
“My kids aren’t your business,” Mofe said, taking a step
forward. “And you better remember that before you come
here playing Santa. You might be seeing their mother, but
they don’t come as a package deal, you understand me?”
“Mofe!” Morin cautioned.
“No, let the man speak,” Aize chuckled. “What’s the matter,
you mad that someone else is doing what you’re not?
You’re pissed someone else is acting the role of dad when
you’re not?”
Mofe’s legs were already taking him forward before his
brain could communicate to his body, ready to grab Aize by
the throat. But Morin threw herself between them.
“Are you out of your mind?” she whispered gruffly as she
glared at him. “Have you forgotten the children are
upstairs?!”
“Leave him, babe,” Aize was laughing now. “He wants to
show he’s a macho man. If only he could maintain that
same energy with his kids.”
“Stop it!” Morin cried, turning to Aize. “Stop baiting him.”
The sound of footsteps bounding down the stairs was
enough to end the standoff, with Mofe stepping back and
Aize beaming at Michaela and Malachi as they returned to
the kitchen. Mofe watched with despair their easy laughter,
his throat burning with tears as Aize’s accusation burrowed
deep under his skin. He was a lot of things, but he wasn’t
an absentee father and being accused of being one cut
deep into his soul. But worse was the possibility of his
accuser taking his place in his children’s lives. Because no
matter how hard he fought, if the man was more present in
their lives by virtue of his proximity to their mother, there
was very little he could do.
“I’m gonna run,” Mofe said, raising his voice a few decibels
so he could be heard over the din. “I’ll call you guys later,
yeah.”
Michaela and Malachi rushed over to embrace him and
after kissing both their foreheads, he turned around to
leave.

Morin
Morin felt bad as she watched Mofe walk away, so she
followed, reaching him just as he was clicking open his car.
“Mofe,” she called out as she jogged to him. “I’m sorry
about Aize said. He had no right to imply any of that. You’re
a good dad and we all know it.”
The clench of Mofe’s jaw betrayed the emotions he was
working hard to contain, worsening her guilt.
“Listen,” she said, taking a step closer. “Nothing is going to
change between you and the kids. I give you my word.”
“I’m going to ask Shina to file for joint custody,” Mofe said,
the firmness of his voice belying the sadness in his eyes.
“I’m not going to let another man raise my kids.”
“Oh, but you didn’t think of that that when you pissed off to
Geneva for almost a year!” she retorted, incensed.
His brows furrowed. “Is that what this is about, Morin? Is
this some kind of never-ending punishment?”
“This is me moving on with my life, Mofe!” she spat back.
“Unlike what you think, being the classic narcissist you are,
it isn’t always about you.”
Vibrating in her anger, she turned around and walked way,
feeling Mofe’s eyes on her back with every step she took.
Enough was enough. If he wanted to bring out the big guns,
she was ready to give an equal fight.

Book made for [email protected]

 CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
HAPPY PLACE

SEPTEMBER 2022

Mofe
As much as he wanted to prove a point to Morin as well as
shield their kids from her boyfriend, Mofe knew a joint
custody arrangement would not be in the children’s best
interest. Their once-a-month arrangement was destabilizing
enough, made worse by this only happening during the
holidays. Subjecting them to the back-and-forth tug of war
an equal split of their time would be was not something he
could do in good conscience. So he didn’t make good on his
threat to file a fresh petition.
Even though he saw the kids almost every day after that,
Mofe somehow avoided another run-in with Aize in the two
weeks of vacation they had before returning to school. He
also managed to keep his interaction with Morin to a
detached hello when he came to either see them or take
them to his place, and an equally aloof goodbye when he
left. And the day he came to take them back to school, he
hadn’t bothered coming out of the car and Morin hadn’t
bothered coming out of the house. As painful as the
degeneration of their relationship was, Mofe accepted that
keeping it this distant was the best.
For both of them.
With the children back in school and the chocolatiers in
Europe back at work, Mofe set off for Belgium, having been
informed by his contacts at Zoete that the contract with
Dwight’s farm would not be renewed. While there, he threw
himself into meetings, once again using this as an
anesthetic to keep from thinking, to keep from
remembering, to keep from feeling.
To keep from hurting.

Morin
On the 15th of September, Morin turned forty. Not waking
up to the happy birthday song Michaela and Malachi would
sing off key as they stormed into her bedroom was jarring,
the silence in the house making her regret declining Aize’s
request to sleep over the night before. She’d wanted to
crossover into her new year in prayer and meditation. At
least that was what she’d told him, what she’d told herself.
She took the day off work, wanting to keep things quiet,
but her mother and Bimbo showed up at her house at noon,
insistent on taking her out for lunch. Through their meal at
a new Thai restaurant in Victoria Island, Morin feigned
interest as Bimbo ranted about her new boyfriend’s
apparent lack of backbone considering he was yet to make
his long-term intentions known a whole month into their
relationship. Morin closed her eyes and nodded through
her mother’s prayers and plastered on a happy face as her
mother and cousin sang the happy birthday song for her as
their coconut jelly desserts were served. Lunch over, she
got home just in time for Michaela and Malachi’s 4pm
phone allocated time, and her throat clogged as she finally
got the birthday song she wanted, her children’s call the
balm to her melancholy heart.
As evening approached and she had to get dressed for her
dinner date with Aize, she battled that melancholy,
knowing it had no place there, especially not on a day as
significant as this. She felt a little better when the size 14
dress she’d treated herself to fit like a glove, the fifteen
kilograms of weight loss finally starting to show. But
opening the front door and seeing Aize standing there with
a bouquet of roses sent her heart crashing to her feet.
“Happy birthday, my love,” he said, bending to kiss her
before handing her the flowers. “You look amazing!”
In a dark blue shirt that stood out on his light brown skin,
Aize was an incredibly fine man. A birthday treat for most.
That was the reminder she gave herself as they set off for
dinner at Atmosphere.
“You didn’t get me a cake,” she remarked as their meals
were served - cider-glazed porkchops with a parsley salad
for her and a shrimp casserole for him.
Even though she’d bought herself a cake in the two
birthdays of her separation from Mofe, in all the years in
the past and even the one prior when their relationship had
been clandestine, Mofe got her a cake without fail. And
she’d subliminally expected the same from Aize today.
“You don’t need a cake, babe,” Aize said, genuinely amused
by the subject. “Let’s try to get you into a bikini for next
year’s cruise. Look how well you’re doing. Why spoil it?”
That was enough to tank her already sinking mood, the
simple absence of a symbolic cake triggering emotions that
were best left unearthed.
“Is everything okay?” Aize asked as his car pulled up in
front of her house. “You weren’t yourself all evening.”
“I miss my kids,” she answered, her voice quivering. “Not
having them here today was hard.”
“But you spoke to them, didn’t you?”
“It’s not the same thing.”
“Come off it, babe,” he scoffed. “Didn’t you go to boarding
school? I’ll bet your parents had many birthdays without
you and did just fine. It’s part of the kids’ growth. They
can’t stay tied to your apron forever.”
Morin dabbed at a tear in her eye, determined not to cry.
Maybe he was right. Maybe she really was holding on to
Michaela and Malachi tighter than she should.
“Thanks for a wonderful evening,” she said to Aize, forcing
a smile. “I know I said you could stay over, but I’d rather be
alone tonight, if that’s okay with you.”
His brows furrowed. “Again? More meditation?”
“It’s a landmark year, Aize. I have a lot to think about, a lot
of self-assessment to do,” she answered, leaning forward to
kiss him on the cheek.
“No more after tonight, okay?” he implored, his keen eyes
holding hers. “Two nights in a row without you is two
nights too many.”
She offered a slight smile as she got out of the car,
standing by her door with a wave as he drove away. But the
moment he was out of sight, her smile, like the tenuous
happiness she’d tried to muster all day, crumbled to pieces.
Making no attempt to stop her tears, she walked into the
house with heavy legs and an even heavier heart.
Mofe
Sitting in his hotel room, Mofe’s eyes were on the clock. At
10pm, there was hardly anything left of Morin’s fortieth
birthday. Even though he had awoken intent on repaying
the favour of her ignoring his own birthday, he knew he
couldn’t let the day go without reaching out to her. Picking
up his phone, he started to send a text but then changed
his mind and tapped the call button instead. He was
surprised when she answered almost immediately.
“Hey, ‘Morinsola,” he said, suddenly feeling nervous. “Just
calling to wish you a happy birthday.”
There was silence for a few seconds before she replied.
“Thank you. I appreciate this, Mofe.”
He said nothing, not responding for fear it would end the
conversation, surprised how much he’d missed hearing her
voice this way.
“Where are you now?” she asked.
“I flew into Vienna this morning,” he answered. “I’ll be here
for about a week or so.” He cleared his throat. “So what did
you get up to today?”
“Nothing much, really. Lunch with Bimbo and my mom.
Dinner with Aize.”
Hearing her say her lover’s name hadn’t gotten any easier
but he’d slowly come to the place of acceptance that she
was with him now.
“Sounds like you had a fun day,” he remarked.
“Not really,” she sighed. “I wasn’t prepared for how
difficult it would be not having the children here.”
Mofe nodded in understanding, it being her first birthday
with the kids in boarding school.
“At least you had them with you for yours,” she went on. “I
was so miserable waking up, I almost made the drive to
Lakowe to see them.” She sighed. “I’m overreacting,
right?”
“Not at all. I probably would have done the same,” he
chuckled. “Next year, find an excuse to have them around.”
“I most certainly will,” she answered, a smile in her voice.
More silence followed before he chuckled. “Remember the
grand plans you had for your fortieth birthday?”
“Gosh, don’t remind me,” she laughed.
“What was it you said you wanted to do? A weekend
partying in Vegas?”
“No, it was breakfast in Paris, lunch in London, and dinner
in New York,” she answered, still laughing.
“So why didn’t you?”
Her laughter tapered off. “I don’t know. The same reason
you didn’t go wine tasting in Italy for yours, I guess.”
He wanted to remind her that they’d made those plans long
before their marriage had fractured, long before the idea of
them not being with each other on any birthday, let alone a
landmark one, was unthinkable.
“We were young and foolish, what did we know,” she
muttered, probably remembering the same thing he was.
“Young maybe, but not so foolish. I would trade places with
thirty-four-year-old Mofe in a heartbeat,” he countered. “He
had the whole world but didn’t know it.”

Morin
She bit her lower lip, her heart echoing his sentiment.
What she wouldn’t give to be as happy and joyful as her
younger self would have been on any birthday, let alone
one this significant.
“I hope Aize made the day special for you.”
Mofe’s statement took her off guard, the first time he would
speak Aize’s name without contempt. She shrugged,
thinking of the beautiful flowers, expensive gold necklace,
and romantic dinner.
“He did,” she answered, hating how overwhelmed she felt
regardless. “He did, good. But I guess turning forty made
me want to sit alone with my thoughts for a bit, so I asked
him not to stay tonight.”
More silence followed but Morin realised she was happy
with even that; sitting in silence with Mofe.
“Maybe it’s getting older, but this birthday was really
hard,” she said, breaking the silence.
“I get it. It was hard for me too.”
“And the funny thing is that what made me feel the saddest
wasn’t not having the kids here or being nervous about
hitting middle age. It was not having a cake,” she chuckled
and shook her head. “How pathetic is that? Not having a
cake was my real low.”
“Why didn’t you have a cake?”
She shrugged, not wanting to get into Aize thinking her
weight loss endeavor would benefit without it. “Trying to be
healthy, I guess. But anyway, the day is over, and I didn’t
die because I didn’t get a cake.”
Silence followed again but even though there were no
words spoken, the quietness felt familiar, like an old friend.
Left to her, she could have held her phone for hours,
content with listening to him breathing…but she knew she
would be doing herself no favours by so doing. Because
even in that silence, she feared he would hear everything
her heart was trying not to say.
“I better go,” she reluctantly said. “Thank you for calling,”
she made sure not to add it made my day.
“It was my pleasure, Morin,” he said, pausing before
adding. “I’ve missed hearing your voice. I’ve missed
speaking to you like this.”
A tear rolled down her face as she nodded but didn’t dare
to speak, knowing that would open the floodgate of her
emotions.
“Bye,” all she could manage to say before disconnecting the
line.

Mofe
The first thing he did in the morning after awaking from
sleep that was equal parts tumultuous and restful, was to
call Alain, Crust Alchemy’s head baker, to order a birthday
cake for Morin, notwithstanding that the said birthday had
passed.
Trying to be healthy, I guess.
Mindful of her reason for not getting a cake, Mofe
beseeched Alain for a healthier version of the chocolate,
vanilla, and Oreo cake Morin loved, paying almost double
for it. But it was an expense he didn’t mind, one he would
make ten times over if it would make her happy.

Morin
She gasped upon opening her front door the next day and
seeing the Crust Alchemy delivery van. Her emotions were
rife as she carried the cake into the house, as she lifted the
lid of its box, and as she beheld Alain’s signature cursive
gold piping on black frosting. Just then, her phone vibrated
with a message.
MOFE: I hope you enjoy your cake. Don’t worry, it’s
healthy. Alain substituted refined flour for almond,
and sugar for monk fruit sweeteners. He also used
unsweetened cocoa for the chocolate part of the cake
and a coconut cream and date filling instead of salted
caramel.
Her heart almost expanded its way right out of her chest,
Mofe’s thoughtfulness flooring her. sitting down with a
knife and small plate, she cut herself a generous slice,
moaning as the flavours of the cake exploded in her mouth.
Fluffier, creamier, and tastier, that this was a healthier
version of the cake she loved blew her mind. Picking up her
phone, she didn’t waste time texting him back, opting to
call him instead.
“I’m speechless, Mofe. Thank you,” she said, truly not
having enough words to say express her gratitude.
“Please tell me it doesn’t taste like wood shavings,” Mofe
said. “I’ve been so nervous about the unsweetened cocoa,
almond flour, and monk fruit.”
“Would you believe it if I told you it’s even tastier than the
regular cake?” she chuckled. “I just might it all by myself
tonight.”
“That’s what it’s there for,” he said, the smile in his voice
conveying. “Knock yourself out.”
“So that my trainer can lose her mind?” Morin cackled,
thinking of the gym sessions she had every weekend. “I’m
sure even healthy cakes weren’t designed to be downed in
a sitting. I’ve worked too hard for the fifteen kilograms I’ve
lost.”
“I’ve told you before, Morin. You’re perfect the way you
are.”
Let’s try to get you into a bikini for next year’s cruise.
Morin tried not to dwell on the renegade memory of Aize’s
statement, knowing things would only go downhill if she
gave into the thoughts his words had conjured but which
she had already done her best to suppress. So instead, she
went on to ask Mofe about his business.
“Don’t stretch yourself thin,” she said in response to him
telling her about the seven sale and purchase agreements
he had signed, the two that were pending, and the four he
was still negotiating. “I know you felt blindsided by what
Dwight did and are trying to protect yourself by going into
several deals. But be careful not to bite more than you can
chew.”
“Trust me, I’ve put things in place to ensure I can fulfil
fifteen such contracts,” he answered. “I’ve hired at least
one person to sit with my partner farms and two people at
the ports to handle the bagging and packaging of the items.
I never want to put myself in the situation of one deal being
the difference between my succeeding or failing. And, yes,
Shina has scrutinized every single agreement.”
“It’s not that I don’t understand how the ‘shippers’ have
quadrupled our numbers,” she said, when they were
discussing her aversion to be more front-facing with the
podcast she produced and now hosted with Aize. “I get it.
But I also don’t want my picture splashed all over the
Internet. I’m getting enough slack for the silhouette that’s
already on the IG page.”
“You don’t have to show your face, Morin. You don’t have to
apologise for wanting to keep your relationship private and
off your Instagram page,” Mofe answered. “But if co-
hosting will attract the advertising money, then continue
doing it. Don’t forget the goal is to make money, and if
flirting on air draws your listeners in, then go for it.”
“When did you become so wise, Mofe Thompson” she
asked, laughing.

Mofe
He chuckled as he leaned on the headboard of his hotel
bed, their conversation now having gone past the ninety-
minute mark.
“It’s turning forty,” he grinned. “Evidenced by your own
sage advice too.”
“Ah, true. I did just give you very good advice. I should
even have charged for it.”
“All you have to do is name your price and…”
“Hang on a minute. Aize is calling me,” she said.
And the moment was destroyed, the reminder of the man in
her life frigid cold water sprinkled on his face.
“I have to go now,” she said when she returned to the call.
“Thank you for the cake. Now I feel better about turning
forty.”
“You’re welcome,” he said, not adding anything for you.

Morin
She hesitated, not wanting to get off the phone, not even
with her boyfriend waiting on her other line.
“When are you back in town?” she asked.
“Before Christmas,” Mofe answered. “I need to wrap things
up here to ensure everything works like clockwork even
when I’m not here.”
“That’s a good idea,” she said, sadness welling in her chest
with the realisation that, outside of an update about their
divorce and their children, there was no reason for them to
talk again until that time.
“Well, it was good speaking to you,” he said. “And gleaning
from your well-oiled machine of knowledge.”
“I, too, have benefitted from your vast wealth of knowledge,
good sir,” she answered, affecting a British accent.
He laughed, and then she laughed, and then they both fell
silent.
“Take care of yourself, Omorinsola,” he finally said, his
voice somber.
“You too, Eyimofe,” she answered, ignoring the persistent
beep of the other call that was still waiting.
The call with Mofe disconnected and as she resumed the
one with Aize, it took everything in her not to yearn for it.
Mofe was her past and, with any luck, Aize was her future.
Book made for [email protected]
 CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
FROM THIS MOMENT ON

DECEMBER 2022 – FEBRUARY 2023

Mofe
They didn’t speak again, and it was deliberate. At least on
Mofe’s part. The phone call the night of Morin’s birthday
left him undone, their conversation and even their silence
more intimate than anything they’d shared since she left
him, and when it was over, he found himself wanting her
again, longing for her again, desperate for her again. And
the reminder that they were on the path to divorce, that he
would never again have her, that she had chosen to be with
someone else ripped him apart from the inside out.
So he decided to go cold turkey this time, making sure not
to call her, avoiding any instance of contact between them,
grateful for the phone Michaela now had that allowed him
speak directly to her and her brother when they were home
for half term. He didn’t need to remain in Europe, but he
stayed back, not trusting himself not to do something
foolish, not trusting himself not to ram a knife deep into
Aize’s chest to get him out of the picture, not trusting
himself not to throw himself at Morin’s feet and beg her to
reconsider her stance on their marriage.
Travelling from Austria to Belgium to the Netherlands to
France, Mofe toured the sites of the chocolatiers he was
already in business with and courted those with whom he
hoped to expand his reach to in the coming year. But even
as he toured, even without any communication, Morin
remained permanently on his mind. On many occasions
when he wanted to use sex to make himself forget, he was
unable to muster enough interest to accept the advances of
the many women who flirted with him both at work
meetings and when he was letting off steam in a bar
afterhours. Black and white, tall and short, thick and slim,
blonde and brunette, the women who indicated interest
were plentiful, not dissuaded by the wedding band he still
wore. But the memory of the aching hollowness he’d lived
with when he was Keji kept him from taking another
woman to his bed.
But as Christmas approached, he knew he couldn’t run
forever. He landed in Lagos the morning of the 23rd of
December, went home and, after a nap, a meal, a shower,
and a change of clothes, made the drive to Morin’s house.
Upon getting to the estate, memories of the morning he’d
gone there and found her with Aize, both of them barely
decent, squeezed his chest so hard, it threatened to cut his
air supply. Looking around for the black Land Rover LR4 he
now knew was Aize’s car, he was grateful to see it wasn’t
parked nearby. Breathing in and out to compose himself,
Mofe finally got out of his car, grabbing from the passenger
seat the bags filled with items he’d brought for the kids –
clothes, shoes, toiletries, and books – and a smaller one
with Morin’s favourite perfume he hadn’t been able to stop
himself from picking up duty free at the airport. He walked
up to the door, exhaled again, before pressing the button
for the bell.
But no amount of preparation – not the months without
communication, not the mental and emotional gymnastics
he’d done to steel himself – could prepare him for seeing
her again.
“Hey!” she exclaimed as she opened the door, her smile
wide enough to crinkle her eyes. “Look who’s here!”
It wasn’t the dewiness of her face which was bare and
glistened with nothing but its natural oils, it wasn’t the
fresh plumpness of her lips as they stretched in a smile, it
wasn’t the undulating curves of her body visible beneath
the loose tunic she wore, it wasn’t the heady vanilla notes
of her perfume. It was none of these things…and all of
them…that stopped his heart, banded his chest, and
shortened his breath, everything he felt for her –
tenderness, adoration, love, and lust – amplified a
millionfold. And all his efforts from the past months felt like
a waste of time.
He would never stop loving her.
“Hey,” he managed to answer, his smile strained.
“Wow, let me help with some of these,” she said, reaching
for the three bags he held in his left hand. “Plenty of loot
for the kids. They’ll be so happy.”
“I don’t hear them,” he said as he walked with her into the
house.
“Tolani’s mom took them all out to Rufus and Bee, but I’m
sure they’ll be back any minute,” she answered.
Mofe stopped in his tracks, not trusting his heart alone in
her company. He was already barely coping. What he didn’t
need was encouragement to want her even more.
“I better come back tomorrow then,” he said, dropping the
bags in his hand on the hallway. “They’re spending
Christmas with me and New Year’s with you, right?
Michaela said that’s what you discussed.”
Morin’s smile dimmed a fraction. “Yeah, sure. Christmas
with you.”
“I’ll come pick them up by noon tomorrow,” he said,
backing away, adding with a nervous chuckle. “Tell them
not to worry, their Christmas gifts are under the tree and
not all here.”
“I’m sure they’ll be glad to hear that,” she smiled in
response.
“Oh, before I forget,” he said, picking up the small bag with
her perfume. “I got you this.”
Her eyes widened as she accepted the bag, her face
softening as if it was more than the bottle of Yves Saint
Laurent Black Opium inside it. When she looked up at him,
their gazes held in a brief tangle, the gaze burrowing into
his chest and melting away whatever was left of the
mainframe of his heart, turning it to a puddle of mush at his
feet.
“I better go,” he said, clearing his throat. “If I don’t see you
tomorrow, Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas,” she answered, her voice smaller than it
was mere seconds before.
Turning around before he could change his mind, he
walked out of the door.

Morin
She remained standing on the hallway long after he’d left,
the bag of perfume in her hand. His own perfume still
lingered, his voice still resonated deep and sensual, but it
was the intensity with which he’d looked at her that had
left her blood humming and amplified the whisper in her
spirit since their last phone conversation to a deafening
roar.
She had a long way to go before she’d get over him.
Michaela and Malachi returned from their outing less than
thirty minutes later and were expectedly overjoyed by the
goodies their father had brought them. The next morning,
Morin busied herself in the kitchen to keep from having to
interact with Mofe when he came to get the children, and
she sang loudly along to her Mariah Carey and Michael
Bublé Christmas playlist as she readied the meal of honey
glazed pork ribs, mashed sweet potatoes, chocolate
cannoli, and apple and cinnamon pie for dinner with Aize.
With the kids spending the holiday with Mofe, Morin was
off to her mother’s to spend Christmas and Boxing Day, so
Christmas Eve was her only chance to spend quality time
with Aize over the holidays, especially with the kids back by
New Year’s Eve.
And he wasn’t happy about it at all.
“Why don’t you invite me for lunch at your mom’s
tomorrow?” he asked again as they sat for the meal.
“I’m not ready to tell her about us, Aize,” Morin answered,
wondering why he couldn’t understand her desire to at
least wait till her divorce was final before announcing their
relationship to the world.
“When are you going to be ready? It’s been six months,” he
snapped, setting his cutlery down. “There’s no reason why
your mother, your friends, heck even your children
shouldn’t know we’re together. I’m almost forty and too old
to be sneaking around like a teenager.”
Morin massaged her brow, her exasperation mounting. She
knew his frustration was valid and that, by now, she really
should have, at the very least, been easing her children into
the idea of her being in a relationship. They already had a
good relationship with Aize and it wouldn’t be so hard. But
the thought of it made her hyperventilate. She would do it
soon. She had to do it soon. But soon didn’t have to be right
now.
“And why all these carbs?” he mumbled as he tossed
around the contents of his plate. “A cauliflower mash would
have been better than potatoes.”
“These are sweet potatoes, not Irish.”
“Doesn’t matter, babe,” he answered, his eyes drifting to
the pie and cannoli on the table. “And do you really plan to
eat all that? You want to undo all your progress with one
meal?”
“It’s Christmas, Aize,” she muttered in response, spearing a
piece of pork. “An apple and cinnamon pie for dessert has
been our tradition for years.”
He raised a brow and smiled at her, saying without words
that it was probably the reason she’d gotten where she did.
“Well, it doesn’t have to be our tradition,” he smiled.
“At my heaviest, I was a size 16, Aize. Hardly large enough
not to enjoy a proper Christmas meal,” she said, unable to
silence her mounting misgiving over his innuendos about
her size, innuendos that were getting more and more
frequent.
“But you could be a size 12, babe. Maybe even a 10. Just
think how sexy you’d be as 10 in a tiny two-piece bikini,” he
answered, leaning in to kiss her on the cheek. “Let that be
our goal for next year’s cruise.”
She forced a smile in response but inside her, long-buried
insecurities rose to the surface, turning the taste of the
food in her mouth to saw dust.
She let him stay over that night and as they had sex, in
addition to struggling to keep up with the rigor and
intensity of the act as he liked it, she was left worrying
about her fleshy stomach and jiggling thighs, wondering if
the excess weight she was carrying was the real reason she
found it difficult to keep up with the many times he would
flip her from one position to the other, why she tired when
he wasn’t even halfway done. But as he drove into her
relentlessly from behind, her lack of enjoyment of the act
was less about her lack of stamina and more about the
absence of intimacy. While Aize went into sex like it was a
high-intensity sporting event, for her it had always been as
much an emotional connection as it was a physical one.
And when he was finally spent and asleep, she lay awake
for hours, staring up at the ceiling.

In January, Michaela and Malachi returned to school and,

later in the month, Morin honoured the wedding invitation
of her old friend, Chinenye, the mother one of Malachi’s
preschool friends who’d been widowed shortly after their
sons left for different primary schools. Walking with Aize
into the small hall beautifully decorated with cream tulle
and burgundy flowers, Morin was heart warmed by the
sight of the bride, vibrant and gorgeous in a simple sheath
dress in ivory lace, her equally ecstatic new husband, a tall,
bearded man, by her side. But as Morin and Aize took their
assigned seats, her heart lurched in her chest when she
saw a familiar person a few seats away. Mofe had been
friends with Chinenye’s late husband, Nathaniel, so it
should have come as no surprise he’d also been invited.
Morin kept her eyes averted, determined not to let them
wander in his direction lest seeing him rendered useless
the fragile glue holding her resolve together.
Mofe
He saw Morin the moment she walked into the hall holding
hands with Aize, igniting the room with her presence. In a
purple, satin sleeveless cowl-necked dress, her hair in a
loose updo, and her face a mix of glossy pastels, she was
beautiful in a way that took his breath away. His eyes
remained on her as she exchanged greetings with the
couple and as she and Aize found their way to seats on a
table near his, wishing he was the one by her side. As they
sat, he looked away, not ready to go down the dark hole
that was yearning for her. Not when he hadn’t even
crawled out of the one he’d fallen into when he saw her
before Christmas.
He kept his eyes on the stage, smiling as Chinenye and her
husband cut their cake, emotional as he remembered
Nathaniel and how deeply he had loved her. But as the new
couple began their first dance to Shania Twain’s From This
Moment On, his heart sank, the song digging up not just
any memory but a special one from the day he’d pledged
forever to the love of his life. Unable to keep from looking
at the one with whom he shared this memory, his eyes
strayed two tables away, colliding with Morin’s which were
already on him.

Morin
As the song played, as her eyes held with Mofe’s, Morin
was teleported to the Unilag Multipurpose Hall where their
wedding reception held, feeling in real time the
exhilaration and delirious joy she’d felt in Mofe’s arms as
they swayed to this song. As they’d danced, he’d mouthed
the lyrics to her - every verse, every stanza - and it had
been the most magical thing she had ever felt, superseding
even their exchange of vows hours before. And now, almost
fourteen years, two children, blissful happiness, broken
trust, shattered dreams, and an impending divorce later, as
she looked at the man she had loved with a force her heart
could barely contain, everything else faded. He looked at
her with an intensity that shallowed her breathing and
vacuum-sealed her lungs, his eyes communicating
everything they had as they’d entered a marriage they
thought would last forever. Just like when they’d had their
first dance, his eyes bore through hers, through her heart,
tunneling straight to her soul. In the years since their
separation, she had convinced herself their love had been
only for a season of her life, but she knew now that what
she felt for him hadn’t just been for a season.
But a lifetime.
As the song faded into the uptempo Chike song Roju, Morin
finally looked away and, feeling Aize’s gaze on her face,
turned to see him looking at her with furrowed brows. She
smiled at him and the smile he returned was even tighter
than hers. He covered her hand with his and she squeezed
back, needing the reassurance – and pertinent reminder –
that her heart had a new home now.
“Did you know he would be there?” Aize asked as they
made the drive home.
“No,” was her truthful answer.
“Your compulsory conference is still happening next month,
right?”
The compulsory conference was the next step of the
divorce process that mandated her and Mofe, in the
presence of their attorneys, to agree on child custody,
alimony, spousal maintenance, and property. Even though
none of these were under contention, they were still
required to have this meeting.
“Yes,” Morin answered, ignoring the ache that came with
this reminder. “February 15th.”
Aize squeezed her hand with his free right one. “Good.”
She nodded, biting the insides of her mouth to keep any
recalcitrant tears at bay. Aize was right. It was good.
Good for all of them.

Mofe
A month later, seated in the chambers of Bayo & Iwobayi,
the law firm representing Morin, with her assigned
attorney, an elderly man who preferred to simply be
addressed as Jerome, and Mofe’s own lawyer, Shina, Mofe’s
emotions were threadbare, his tears lurking just behind his
eyes and balled tight in his throat. He kept his eyes on the
floor, not looking across the room at Morin, knowing his
tears would find their escape if he did.
With a bowed head, he confirmed his agreement for Morin
to retain physical custody of the children while he had
visitation rights with occasional holidays, his
relinquishment of the house they’d acquired together, his
agreement to the sharing ratio of the shares they had
jointly acquired and investments they had jointly made, and
the amount he would pay monthly for the upkeep of their
children, keeping his answers no longer than ‘yes’ and
‘agreed’, because any longer string of words would
inadvertently become a plea to her, to Jerome, to the court,
to everyone, to end this harrowing process.

Morin
She nodded in confirmation to questions asked, doing all
she could not to look at Mofe who sat with his head bowed
across from her, pinching her palm not to cry as the
separation of their shared investments and dissolution of
their marriage was mechanically discussed like a business
deal. It wasn’t a business deal. It was a marriage. It was
the union of two lives. It was the separation of two souls.
Valentine’s Day the day before had been especially hard, all
her thoughts on the intimate one they’d spent the previous
year, locked away in Mofe’s house and accepting calls and
messages from nobody.
I miss you. You’re all I can think about, Omorinsola.
His declaration from fifteen years before had echoed in her
ear all day, even through the romantic dinner Aize treated
her to at a new vegan restaurant in Ikoyi. Even though the
divorce was something she had instigated, a process she’d
started with the belief it was the best thing for her, coming
face to face with the end of the marriage was a much more
difficult pill to swallow.
“I’m sure my colleague will agree that this has gone
exceptionally well,” Jerome said, nodding at Shina who
nodded emphatically back. “Now all we have to do is wait
for a court date for the hearing of the case. With any luck,
we could get a judgement date and even the Decree Nisi
before June.”
Mofe nodded as he rose to his feet, just as she also stood.
Their eyes held in that brief instant, a ghost of a smile on
his face. She stood by as he shook hands with Jerome,
embraced Shina, offered her a small wave, and walked out
of the room.

Mofe
He barely made it to his car before his tears found him,
and, once inside, he covered his face with his hands as he
wept, crying for everything he had already lost, and the
monumental forfeiture he was set to suffer. His marriage
was over. It was no longer hypothetical like it had been
since he’d made the biggest mistake of his life by sleeping
with Keji almost four years before. It was now real…
tangible…actual. In a matter of months, he and Morin
would be bound by their children and nothing more. And
that reality yanked the pin on the grenade that had been
holding him together.
He would never be whole again.

Book made for [email protected]

 CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
AGAINST THE CLOCK

MARCH 2023

Mofe
“Thanks for agreeing to meet me, man,” Dwight said as he
and Mofe sat for lunch at Atmosphere.
Mofe said nothing in response as he regarded the man he
had once considered his closest friend. If anyone had told
him a year ago that he’d be open to sitting with Dwight
again, he would have called the person a liar. After
everything Dwight caused him – his livelihood and,
indirectly, his marriage – Mofe would have sooner dined
with the devil than the scheming conman his friend turned
out to be. But luck had shone on him in the past year and
even though his marriage was still lost, he was ten times
better off than when he’d acted solely as Dwight’s farm’s
agent.
“I hear you have deals with chocolatiers all over Europe,”
Dwight said, grinning. “Nice one, man. I always knew you
had it in you.”
“What do you want?” Mofe asked, genuinely curious about
what his sly friend had up his sleeve.
“Guy, how about we eat first?” Dwight chuckled as he
beckoned over a waiter.
Mofe frowned as he noticed the nervous tick on Dwight’s
face. The man wanted something and Mofe was keen to
know what it was. But he wasn’t going to pry the
information out, so he went ahead to order his usual roast
beef tenderloin meal while Dwight got the coconut fried
rice and Southern-fried prawns that had been his usual.
“I’m getting married soon,” Dwight remarked as the waiter
walked away.
“Good for you,” Mofe answered, not about to ask for more
details before the topic found a way to skirt to Keji. It had
been almost a year since he’d heard from her, and he
wanted to keep it that way.
“Not Chantal,” Dwight chuckled, shaking his head.
“Definitely not that crazy girl. Nah, I found me a young,
fine, twenty-three-year-old fresh out of university. Her
name is Enoma and she’s gorgeous. She reminds me a lot
of Morin.”
That was enough to sour whatever congeniality Mofe had
come there with.
“Guy, I’m a busy man. I know you didn’t bring me out here
for this,” Mofe retorted. “I love it for you, but I have more
important things to do than hear about your love life.”
Dwight’s smile faded and he leaned back in his chair.
“SweetzerRhône has refused to renew our contract.”
Not only had Mofe already heard about that, he’d been
directly approached to take over the contract upon the
expiration of its three-year tenure. As it turned out, Dwight
was unable to properly manage the logistics of sending
produce to Switzerland on time and in decent form. With
the nuts spending more time in transit from Sapele to
Lagos, they were already underway to deterioration before
they were shipped.
“That’s tough,” Mofe said with a casual shrug.
Dwight inhaled deeply. “Guy, I thought you would have
seen the change in the contract…”
“You knew I wouldn’t read that contract,” Mofe cut in,
glaring at him. “You knew I would trust you too much to
even imagine such a change.”
Dwight was nodding before Mofe finished speaking. “I own
it. I suspected you wouldn’t. My dad thought we didn’t
need you and it was out of my hands…”
“You wanted me out just as much as your dad did, Dwight,”
Mofe said, his anger rising as Dwight’s words from the
previous year rang in his ear. “You didn’t want to have to
share your money with an ‘agent’.” He made air quotes at
the word. “So I hope you’re ready to enjoy a hundred
percent of nothing.”
“You have every reason to be angry,” Dwight said, raising
his hands in submission. “But we need you. SweetzerRhône
says it will only renew our contract if we have you back as
our agent…”
Mofe’s laughter cut him off. “Agent? My guy, I’ve gone way
past that. I have direct SPAs with thirteen chocolatiers. I
don’t need to be anyone’s agent, let alone yours.”
“That’s why I’m here, Mofe. I know you don’t need this,”
Dwight said. “I know you have deals was bigger than ours
was, which is why I’m here begging. Even if only on paper,
just to satisfy the SweetzerRhône guys…”
“It’s not having me on a piece of paper that will satisfy
SweetzerRhône but you actually not sending them shit
produce.”
“I see you’ve been speaking to them then,” Dwight mused,
a sardonic smile on his face.
“They’ve approached me to take over the contract,” Mofe
answered, deriving pleasure relaying that information to
Dwight, enjoying it even more as Dwight’s face paled. “But
I turned them down because I’m not an ingrate. Without
your farm, I wouldn’t be where I am now.”
“Please, Mofe,” Dwight implored, leaning forward in his
chair, his eyes wide in his despair. “SweetzerRhône holds
you in very high esteem. If you don’t come on board with
us, just put in a good word. Let them know we’ve fixed our
supply chain issues and…”
“Nah, I can’t do that,” Mofe said, shaking his head. “That
would be my own integrity on the line, and I could never do
that.”
Dwight sighed and sat back in his chair again, his eyes
affixed to the ceiling. Looking at him, Mofe knew exactly
how he felt. He’d been in that same position exactly a year
ago, watching the business he’d built taken away from him.
“Okay, maybe not SweetzerRhône,” Dwight said after a
while, sitting up. “Maybe we could become one of your
suppliers. You know our produce. You know our quality…”
“Apart from the fact I already have more than enough
suppliers, I would never do business with you again,
Dwight,” Mofe said, surprised at the mere suggestion. “You
cut me off without a backward glance. You didn’t give two
fucks if I drowned when you ripped off my life jacket. Heck,
you threw me out of your office.”
“I fucked up and I’m sorry…”
“You and I can never, ever, be in business again,” Mofe
went on, pausing as the waiter lay their food on the table.
“Let’s just enjoy our meal and you can tell me about your
new girl.”
“Whatever your current suppliers are doing, I’ll better,”
Dwight pleaded, not even looking at the spread of food on
their table. “Pricing, payment terms, delivery time, I can do
better, I swear it.”
Mofe sighed, about to tell Dwight it didn’t matter if he
offered him the nuts for free, but the words died on his lips
as he spotted Morin walk in with Aize. He hadn’t seen her
since the compulsory conference and he stared as she
sauntered in, a vision of loveliness in a white and red
striped shirt tucked into coffee brown pants, unable to peel
his eyes away. He watched as Aize pulled out a chair for
her and as she smiled up at him in appreciation, his heart
pumping so hard he was in an anerobic state. Seeing her
with him wasn’t getting easier and, if the way the squeeze
in his chest and bottoming of his stomach were anything to
go by, neither was being away from her.
Dwight looked in the direction of his gaze and a smile that
was more typical for him spread on his face, a smile that
was just as malicious as it was spiteful.
“Ah, is that the guy she left you for? Good looking guy,” he
asked as he turned back to Mofe, chuckling. “Must sting
like a motherfucker.”
Mofe glared at him. He had no idea.

Morin
She caught sight of Mofe as she and Aize placed their
orders and spent the next hour wondering what he was
doing with Dwight…and trying to catch his eye. But he
didn’t look in her direction, not even when he and Dwight
got up and left. Her eyes followed them as they walked to
the elevator and when she looked away as entered it, her
eyes collided with Aize’s. Dropping her gaze to the curried
cauliflower quinoa salad she wasn’t even enjoying, she
prayed he wouldn’t ask any questions or make any remark
about it. Thankfully, he didn’t. But the thick silence that
followed as they ate their meals made her wish he had.
The silence followed as he drove her home and she wasn’t
brave enough to break it, not having it in her to make small
talk, either. When they got to her house, he walked past
her, not waiting for her to lock the front door before
bounding up the stairs. He was clearly upset and even
though Morin knew he had every reason to be, she stalled
downstairs, doing things that could have waited till the next
day; responding to emails, transferring dishes from the
drying rack to the cupboards, and wiping down surfaces.
By the time she summoned the courage to go upstairs,
almost an hour had gone by. Walking into her bedroom,
Aize was sitting on the bed, his jacket off but his shoes still
on.
“You’re not over him,” he said.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she answered, not daring to insult his
intelligence by feigning ignorance about whom he was
talking about.
“I saw the way you looked at him today, the way you looked
at him at that wedding, the way you always look at him.”
“Aize, Mofe and I are practically divorced,” Morin said,
hoping that reminder would allay his fears. “In a matter of
months or even weeks, our marriage will be over…”
“Then wear this,” Aize said, bringing out a small box from
his pocket. “I was going to give this to you later. I’d
planned to do it at the next podcast recording. I’d planned
a live outdoor recording, complete with a trumpeter and
fireworks, to convince you we don’t have to wait till you get
a Decree Nisi to promise forever to each other.”
He opened the box and Morin gasped at the sight of the
white gold ring with a large diamond.
“Marry me, Morin. Like you said, your divorce will be final
soon, so there’s no reason why you can’t wear my ring.”
She sat on the bed beside him, feeling like the room was
spinning.
“You have to give me time…” she said, her anxiety making
her breathless.
“I want children,” Aize cut in, his voice with an edge she’d
never heard before. “Do you know how many women I turn
down every day? Women ready and willing to give me
kids!”
“Oh, I see. So I should feel lucky, right? Is that what you’re
saying?” she asked, turning to look at him.
“What I’m saying is that you’re almost forty-one,” Aize
answered, holding her gaze without breaking it. “And that
you’re already running against the clock.”
She said nothing as his words sank in. None of what he’d
said was a lie, not the attention he got from the opposite
sex or that she wasn’t getting any younger. She read their
fan mail, read all the propositions he got from women
young and old. But apart from resenting it being used as a
subliminal threat, deep in her heart, she knew she didn’t
want that.
“It’s going to take a long time before I’m ready for another
marriage, Aize,” she said. “In truth, I never might.” She
paused for a while before continuing. “And I don’t think I
want to have more kids.”
“No, Morin, you don’t get to do that,” Aize said, his voice a
low growl. “You don’t get to pick and choose what you will
or won’t do with me. You don’t get to string me along and
throw me crumbs when you want to.”
“How am I throwing you crumbs?”
“I’ve been patient enough and I’m not going to be in this
hide and seek relationship with you, where you enjoy the
fucking but keep us a secret. You can’t eat your cake and
have it!”
Enjoy the…?! If only he knew!
“Okay, fine. I’ll tell the children when they come in a few
weeks. Happy now?” she said, mentally and emotionally
drained.
“That’s not enough. I want you to wear this,” he said, his
hand lifting the box in his hand. “I want you to wear my
ring, have my kids, and look at me the same way you look
at Mofe.”
She gaped at him, completely knocked for six.
“Can you do that?” he pressed. “Can you give your heart to
me that way? Is there any of it left? Or does Mofe have the
whole thing?”
She looked from him to the ring in the box he held, wishing
she could tell him that he had her heart, and that he was
the one she wanted to be with.
He tilted up her chin, his eyes flared in his anger. “Tell me
you love me like you love him. Tell me you feel for me
everything you feel for him.”
As their eyes held, she wished she could tell him what he
wanted to hear. She wished she would one day be ready to
accept his ring, marry him, and maybe even have children
with him. But she couldn’t.
Because she didn’t.
As the seconds stretched, as her silence answered every
question, he dropped his hand from her face, stood, and put
the box back into his pocket.
“My mother warned me about you. She told me you weren’t
good enough for me. I wish I’d listened to her,” he said,
disdain dripping from his voice.
“I’m sorry, Aize.”
“I want you off the podcast,” he said, slipping on his jacket.
“I’m going to post on all our socials that you’re off it and
that you and I are done.”
Morin nodded. “Okay.”
“And you can forget about getting anything from the MTN
campaign,” he retorted, referring to their most recent
endorsement.
“But it’s partly because of me we got that campaign,” she
pushed back, not wanting to outrightly mention their ‘ship’
as the magnet that had finally found the podcast big money
sponsors.
“It was my hard work and sweat that got us that
sponsorship,” he spat. “I’m going to find me another
producer, another co-host and, by God, another lover, a
lover with a lot less baggage than you.”
Morin remained sitting on the bed as he walked out,
hearing from her window the slam of the front door and
screech of tyres of his car. Feeling a little sad, a little
guilty…
But more than a little relieved.
Book made for [email protected]
 CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
NOTHING LASTS FOREVER

APRIL 2023

Mofe
On Mofe’s mother’s seventy-third birthday, it was déjà vu
watching Morin walk in. Just like three years before, Mofe
sensed her presence before she entered the room, his
senses heightened, his heart aware of her proximity. Also
like three years before, she headed first to his mother
where she was seated with her friends, dipping her knees
in greeting before the older woman pulled her into a tight
embrace that lingered in their first contact since Morin
blocked her the year before. When they finally pulled apart,
his aunts seated around his mother patted Morin’s face,
their affection for her in no way tempered by the events of
the past year. Again, like three years before, his mother
pointed in his direction. But as Morin looked looked across
the room at him, her face wasn’t impassive and her smile
didn’t dim like it had back then. Instead, her smile
broadened as her face lit up. She raised her hand in a
wave, a wave he returned as he walked to her. But
regardless of how more congenial she was this time, it did
nothing to quell his nerves as he approached her. He
inhaled deeply as he neared her, knowing that, once again,
all eyes in the living room were on them.
“Hey you,” he said as they embraced. “I didn’t expect to
see you here.”
She smiled as she covered her face. “Blocking mommy
wasn’t my finest hour. I had to send a small bribe before I
found the courage to come.”
“Ah, so the flowers were from you,” he remarked, even
though he already knew she was the one who’d sent his
mother a large bouquet of pink roses, as well as a fruit
basket and heated massager. “You know you’ve always
been her favourite child, so no groveling was necessary.”
“Sssh, don’t let Sis Roli, Bawo and Teshoma hear you,” she
chided, a smile spreading across her face. “I’m still trying
to get back in their good books.”
His sisters hadn’t taken being blocked personal, fully
understanding Morin’s need for space, but seeing her seek
reconciliation with his family felt good. It meant despite
their looming divorce, she was still keen on a relationship
with them, something he’d worried she wouldn’t as things
got more serious with Aize.
“Where are the kids?” she asked, her eyes scanning the
room. “I didn’t see them outside.”
It was the second weekend of Michaela and Malachi’s
Easter holiday, and they were spending it with him.
“One of Aunty Ebisan’s grandsons brought along his PS5,
so all the boys are upstairs playing it, Mali inclusive,” Mofe
answered. “And Michaela went with Oghoroma to the
supermarket to buy some foil paper.”
Oghoroma was the daughter of their long-time housekeeper
who had become his mother’s unofficial lastborn child.
“Is it really your mom’s party if they’re not buying foil
paper and serviettes last minute?” Morin laughed.
“Don’t forget ice,” he chuckled. “Have you forgotten that’s
the first thing I end up having to buy every single time?”
“I think it’s ingenious,” she said, her eyes glinting with
mischief. “If I were your mom, I would leave everything for
my very able son to take care of anyway.”
He smiled, enjoying this brief spell of camaraderie,
knowing it was as short-lived as it was dangerous…for him
anyway. What he needed to be doing was putting distance
between them, not sharing jokes and being sucked back
into the vortex of loving her.
“I didn’t think you’d come,” he said as they sat on a sofa his
aunts had just vacated. “I thought you and Aize would want
to take advantage of a free weekend.”

Morin
The only person she’d told about the breakup with Aize was
the only person, beside, Mofe who knew about the
relationship; her cousin, Bimbo. But Morin wasn’t quite
ready to correct Mofe about his presumption just yet.
“We’re not joined at the hip,” she answered, her smile not
wavering. “He’s got his own things to do.”
Mofe nodded. “I guess. And I’ll bet accompanying you here
wouldn’t top his list of places to be today.”
That was enough to elicit from her a guffaw, the thought of
Aize coming with her to Mofe’s mother’s house
unimaginable. “You’re right about that.”
Minutes later, she was tucking into a heaped plate of native
jollof rice and goat meat, with a sweating glass of malt
drink on a coaster on the table by her side. Since breaking
up with Aize, she had returned to eating the foods she’d
quit while with him, the sweet treats he’d labelled
villainous now keeping her company the nights she spent at
home alone. Even though she’d regained some of the
weight she’d lost, at least she didn’t have to contend with
the hollowness in her stomach that came from eating meals
she hated. The hollowness in her heart was enough.
“So, tell me about the girls you’re dating,” she said, smiling
coyly at Mofe as she took a sip of her drink. “I hope you’re
not chasing after girls with milk teeth.”
“That would be Dwight not me,” he scoffed.
“Speaking of Dwight, what were you doing having lunch
with him last month?”
Mofe raised a brow. “I didn’t know you saw us.”
She raised a brow to match his. “I didn’t know you saw
me.”
“You and Aize looked so cozy, I didn’t want to interrupt,” he
answered. “And it was just that one time with Dwight.
SweetzerRhône dropped Fregene Farms…”
“Good!”
“Vicious much?” he chuckled. “Anyway, the condition for
renewing their contract was having me back as their agent.
So he came to try his luck.”
“He must be crazy. I hope you told him where to shove it.”
“In those exact words, yeah,” he laughed. “He tried to ask
me to consider Fregene Farms for produce supply, but I
told him I can’t even accommodate that. That ship has long
sailed…”
“And sunk to the bottom of the deep blue ocean.”
“That too,” he laughed again.
“Anyway, don’t distract me. I was asking about your babes.
Good looking guy with plenty money, I’ll bet you’re spoilt
for choice.”
She watched as he laughed, hating how eagerly she was
waiting for his answer.
“I’ve got no action. Work takes up all of my time.”
“I find that hard to believe. Even if there aren’t girls sliding
into your DM, you mean to tell me nobody is trying to
introduce you to someone they think is a perfect fit for
you?”
He grimaced and shrugged. “I’m not gonna lie, there have
been more than a few matchmaking efforts. This lady in
particular whom Shina and his wife were convinced I would
click with. They spent months trying to get me to call her
and when I didn’t, they had her call me.”
“And did you click?” Morin asked, finding it harder to
maintain the smile on her face.
“We had good conversation…”
“And was she pretty?”
“Very. A Sade Adu doppelgänger.”
“So what was the problem?” Morin pressed, even though
listening was starting to constrict her chest.
“I just wasn’t ready,” he answered. “I’m not yet in the head
space to date.”
“Well, don’t leave it too long,” she said, forcing a smile as
she tried to push out of her mind the visuals of Mofe
getting serious and falling in love with a Sade Adu
lookalike, and maybe even marrying her. “We’re not getting
any younger.”
He scoffed again, a sardonic smile replacing the amused
one on his face. “Who knows? Maybe after you and Aize tie
the knot, I’ll be right behind you.”

Mofe
As day turned to night, Mofe and Morin changed location
from the living room to the old swings outside, watching as
Michaela, Malachi, danced to Afrobeats music with their
other cousins.
“If there was a prize for the various mutations a
relationship could take, we’d win first prize,” Morin mused
as she sipped the glass of wine in her hand.
“Is this the alcohol talking?” Mofe chuckled.
“I’m not even kidding,” she laughed. “First we were
besties…”
“I was never your bestie, Omorinsola.”
“Well, we were part of a bestie trio,” she continued. “Then
we became strangers…”
“Then we became friends again.”
“And then lovers.”
“And then a married couple.”
Her smile dimmed. “And then enemies.”
Their eyes held and he knew she was thinking of their
enmity as starting long before his indiscretion with the
person who had been the third person in their trio.
“Then co-parents,” she continued.
“And then lovers,” he said, smiling. “I loved that part.”
Her smile returned. “Me too.” There was silence before she
continued. “And then enemies.”
He nodded, thinking how close he’d come to hating her in
the wake of finding out about Aize.
“Then co-parents again,” he went on.
“And now look at us, back to being friends,” she said, still
smiling.
“And then in a few months we’ll be divorced,” he said.
“You’re correct. We do take the prize.”
The mood dampened, they looked away, returning their
attention to the merrymaking teenagers on the lawn.
“Aize and I broke up a month ago,” she said, but raised her
hand before he could say anything in response. “But that
doesn’t change anything, Mofe.”
He stared at her, trying to digest the bombshell she’d
dropped. If Aize wasn’t in the picture, it changed
everything.
“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, and I think you and I
were never meant to be together,” she said, her eyes still
on the lawn. “I think we might have upset the proper order
of things by hooking up in the first place.”
“And what was this proper order of things?”
She shrugged and he was grateful she didn’t mention Keji’s
name, even though he was certain she was thinking it.
“We’re better like this,” she said, turning to look at him.
“Don’t you think so?”
He didn’t. They were better every time they fell in love,
every time their hearts remembered what their minds
wanted to forget. They were better when they lost
themselves to the world, their need to be with each other
as elemental as breathing. They were better when their
bodies unified into a single unit of shared sighs, blended
breaths, mingled scents, and syncopated moans. They
weren’t better apart.
“Yeah,” he answered, his words defying everything he felt
inside. “Definitely better like this.”
Their eyes held for a second, a minute, a heartbeat, an
eternity…he didn’t know. What he did know was how much
it hurt to have her this close but yet so far, to be this happy
in her company while yet weeks away from the official end
of their union.
“You know something I regret?” he said, breaking their
silence. “I regret not telling you every single day how
beautiful you are. I regret not telling you every day just
how much I loved you.”
Her face softened and her eyes glistened with tears. “Me
too.” Her lips curved in a smile. “You’re happy it didn’t
work out between me and Aize, aren’t you. I’ll bet what you
really want to do is laugh in my face and yell I told you so.”
But he didn’t even crack a smile in response. “Not at all.
There’s nothing more inglorious than glory gained through
war.”
She cocked her head to the side. “When did you start
quoting Thomas Moore, Eyimofe Thompson?”
He chuckled as he pushed himself off the swing and held
his hand to her as the teenagers on the lawn began to
disperse, signaling the end of the evening’s merriment. “It
would surprise you all the ways I’ve grown, Omorinsola
Thompson.”
He loved the way the name sounded in his mouth, praying
she wouldn’t decide to change it after the divorce. The feel
of her hand in his was electric, its soft corners fitting
perfectly into the rougher corners of his. He covered her
hand with his as she stood, not knowing when next he’d be
able to hold her like that, or if he ever would again.
With their hands linked and fingers interlaced, they walked
to the lawn to join their kids.

Book made for [email protected]

 CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
WONDERFUL TONIGHT

JULY 2023

Mofe
On the 29th of July, a Friday, Mofe boarded the boat Nonso
chartered to ferry guests to the beach resort he’d recently
acquired, to celebrate Omoruyi’s widow Eva’s forty-first
birthday, having been unable to do so for her fortieth the
previous year.
After spending all of May and most of June visiting
chocolatiers in Argentina, Brazil, Chile, and the United
States, Mofe was able to put physical distance between
himself and Morin because if there was anything his
mother’s birthday celebration had shown him it was that he
would never be content only being her friend. So despite
their newfound congeniality, it was best to maintain that
physical distance…for the sake of his fragile heart. With the
original judge assigned to them recently bereaved, their
divorce case had been transferred to another judge and a
new hearing date was yet to be communicated.
Mofe returned to Nigeria in time for Michaela and
Malachi’s summer holiday, having them over at his place
before they left for their annual trip to Abuja with his
mother. With the children gone, he’d been grateful not to
have any cause to interface with Morin for the period,
focusing instead on setting up a proper office, hiring staff,
and working out the modalities of expanding his repertoire
to raw and fermented cocoa beans. When Nonso sent the
invitation for Eva’s birthday celebration, he’d wanted to
decline, balking at the thought of another reunion weekend
with his former classmates. He also worried about being in
close proximity with Morin again, if she chose to show up.
But after missing Nonso’s girlfriend’s fortieth birthday
party in December, Mofe knew declining wasn’t an option.
But as he put into a suit bag the navy-blue tuxedo he would
wear for the black-tie party planned for Saturday, Eva’s
birthday proper, and wore a white polo shirt and white
chinos in line with the all-white party on the boat taking
them there, memories of the consecutive weekends in April
2019 where his troubles arose tormented him. Standing in
front of his mirror, he saw the Mofe of four years before,
the Mofe that was resentful of his wife, offended by the
party, angry at the world, and lustful of another woman. He
stilled as he looked at that Mofe, wishing he could go back
in time to tell him he was chasing after a comet when he
already had the whole galaxy.
Boarding the ship, memories of sulking in a corner while
his wife received guests haunted him, visions of him
laughing and flirting with Keji the entirety of the cruise,
disrespecting his marriage and the monumental event
commemorating it tortured him. He’d hurt Morin in the
worst way possible that day and it was no wonder she’d
eventually decided to walk away from their marriage.
“You came!” Nonso beamed, a broad smile on his face as
they embraced. “I’m glad everyone showed up for Eva.”
And everyone truly had. As Mofe’s eyes roamed the deck of
the ship, from Ikenna, Tomi, Bonju, and Alero chatting in a
corner, to Abolore, Bioye, Eva, Ogugua, Olumese, a man
Mofe didn’t know, and the birthday girl, Eva, laughing over
something one of them had said, almost their entire class of
1999 was present, the notable absentee being Nonso’s
girlfriend, Ogonna, which wasn’t surprising after an
apparent incident at her birthday party.
As Nonso moved away to welcome another guest, Mofe
handed his luggage to a waiting porter and moved further
into the deck, waving a greeting at the two couples that
were Tomi and Ikenna, and Alero and Bonju. Walking up to
the larger group where the birthday girl stood, after
smiling in greeting at the other two couples that were
Bioye and Abolore, and Ogugua and Olumese, Mofe
embraced Eva in greeting, happy to see her glowing and
back to her old self. He was introduced to the man next to
her as Tisan, and even though no title was used to qualify
him, from the way he looked at Eva, Mofe could sense there
was something either brewing or already underway
between the pair. Despite already donating to the charity
for Nigerian widows, Widow Development Organization, as
was Eva’s request in lieu of a gift, Mofe still presented her
with the crystal butterfly Baccarat brooch he’d bought her
in representation of what he thought her to be; a butterfly
that had emerged from its cocoon.
Mofe continued to look around as conversation in the group
continued, oscillating between relief Morin hadn’t come
after all and disappointment he wouldn’t get the chance to
feast his eyes on the gorgeousness that was her. But as the
ship set sail, he spotted her by the ship’s railing, in deep
conversation with Zinna. His heartbeat accelerated as he
took in the sight that she was in a wide brimmed straw hat
and a white long-sleeved chiffon dress billowing in the
wind. As if sensing his gaze, she looked in his direction,
their eyes holding when she saw him. Zinna turned around
and smiled when she spotted him. Leaning in to say
something to Morin, she walked away from her, waving at
Mofe as she passed. His feet didn’t immediately unlock, and
he remained immobile for almost a full minute, his gaze
with Morin not breaking. It wasn’t until she turned her face
to look at the expanse of water over the deck that his brain
finally communicated with his legs to move.
And he went to her.
“I didn’t think you’d come,” he said as he joined her at the
railing.
“The kids are away and it’s an all-expense paid weekend at
a luxury beach resort,” she answered, shrugging. “It was a
no brainer.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re here,” he said, meaning it. Funny
how only minutes before, he’d dreaded the very thought of
seeing her.
She turned to him and smiled. “Me too.”
They stood in silence as the ship sailed and as the evening
sun began its slow descent.
“You always loved water,” he remarked after a while.
“We loved water,” she said, smiling, but with her face still
taking in the gorgeous view of the horizon that was the
sunset and the ocean.
And they had, their honeymoon and holidays in the early
days of their marriage having been at beach resorts. She
turned to him and as their eyes held, it was clear they were
both remembering those happier times when they would
walk barefoot down a beach, the waves of the ocean licking
at their feet. She looked away again, but his eyes remained
on her, taking in her delicate profile, the long length of her
eyelashes, the gentle slope of her nose, and the soft
cushion of her lips. Her face was clear and unadorned of
makeup, but he had never seen her look more beautiful.
Placing his right hand over left one, his finger traced her
bare ring finger, stroking the lower section where the
symbols of their marriage had once rested, mourning its
loss anew.

Morin
Interlinking her hand with his, she rested her head on his
shoulder as they both stared ahead as the sun disappeared
and the moon and a constellation of stars made their
appearance. Looking out at the water under the starlit sky,
everything else faded away, all the angst and upheaval of
the last four, five, eight years. Instead, all they were were
the Mofe and Morin that had fallen desperately in love
against all odds, the Mofe and Morin who had conquered
each other’s hearts and mastered each other’s souls, the
Mofe and Morin who’d thought their love would last
forever. And in that moment, she chose to think of only
that, and not all that awaited them in the not-too-distant
future.

Mofe
“We better go join the rest,” Morin said as the DJ began a
more uptempo mix of ‘90s music.
She didn’t wait for his response before withdrawing her
hand from his and walking away in the direction of the
party. Mofe hung back as everyone danced, his eyes not
leaving her as she socialized with their former classmates,
sipped on champagne, nibbled on hors d'oeuvres, and
swayed to the hip hop music popular when they were in
school. But when the DJ slowed things down, he knew he
couldn’t miss this chance.

Morin
Mofe’s hand gently circling her wrist made Morin look
away from the conversation she was having with Ogugua
and Olumese. She raised a brow at him, and he only smiled
in response as he pulled her to the center where a few
people were already slow dancing to Keith Sweat’s Nobody.
Abolore and Bioye were swaying with their forehands
touching and Bonju and Alero were laughing over a private
joke. Pulling Morin closer, Mofe’s hands rested on her
waist, hers circled his neck, and as they moved, as she lost
himself in his dark gaze, her feet felt unsteady, like she was
losing control, like she was sinking in quicksand, like she
was a wave pulled by his tide. As they moved, everything
around them faded away; their classmates, the noise and
chatter, even the music, the air between and around them
weighty, heavy with long-checked emotions now roaring to
life, demanding to be fed. The desire smoking Mofe’s eyes
cracked something in her chest, sending fissures down the
glass cage around her heart that she had only just
succeeded in piecing together, spilling from it everything
she had stowed away.
The bright beam of light cast on the boat as they
approached the resort was enough to make her pull away,
breathless as her heart pounded against her ribcage.
Without a word, she walked away.

Mofe
He watched with dismay as Morin walked off to join Zinna
where she stood, his body painfully rigid and his heart
indescribably soft for her. He loved her. He wanted her.
And he was done fighting it.
They disembarked and were led to their respective
waterfront chalets, each spaced several feet from the next.
Mofe stood at the door of his and watched as Morin was led
to hers. Without bothering to enter his, he tipped his porter
and walked the distance to Morin’s, gently tapping on its
door when he got there. Her eyes widened as she opened it,
but he closed the gap between them before she had the
chance to speak. Lowering his face to hers, his lips brushed
hers tentatively, questioning, asking, pleading.

Morin
He didn’t need to question, didn’t need to ask, didn’t need
to plead as her lips parted, allowing his slot between them.
Cupping her face, the kiss deepened, all their pent-up
emotions gushing forth. Their tongues tangled as their
mouths fused in a frantic pace dictated by their straining
bodies. Backing her into the chalet, as they undressed each
other, her body was a live wire, buzzing with the electricity
of his touch, of the sight of his magnificent form, of the
shelter of his glorious body. Falling into her bed, the heat
from their united bodies was a blaze, a conflagration, with
every kiss, every touch no longer gentle and tentative but
raw and dirty and desperate, with every stroke of his hand,
every lap of his tongue an imprint on her skin, a stamp on
her soul, every grope, every caress leaving a trail of fire in
its wake.

Mofe
He made love to her with branding force, reclaiming her as
his own, oscillating between rough, and tender, and sweet,
and vigorous, taking everything she was giving and
releasing from himself all the despair and heartache he’d
alighted the ship with. As his release detonated moments
after hers, as the warmth of her body melted into his, as
their heartbeats thumped in communion in a language
there was no translation for, he knew he would never, ever,
let her go again.

Morin
She floated back like tossed confetti finding its way back to
the ground, gliding and fluttering with the grace of an
angel…and at the same time swooping and plummeting
with the ungainliness of a wingless bird. She closed her
eyes, each breath feeling like her first, her lungs hoarding
everything she inhaled while yet demanding more.
“You are the love of my life, Omorinsola.”
Mofe’s deep voice draped her, thick like a blanket and
sensual like sweet honey. She closed her eyes as she
basked in it, as she soaked herself in it, as she immersed
herself in it.
And as she drowned in it.
She drifted off to sleep, the satiety she felt more potent
than the strongest sedative. But as strips of golden rays
from the wooden blinds hit her face and she opened her
eyes, the realisation of where she was, in whose arms she
lay, and the heartbreak she risked by being there sent a
surge of panic through her. Gently easing herself off the
bed, she slipped back into her clothes, taking care not to
rouse him. But, with her shoes in her hands, as she made to
quietly open the door, he opened his eyes.
“Where are you going?” he asked, his voice still gruff with
sleep.
In her panic, speed trumped the need for stealth, so she
pulled open the door and ran out.
“Morin!” Mofe called out. “Omorinsola!”
But she didn’t stop, running down the beach as quickly as
her legs could carry her on the wet sand.

Mofe
He jumped into his trousers without bothering for his shirt
or shoes. Running out of the chalet, he saw her ahead, half
jogging and trotting in the heavy sand.
“Morin!” he called out, increasing his own speed. “Morin,
wait!”
She didn’t stop and he ran even faster, closing the distance
between them.
“Morin, please don’t do this!” he called out in exasperation.
“Please!”
She came to an abrupt stop, turning around to face him,
her chest heaving from either her exertion or determination
to escape him.
“Why do you always do this?” he asked, also physically and
emotionally depleted. “Why do you always run away?!”
“This was a mistake, Mofe. We’re in the middle of a
divorce.”
“We love each other,” he cried in his exasperation.
“Nothing could be more right than this.” He took a
tentative step forward. “Give me another chance, please.
Give us another chance.” His voice broke causing him to
pause for a steadying breath.
Morin
Her eyes teared as she looked at him, her body wanting to
flee but her heart wanting to stay.
“Being with you is too painful,” she said. “We’ve already
tried this twice and it broke me both times. And I never
want to suffer that kind of pain again.”
“It will be different this time, I promise” he cried, his voice
choked with his emotion. “I’ll never hurt you again, I swear
it. Please, Morin. I beg you. Please.” He made no attempt to
wipe the tears falling down his face. “You are my whole
heart, my whole soul. Without you, all I am is a shell.
Without you, I’m nothing.”
They stood there under the sunrise, staring at each other
from opposite sides of the gulf that had formed between
them, the invisible wire that connected their souls still
strong, still resilient, still indestructible in spite of
everything they had suffered, everything they had been
through. Mofe looked at her through glistening eyes. He’d
already jumped. He’d already done his part to close the
distance, and it was left to her to decide if she wanted to
take the leap…or walk away. But even as she thought it,
she already knew the answer. It wasn’t being with him that
hurt her. It was being without him that did.
“Come back to me,” he said, and she knew he meant more
than just a return to her chalet. “Please.”

Mofe
Her nod was slight, almost imperceptible, but it was
everything he needed. Taking large strides to close the gap,
her brisk steps beat him to it, and they fell into a tight
embrace, an embrace that was more of a reunion than the
cleaving of their bodies hours before, an embrace with the
promise of endless tomorrows after too many yesterdays.
“We were in your chalet, so where the hell where you
running to?” Mofe laughed through his tears.
“I have no idea,” Morin also laughed, squealing as he lifted
her off her feet.
“Because you’ve hurt your feet enough, and also to keep
you from making a run for it again.”
“You better not drop me! I’m not as light as you think,” she
giggled as she wrapped her legs around his waist and
grinned down at him.
“Just let me know when we get back to your chalet,
because you’re blocking my view.”
She gasped, looked back, turned to him and gasped again.
“I don’t think I remember it.”
“We’ll wing it. Worst case, we walk into someone else’s
chalet.”
“Yeah, I’m sure Abolore and Bioye, or Ogugua and Olumese
would love to have us interrupt their morning smooch.”
“Well, they won’t be the only ones with an interrupted
morning smooch,” he chuckled, breaking into a run with
her still hoisted over him. “Hang on tight. Let’s see if
you’re just as brave when it’s someone else doing the
running.”
Their laughter rent the air, competing only with the sound
of crashing waves squawking birds flying overhead.

Morin
After parting to prepare for the black-tie party, Morin had
butterflies in her stomach as she stepped into the
decorated hall at the far end of the beach, having been
ferried there in one of the SUVs there for the purpose. In a
pine green taffeta single-shoulder dress, her makeup
minimal, her hair in a low bun, crystal embellished strappy
sandals, and a pair of diamond earrings her only accessory,
she was confident in a way that had little to do with what
she wore or how she looked, but how she felt. And what she
felt was beautiful, sexy.
And loved.
Looking around, her heart grew wings and somersaulted
beneath her breastbone as Mofe walked to her, dapper in a
fitted blue tuxedo and bow tie over his white shirt.

Mofe
She was a vision in green, a beacon in the dark, and the
most beautiful woman in the room by far.
“You look stunning,” he said when he got to her. “Pure
perfection.”
“You don’t look too bad yourself,” she responded, the smile
on her face matching the one on his.
He held out his hand to her and she placed hers in his, and
with Michael Bublé’s Wonderful Tonight playing, they
glided to the dance floor, joining the few couples already
enjoying the sonorous melody. From the corner of his eye,
he could see their friends watching them, could sense their
curiosity, could feel their encouragement. But none of that
mattered. Nobody else mattered.
Because in his arms, he had the biggest prize of all.

Morin
“It felt like I was dying, like I had a terminal disease,” Mofe
said as they sat on the sand watching the waves later that
night. “Divorce doesn’t kill, but it should. It should be a
shot through the heart that kills you instantly.”
She looked at him, every word he said resonating.
“It’s the truth,” he said, interpreting her silence for
disbelief. “Losing you was like losing the ability to breathe,
the ability to live.”
She leaned forward until their faces were touching in a
shared breath. The world stopped still on its axis, and there
was no time, no wind, no sound, just a contentment and
peace that she hadn’t felt in a long time sweeping over
them like a wave. There was no use running away from it.
She loved him. He anchored her soul in a way nobody else
had managed to. As their eyes held, the raw vulnerability in
his broke what was left of the restraints she had used to
bind her emotions and incarcerate her heart.
“I love you,” she said.
His eyes softened and his body sagged like one who’d shed
a heavy weight. Raising her hand to his mouth, he kissed it,
the tears from his eyes moistening it.
“But we’re going to have to do the work,” she said, not
wanting to get carried away before setting the very
important ground rules. “We have a lot to unpack. We need
to see a professional counsellor this time.”
He nodded, his head still bowed and his mouth still on her
hand.
“We need to do that before we think of moving in together
or telling the kids,” she continued.
He looked up and she nodded.
“If we’re doing this again, we have to do it right this time,”
she maintained.
“Can we at least withdraw our petitions before then? We
don’t want to be called for our hearing while we’re trying
to figure things out,” he said.
She chuckled. “You’re right. Neither Jerome nor Shina
would be amused if we were to show up in court all loved
up on the day.”
“Or wearing the same Ankara material as that couple on
the internet,” Mofe laughed.
As their laughter subsided, she nodded. “We’ll withdraw
our petitions as soon as we get back to town.”
“I’ll send Shina a message right now. No time to waste,” he
said, his smile waning as he looked at her. “We’ve set the
rules for not moving in together and not telling the kids,
but what about us? What happens to us before we going
through counselling? Do you want us to wait? Do you want
us not to see each other until…”
Her mouth on his silenced him and, she hoped, answered
his question. As much as she knew counselling was
important before they took any major steps, she wasn’t
about to deny herself the pleasure that came from kissing
him this way, being held by him this way, being loved by
him this way. So, yes, they were going to get counselling
but, no, they weren’t going to spend any more time without
each other.
They’d lost enough already.

Book made for [email protected]

 CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
VESTED

AUGUST - OCTOBER 2023

Mofe
Somewhere inside, Mofe was afraid the bubble would burst
once they got off the ship and returned to their real lives,
afraid Morin would change her mind outside the fantasy
that was their magical beach weekend. But his fears proved
unfounded.
While they stayed true to their promise to cautiously date,
it didn’t keep them from becoming more vested than they
were before, their love even sweeter in their deeper and
more profound appreciation of each other. Every day he
spent with her, he couldn’t not be grateful for not just a
second but a third chance with the woman he loved more
than anything, and he knew he’d sooner die than mess
things up again.
Michaela and Malachi returned from Abuja the day before
Mofe’s forty-first birthday, and even though he and Morin
had to cool things off to keep things platonic for the
children’s sake, Mofe was grateful for the chance to
celebrate his special day with not only his kids but the
woman who was still, and would always be, his wife. As
Morin and the kids stood round him wearing party hats and
singing the birthday song, he was emotional thinking how
hopeless and despondent he’d been just the previous year.
And as his eyes caught Morin’s over the candles of his
homemade chocolate cake, he couldn’t be more grateful…
for love, for life, for family.
And for her.

Morin
The kids were back in school by Morin’s forty-first birthday
on the 15th of September, but unlike the last year, she
hadn’t awoken lonely and bereft. No, instead she woke up
in Mofe’s arms, his body solid and strong but his affection
the layer of softness that cocooned her, their kisses languid
and lazy, the longitude of their bodies flush, the latitude of
their souls intertwined. And barely six hours into the day, it
was already the most special of her birthdays yet.
They reluctantly separated later that morning as she set off
for work. She worked remote most Fridays but a client
meeting had been rescheduled so she had no choice but to
go in. Aize had recently accepted a Senior Partner offer
from a rival firm, a relief after months spent trying to
navigate the awkwardness of working with him after their
breakup. He might have been able to fire her from his
podcast but not the company where she was a rung higher
than he was in the hierarchy. So at least she didn’t have to
deal with that on her birthday.
Before they parted in the morning, Mofe gifted her a Pasha
de Cartier watch alongside tickets to a Burna Boy
performance the following day. And while at work, he sent
two chocolate, vanilla, and Oreo cakes; one in its original
indulgent version and the other in the healthier version
Alain had created the year before. So Morin hadn’t
expected any more gifts from him that day. Not even when
he called to tell her he would be picking her up after work.
“And what’s going to happen to my car?” she asked. “I
drove here.”
“Mere details, gorgeous,” was his coy answer.
True to his words, he picked her up from work, alongside
his assistant who drove her car back to her place. She
smiled as she and Mofe made the familiar drive from her
office to his house, but the smile dimmed as the gates
opened and she saw that the entire driveway was lined with
ambient yellow LED lights that weren’t there before.
“What’s going on here?” she giggled. “Is this part of my
birthday surprise? Are you cooking me dinner again?”
He smiled but didn’t offer any response. Bringing the car to
a stop, he got out and hurried over to her side to open it
before she did. Before she could tease him like she did
when he made that gesture, her mouth parted in a gasp as
she beheld his even bigger gesture. From the gap between
the drapes, she saw the living room floor covered with
tealight candles and rose petals. As Mofe opened the front
door, she walked ahead of him into the house, covering her
mouth at the magnificent display before her, with pictures
from not only their ten years together before their
marriage imploded, but from after; from the Saint Clara’s
Christmas gala two years before, from Bonju and Alero’s
wedding reception, from his mother’s last birthday, and,
more recently, slow dancing at the black-tie party to
celebrate Eva’s birthday. Interspacing the pictures were
pictures with their children then and now, pictures of them
as a family, pictures that reflected exactly how they were…
and how they were meant to be.
“When did you find the time to do all this?” she asked,
turning around to look at him.
And she got the biggest surprise of all.
Down on one knee, Mofe held up a ring, its bright white
hue and subtle grey undertone giving it away as platinum, a
ring adorned with a large cushion cut diamond. Morin
covered her mouth, stunned. She wasn’t an expert in
diamond cuts, clarity, and carat weight, but she knew this
was ranked high up there for all these metrics.
“An upgrade,” Mofe said, his smile uncertain as his eyes
probed hers.
This was more than upgrade. It was a declaration. Even
though it had been well over a year since she’d removed
her rings, Mofe hadn’t taken his off since their prior
reconciliation two Christmases before. His presentation of
a new engagement ring was a statement to mark the new
phase of their relationship, the next step in the journey of
forever they had committed to.
“I know you want us to wait till we see a counsellor, but…”
She dropped to her knees before he finished, bringing
herself eye level with him. While, indeed, she was still on
the hunt for the counsellor that would be right for them
with all the nuances of their relationship, she was ready for
the commitment that would come from wearing his ring
again.
“We don’t have to wait,” she said breathlessly. “I’m ready.”

Mofe
His heart expanded, the last bits of fear and trepidation he
nursed falling away, the veil between where they were and
a lifetime together torn off as he slipped the ring on her
finger. Pulling her closer, his heart pounded so hard it
shook his rib cage, blanking out everything but the feel of
her and the taste of her has his mouth closed around hers.
As he eased her to the floor, her gasps filled his ears like
surround sound, amplifying his yearning for her to a higher
saturation than anything he’d ever felt. He wanted to
drown in her. He wanted to dive in headfirst and never
come up for air. He wanted to breathe her, taste her, until
her smell and taste were permanently imprinted in his
brain. Avarice flowed through his blood, and
possessiveness simmered beneath his skin and soaked into
his bones. She was his. She would always be his. And
nothing and nobody could change it.
Their bodies connected in a kaleidoscope of need, relief,
yearning, and fulfilment. Urgency marking their every
touch. Intimacy, affection, passion, devotion, and kinship
enfolding them, tethering them together in fortified cords.
Finally, he was home.

Morin
Michaela and Malachi spent that half term holiday on a
school exchange program in Cape Town, buying Morin and
Mofe more time. Morin wore not only her new engagement
ring but also a platinum band which they’d had the Priest
at Mofe’s new parish of the Church of the Assumption
bless, alongside a wider platinum band for Mofe. With her
rings back on, there was no more hiding, no more denying
their reunion to the people in their lives – his family and
hers.
In a meeting called at the instance of Uncle Subomi,
Morin’s late father’s brother, Mofe’s family was summoned
and after several heated warnings from Uncle Subomi,
Morin’s mother, double so from Bimbo, and impassioned
apologies from Mofe’s mother and aunts, culminating in
Mofe lying prostrate in supplication, a four-year-old wound
was healed and a fourteen-year-old marriage restored.
They decided to wait till the kids came home at Christmas
before taking the final step of moving back in together,
hoping to surprise them with not only their reconciliation
but living together as a family. Considering how they had
raised their hopes the last time only to end up dashing
them, telling their children was something both Morin and
Mofe knew had to be delicately handled this time. But with
months to go before Christmas, it was a hurdle they didn’t
need to cross right now.

Mofe
At the end of October, they went to Abuja for Ogugua and
Olumese’s wedding. With most of their set of ’99
classmates, it was a happier cause for reunion than the last
thing that had brought them to the city.
As Morin stepped out of their hotel bathroom, taking
Mofe’s breath away in the metallic bronze bateau neck
column dress she wore, as she placed her soft hand in his
as they exited their room, as they walked into the garden
decorated with floral arches and overhead fairy lights
twinkling in the evening sun, as they watched as Ogugua in
a flowing strapless gown with a pleated illusion bodice in
ivory satin and tulle, and Olumese in an ivory three-piece
suit, tearfully exchanged vows, as they watched the new
couple dance to Damage’s Forever, as the couple’s one-
year-old daughter stole the show as she broke away from
her grandmother to join her parents as they danced, the
same dimpled smile as her mother’s on her face as Olumese
carried her as all three of them danced, all Mofe felt was
gratitude, gratitude to have regained everything he had
lost.
And the fierce determination never to mess it up again.

Book made for [email protected]

 CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
LOVE OF MY LIFE

NOVEMBER 2023

Mofe
Mofe couldn’t wish for more. His business was thriving, and
he had his wife back. Life was sweet.
But when he looked up from the sticky toffee pudding
dessert he was sharing with Morin as they dined at a
rooftop restaurant that had just opened in Victoria Island,
the sweet dessert soured in his mouth as a very familiar
person walked in.
Keji.
He dropped his eyes, wanting to pretend not to have seen
her, wishing that would be enough to wish her away. Morin
had her back to the door so hadn’t seen her and Mofe
wanted nothing more than for them to be oblivious of Keji
for the remainder of their meal. They were already on their
last course. In, at most, fifteen minutes they’d be done
there. But as Mofe looked up again and saw Keji laughing
with a group of Middle Eastern men, and as he turned to
look at Morin as she chatted obliviously about something or
the other that had happened at work, he accepted that, in
this case, ignorance wasn’t bliss. Quite the contrary. After
all that had happened in the past, it was way too expensive.
“Are you okay?” Morin asked, her brows furrowed as she
observed him.
“Keji just walked in,” he answered.

Morin
Every muscle in her body tensed at the mention of the
name. Turning around, true to Mofe’s words, there Keji
was, the woman who’d once been the catalyst to their union
but who’d wound up its toxin. Standing tall, slim, and
statuesque in a red blazer over jeans and a white top with a
neckline that plunged too deep for that time of day, her lips
in a glossy red the same shade as her jacket, she was
effortlessly beautiful. Morin looked away, trying to silence
her inner saboteur that was already telling her how
unfavorably she compared with the woman her husband
had once chosen over her, but the voice would not be
silenced, it’s castigation louder with every passing second.
“Can we get the bill please?” Mofe was asking the waiter
assigned to serve them after beckoning them over.
Morin let out a breath in a slow exhale. Yes, it was a good
idea to leave. As Mofe handed the waiter his ATM card
when he returned, Morin kept her eyes trained on his face,
wondering if it was good that he wasn’t looking at Keji,
wondering if he wanted to. As he tapped his pin into the
payment terminal, Morin looked back again, but this time,
Keji was looking their way.

Mofe
“She’s waving,” Morin said.
Looking up, truly Keji was waving at them with a wide
smile on her face like the past four years hadn’t happened.
While Morin didn’t acknowledge the wave but instead
turned away, Mofe lifted his hand in a small wave in
response, because ignoring her would be expending way
too much energy on her.
“Let’s go,” he said, handing the waiter a few naira notes
after receiving his card back.
Without argument, Morin stood and placed her hand in his
as they walked out, neither of them looking Keji’s way
again.
“Did you know she was in town?” Morin asked as they
made the drive to her house.
“No,” he answered, turning to look at her. “I swear I
didn’t.”
She nodded, her eyes not leaving his. “I believe you.”
He exhaled as he returned his attention to the road,
lightheaded with relief. Still with his eyes on the road, he
covered Morin’s hand with his and squeezed it, a lump
forming in his throat as she squeezed back. He didn’t lift
his hand for the remainder of the driver, navigating
through the Lekki Expressway with only one hand, grateful
the hurricane hadn’t landed but instead swept through
without causing any havoc.
The storm was finally over.

Morin
“Seeing her upset me,” Morin confessed as they lay in bed.
“It reminded me of everything I want to forget.”
Mofe said nothing, his squeeze on her shoulder his only
response.
“We can’t pretend she never happened,” Morin said. “We
can’t sweep her under the carpet and act like she never
happened to us.”
“I agree,” he answered, his voice soft in the quiet of the
room.
“We need to see a counsellor before the kids come home
next month,” she said, looking up at him. “We need to
unpack and process everything that happened to us.”
He shut his eyes for a few seconds before nodding.
Addressing their demons was going to be the hardest part
of their healing but if the way seeing Keji again had left her
feeling was anything to go by, their relationship would
never truly be restored without it.
“I’ll speak to Bawo,” Mofe said, referencing his older sister
who lived in the States but still had an impressive network
of contacts back home in Nigeria. “She might know
someone.”
Morin nodded, satisfied with that. With expert help to
process the events that had led to their breakup both times,
maybe she…they…would be able to permanently lay the
ghosts that resurfaced to rest.
Particularly a ghost named Keji.

A strategy formulation session for the incoming year kept

Morin and the firm’s other partners at work late the next
day. As everyone filed out of the conference room when it
was over, Morin hung back as another Senior Partner,
Erica, tapped away on her laptop. One of the few people in
the firm married longer than her, Morin had decided to
push through her introversion and apathy for letting people
into her business so she could rub minds with someone
who’d been able to stay married for two decades.
“Everything okay?” Erica asked, glancing up from her
laptop when she felt Morin’s lingering presence.
“I hate to bother you like this, but I was hoping you could
help me with a little something. If it’s an intrusion, please
don’t hesitate to tell me,” Morin said, sitting before she lost
her nerve. “You’ve been married twenty years, right?”
“Twenty-two,” Erica answered, a spark of intrigue in her
eyes as she shut her laptop. “Why?”
“Have you and Gbenga ever had to go for counselling?”
“All the time. How do you think we made it to twenty-two
years?” Erica laughed. Her eyes drifted to Morin’s
bedecked ring finger and back to her face. “I see you and
Mofe are giving things another go?”
Morin nodded. “We’ve agreed therapy is important, but it’s
been so difficult finding someone we connect with. Most of
the ones we’ve found online are either too churchy or don’t
look old enough to understand our issues much less help us
through them.”
“I know exactly what you mean. It was the same experience
we had when we were forced to couple’s counselling the
year we almost divorced.”
Morin’s eyes widened. “You almost divorced.”
“Thirteen years into our marriage, we could barely stand
the sight of each other. We were both working long hours
and had become complete strangers. At the time, I didn’t
think anything could be done to fix us, but then we found
Idara.”
“Idara? She’s a marriage counsellor?”
“A marriage counsellor and licensed psychotherapist,”
Erica answered. “Her expertise is digging for the deep stuff
and after our first weekend with her, we unearthed deep
resentments we weren’t even aware we had. It was eye
opening and working through our pain ended up saving our
marriage.”
Morin listened keenly as Erica told her about the annual
trips she and her husband still made to see the Idara all the
way in Uyo.
“Her sessions are intense and typically span an entire
weekend,” Erica said. “She’s also booked months in
advance, so I’d get in touch with her quickly if I were you.”
After their conversation, Morin spent the next hour
researching the Stanford-trained Idara Henshaw, reading
about her impressive track at the Johns Hopkins University
School of Medicine and then the University of Lagos
Teaching Hospital upon her return to Nigeria. Morin read
how the popular doctor quit the classroom for private
practice, ran a small clinic in Lagos before narrowing her
scope to couples therapy and relocating to Uyo for that
purpose. Satisfied with what she’d read, Morin sent a
message to the email address Erica gave her, requesting
for the earliest possible slot before Christmas in Idara’s
calendar.
Done with that, she packed up her things to leave. She’d
been so engrossed with checking out Idara, she hadn’t
noticed the office empty. The car park was lonely as Morin
made the trek to her car, and she made a mental note to
complain about the poor lighting to the building’s facility
manager.
“Omorinsola.”
Hearing another voice startled her, but it was hearing the
full form of her name only a handful of people called her,
and the familiar breathy voice that spoke it, that made her
heart lurch. Panic engulfed her when she looked back and
saw Keji advancing towards her.
“Omorinsola, I’m talking to you,” Keji’s voice sounded as
she grabbed Morin’s arm.
“Get your hand off me!” Morin snarled as she spun around
to face her. “This place is fully guarded, so you better think
twice before you come any closer.”
“Is that the best you’ve got for me? ‘This place is fully
guarded’”, Keji mimicked in a high-pitched voice that was
more derogatory than true to form. “Is that all the reaction
I get from you?”
“You don’t deserve any reaction from me,” Morin retorted,
pulling her arm away and shooting her a scathing glare
before turning away.
“You’re going to give me a reaction whether you like it or
not!” Keji yelled as she took enough steps forward to block
Morin’s path. “You could give Mofe a reaction, but I don’t
deserve one?”
“Get out of my way.”
“Damn you, Omorinsola!” Keji yelled, her eyes glistening
with tears and thick cords straining in her neck. “Damn you
for hurting me the way you did and not even giving me the
satisfaction of having you grovel!”
“Hurting you? Are you delusional?” Morin yelled back. “You
almost broke my marriage. Look, I’m sorry about Mofe, but
that was years ago…”
“Fuck Mofe! This has nothing to do with Mofe!” Keji
screamed. “This is about you and me!”
“What?!”
“You’re the one who broke my heart, not Mofe,” Keji
shouted, stepping back as tears poured down her face.
“You’re the one I missed so badly it hurt! You’re the one I
wrote daily letters to when I had no idea how to get them to
you! You’re the one whose loss felt like my heart was
ripped into two! You were the love of my life, not Mofe! And
you broke my heart.”
“Is this some kind of reverse psychology?” Morin asked,
hating the ache that was beginning to squeeze her chest. “I
broke your heart when you were the one who disappeared
without a trace? Mofe and I didn’t get together until eight
years after neither of us was able to even trace you.”
“You didn’t look hard enough,” Keji cried. “None of you did.
Not even Uncle Victor. He did nothing when she forced me
to leave London and go to America with her.”
“She was your mother,” Morin yelled in her exasperation.
“What did you want the old man to do? What did you want
any of us to do?”
“Save me from being abused? Save me from being raped by
her husband? Save me from years in jail when all I was
trying to do was help her?”
Morin deflated, short of words as she gaped at her.
“My mom didn’t have a college plan for me when she took
me to the States. She just needed someone to help care for
her kids because she couldn’t afford childcare. Her
husband…my stepfather,” the word dripped from her mouth
with disdain, “I tell everyone he was a wealthy surgeon who
lived in Beverly Hills, but the man was nothing but a low-
life grifter who lived off my mother in a small house in San
Antonio. I didn’t go to college but instead was put to work
taking care of their babies. And as if that wasn’t bad
enough, very soon her husband decided I he wanted me as
well as my mother.”
She covered her face with her hands as she cried and
Morin had to ball her fists to keep from reaching for her,
reminding herself of all the ways Keji had hurt her.
“He raped me. He raped me every night for a year. The
house was small enough and my screams were loud enough
for my mother to hear, but she never did anything. Not
even when I went crying to her,” she continued. “I had no
money, and I wasn’t allowed to leave the house. All I could
do was pray for the time when someone would come
looking for me, when someone would come save me. Every
night, writing letters to you was what kept me sane, looking
forward to being reunited with you was everything I looked
forward to.”
“Well, it looks like everything worked out for you in the
end,” Morin retorted with a dismissive wave around Keji,
even though her heart was breaking with every word.
“I spent eight years in jail,” Keji said, her swollen crimson
eyes glaring at Morin. “I walked in on them fighting. He
had his hands around my mother’s throat. They argued a
lot, but I’d never seen him actually hurt her. Without
thinking, I grabbed a knife from the kitchen sink and sank
into his back.” She laughed and shook her head as more
tears surged from her eyes. “It was my mom that called the
cops on me. She refused to corroborate my story of him
hurting her, but a neighbour testified to hearing them
yelling at each other. That was what saved me. Because I
was eighteen, I was tried as an adult and got convicted of
manslaughter, which is a second-degree felony in Texas. I
got a ten-year sentence but was released after eight. My
mom was deep in addiction and the twins were in foster
care when I got out. I spent the next year looking for them
and trying to get them out of the system. I was in the thick
of that when I heard…” Her voice faltered as her gaze
steeled. “When I heard about you and Mofe.”
“And that was when you sent that email.”
“That was when I sent that email,” Keji repeated. “That was
when the last string of hope I had was severed. That was
when I became determined to hurt you the same way.”
“Well, congratulations, you succeeded,” Morin said. “I’m
sorry about everything you went through. It breaks my
heart you had to suffer all that. But if your plan was to hurt
me, you did. If your plan was to put me through soul
crushing pain, you achieved it. So I think we’re even.”
“I don’t want us to be even!” Keji whimpered. “I want what
we used to have. I want my friend back.”
Morin scoffed and made to walk away but Keji grabbed her.
“Hit me, if it will make you feel better,” she cried, raising
Morin’s hand to her face. “Slap me till you feel better.”
Morin glared at her, actually tempted to land her palm on
Keji’s smooth face with all the strength she could muster.
But instead, she pulled her hand away and started briskly
walking away.
“Sisters forever, Omorinsola,” Keji cried as Morin walked
away. “You promised.”
Morin continued to walk even though the vivid memory of
them huddled together in their primary school class on a
rainy day, the only children left there with the teacher
flashed through her head, the memory of pact they had
made as they’d waited for their respective mothers to pick
them up as vivid as it was happening in real time.
“Through thick and thin, Omorinsola?” Keji yelled.
Morin shut her eyes as she kept walking, doing everything
not to remember them making the same pledge as the best
friends Pagan, Judy, and Maxine made in their favourite
mini-series, Lace.
“I promise to sit with you in the dark. I promise to offer my
shoulder for every tear. I promise to celebrate your
happiness and pick you up and shake off the dust when you
fall. I promise to always be there.”
The words, verbatim, that Morin penned in the last
birthday card she sent to Keji impaled her back and pierced
through bone until it found her heart, bringing her feet to a
stop. Clear as day, she remembered writing the note as
their separation loomed, wanting to assure her best friend
turned sister that she’d always be there, no matter what.
Turning around, the sight of Keji leaning on a car and
sobbing hysterically broke her resolve. With her heart, no
longer her mind, pulling her feet, Morin walked to Keji,
leaning with her on the same car.
“You were all I had,” Keji sobbed. “When I lost you, I lost
everything.”
As tears glassed her own eyes, Morin put her arm around
Keji who proceeded to lean on her shoulder as she cried.
Morin rested her face on Keji’s head, her tears now falling
down her face.
“What happened to your mom and brothers?” Morin asked
as their tears subsided.
“I got the boys out of foster care. I did things I’m not proud
of to keep food in their stomachs and a roof over their
heads,” Keji answered before smiling. “But they turned out
good. Jordan is at USC finishing up his master’s degree in
architecture and Jace just got signed to a record label.”
“And your mom?”
Keji’s smile faded. “Dead to us. I’m their mother. I’ve been
their mother almost all their lives.”
Morin’s heart broke upon hearing this, remembering the
bond that once existed between Keji and her mother.
“I always envied the relationship you had with Mofe,” Keji
said after a while. “How freely you flowed and how you
laughed at the same things.”
Morin smiled wryly. “We were friendly only because of you.
If he hadn’t been with you, he and I would never have been
acquaintances let alone friends.”
“No, you two had a rapport,” Keji insisted. “There was an
easier flow to your conversation than what he and I had.”
Morin said nothing in response as she mused over it,
thinking about all their shared laughter back then and if it
had truly been between just her and Mofe, or all three of
them.
“I’ve fucked everything up forever, haven’t I?” Keji asked,
her eyes glistening as fresh tears emerged.
Morin nodded, also tearful. As deep and profound as their
connection once was, they had hurt each other too deeply
for their friendship to ever be repaired.
“He loves you,” Keji said, her voice barely a whisper as a
tear rolled down her face.
“I know,” Morin answered, smiling through her own tears.
“I never stood a chance with him.”
“I know.”
They said nothing for several minutes as they held each
other.
“Maybe we can try again in another twenty years?” Keji
asked. “When this has all gone away?”
Morin laughed as she wiped her tears. Even though she
couldn’t see it now, who knew what the coming years
would bring.
“I love you, Omorinsola. I’ve carried you in my heart almost
all my life. Even when I wanted to hate you,” Keji said, her
voice breaking. “And I always will.”
Morin’s face crumpled as they embraced again, the two of
them sixteen years old again, the finality of this goodbye
breaking her. The last time they had bade each other
farewell, it had been with hope for the future. But they
didn’t have that hope this time. With all bridges burned and
all paths destroyed, there were no roads back to the
sisterhood they had once shared. But even through all the
pain and betrayal, Morin knew she would also carry her in
her heart forever.
She would also love her forever.

Book made for [email protected]

 CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
HOW ABOUT US?

DECEMBER 2023

Morin
In addition to the emails Morin sent Idara, it had taken
entreaties from Erica for the counsellor to fit the couple
into her already packed December calendar but, thankfully,
she did, and two Fridays before Christmas and the
weekend before Michaela and Malachi were expected
home, Morin and Mofe left for Uyo for their counselling
weekend.
Situated on a large expanse of land that also housed a
resort owned by Idara’s Lebanese husband, Jalal, when
Morin and Mofe got there, they were led to separate
bedrooms in separate wings, as was the requirement for
couple’s there for counselling. The evening of their arrival,
they were hosted to dinner by Idara and Jalal, where they
were asked simple questions about how long they had been
married, what kind of extracurricular activities their
children engaged in, and what college plans they had for
them. It was a nice congenial evening that made Morin
relax, having come for the retreat dreading facing the
demons that broke their marriage not once, but twice.
But the next day, seated facing Mofe with Idara between
them, it was clear that this wasn’t going to be an easy
conversation.
“Before I start with any couple, especially a couple that has
gone through a crisis like yours, I like to drill to the root of
the problem,” Idara said, her eyes warm, her smile kind,
but her voice firm. “Because we can’t treat a disease we
don’t know we have.”
Morin nodded and took a deep breath. “We understand
that.”
“Good,” Idara said, smiling at them encouragingly.
“Yesterday, you two made me swoon with the story of how
you fell in love after not seeing each other for years and
how you fell in love again after being separated four years.
But I’m keen to know about your marriage before it fell into
crisis. How many good years would you say you had?”
“Eight,” Mofe answered.
“Five,” Morin answered at the same time.
Their conflicting simultaneous answers caused Morin and
Mofe to look at each other, puzzled.
“Interesting,” Idara remarked. “Mofe why do you say
eight?”
He shrugged, his brows still furrowed as he answered Idara
but with his eyes on Morin. “I thought we were doing good,
for the most part. We weren’t perfect but we were fine, I
guess.”
Idara turned to Morin. “Morin?”
“I was disenchanted much earlier than eight years in,” she
answered. “I was already feeling tolerated and undesired
by that time. I already felt he no longer wanted me.”
Idara turned to Mofe.
“I never just tolerated you, Morin, neither did I ever stop
finding you desirable.”
“But the sex stopped.”
“The sex stopped because you made it seem like it was one
big chore for you,” Mofe answered, his rising voice an
indication of his exasperation. “Apart from dictating the
time and where and how I could touch you, you didn’t act
like you even enjoyed it at all.”
“I didn’t enjoy it because I was emotionally detached from
you,” Morin answered, her voice also rising. “We were
fighting so much, how could I connect with you?”
Idara turned to Mofe. “From the phone call we had in our
initial interview, you said you felt unseen? Because you
couldn’t financially support your family?”
Mofe nodded, his face lowered.
“And this was what led to the act of infidelity that caused
your separation?”
Mofe said nothing in response at first, his head lowered for
several minutes before he looked up.
“That was no excuse for what I did,” he answered. “There
were other ways we could have addressed the way I was
feeling than…than what I did.”
Morin inhaled deeply, attacked by a fresh wave of anger,
his concession reminding her of his confession that awful
night. Idara must have sensed her emotions as she turned
to look at her.
“Do you want to talk about that, Morin? How it made you
feel?”
“Broken, shattered, destroyed,” Morin answered, her voice
quivering. “I thought it was the worst betrayal imaginable…
until it got even worse.”
“How did it get worse?”
Even though it was Idara who’d asked the question, Morin
aimed her answer at Mofe whose head was back being
bowed.
“You went to her. You left for another country with her,”
she answered, her vision blurred with tears. “You taunted
me with your pictures all over social media.” A sob
punctuated her words, and she paused to regroup, not
wanting to stop until she got everything out. Even though
she and Mofe had already talked about this time, it was
cathartic for her to release all the pain she’d been carrying
for years. “The humiliation wasn’t even the worst part.
Worrying about our children seeing your pictures with her
wasn’t even the worst part. No, the worst part was the self-
inflicted torture of looking at her in those pictures and
understanding why you chose her, of looking at my body in
the mirror and not blaming you for picking her.”
“Morinsola, please,” Mofe pleaded, pain etched all over his
face as he looked at her. “You know that’s not true. You
know your body has always been perfect to me. You have
always been perfect to me.”
“And this her in question is the woman with whom Mofe
had the affair?” Idara clarified. “The woman he dated in
high school who also happened to be your best friend at the
time?”
Both Mofe and Morin nodded.
“What can you say was the most painful thing about their
affair? Whose betrayal would you say hurt the most?” Idara
asked.
“Both,” Morin answered, her tears finally receded. “I was
mad at Keji for hurting me but, after she and I got the
chance to speak a few weeks ago, I can almost understand
why she did it. I don’t like it, and I don’t think she and I can
ever get past that, but what she did hurts less now.” She
inhaled deeply. “Mofe’s still does. Love is trust, but he
broke it. I know he’s sorry now and I know I also might
have done and said things to push him there, but I won’t
deny that it still haunts me sometimes. Usually out of
nowhere when we’re lying in bed or even having a meal, I
still get flashbacks. Flashbacks of him and her. For the
most part, I’ve forgiven him, but I’m struggling to forget.”
“That’s understandable,” Idara said, nodding. “It would be
unrealistic to expect you to forget everything at the snap of
a finger.” She turned to Mofe. “And what about you, Mofe?
What are the things you are still struggling with?”
Mofe shook his head which was back to being bowed. “I
deeply regret everything I did to her and will spend the rest
of my life making it up to her.”
Morin’s heart lifted but Idara’s face set in a frown.
“Is that all?” Idara asked.
“I regret not telling her enough how beautiful I’ve always
thought she is and how much I love her,” Mofe continued.
“I regret not paying as much attention as I should have. I
regret everything I did to make her unhappy.”
“That’s lovely, but I get this feeling you’re still holding
back,” Idara probed, her body inclined more to Mofe.
“We’re not going to get anything from this session if you’re
holding back.”
Mofe raised his head and looked at her. “I’m not holding
anything back.”
“Tell me when things changed for you, Mofe,” Idara said.
“Changed?” Mofe repeated.
“After five or eight years, you’re both agreed that
something changed in your marriage,” Idara clarified.
“Morin has told us it was being made to feel tolerated and
unwanted. What was it for you?”
His brows furrowed. “I already told you that it was not
being able to provide for my family and feeling unseen.”
Idara said nothing but didn’t stop looking at him. Silence
stretched for a full minute before she finally spoke.
“I’ve been doing this for many years, which is why I know
you’re holding back. You’re not saying everything.”

Mofe
He massaged his brows. “There’s nothing else.”
“You’re sure?”
He closed his eyes as a memory long buried tried to break
through the steel casket in which it had been buried, a
memory he had suppressed so deeply, it felt like it
belonged to someone else.
“I’m sure,” he answered, his voice hoarse with his
emotions, deep and dark emotions that intertwined with
this buried memory like an evil twin.
“Mofe, the reason you and your wife came all the way here
was to lay to rest the issues that caused your crisis, so you
can move ahead in your…”
“You had that abortion even though I begged you not to,”
Mofe blurted as he looked up at Morin, the memory a
memory no longer but the ugliest of reminders of one of the
worst times of their marriage, a foul spirit that had
squeezed itself through his mouth from the deepest of
recesses it had been stowed away for years.
“What?” Morin whispered, her face paling.
“You said you couldn’t afford another baby,” Mofe cried. “I
begged. I promised you we could handle it. But you went
ahead anyway, regardless of how I felt about it.”
Morin stared at him with her mouth parted, his outburst as
shocking to her as it was for him.
“You had no regard for me. You always dismissed me. You
never took anything I said serious…”
“Mofe, we couldn’t afford another baby,” she cut in, her
voice rising.
“You didn’t say we couldn’t afford another baby. You said
you couldn’t afford another baby!”
“Okay, I couldn’t afford another baby!” Morin exclaimed,
throwing up her hands in exasperation. “I was already
sinking, trying to keep our heads above water. After losing
half our savings in your recycling business, another baby
wasn’t even a consideration. We were barely taking care of
the ones we had!”
“But you didn’t even let me into that decision,” he cried. “It
was my baby, too. I accept that it was your body, but it was
my child too.”
He covered his face with hands as he wept, giving into the
pain that had risen from its long state of dormancy, and
which was now fast spreading through his body like a
malignant cancer. The room was silent as he cried, as his
heart emptied itself. But rather than feel lighter, the more
he cried, the more burdened his heart grew.
“You’re not the only one struggling with forgiveness,
Omorinsola,” he said, looking up and holding his wife’s
gaze. “You think I don’t have to battle with the visual of
another man fucking my wife. You think I don’t worry about
what would happen if my business crashes tomorrow
leaving me with nothing? You think I’m not afraid things
are only going well because I’m doing well? You think I
don’t worry about us going back to that dark place where
you made me feel like nothing? You think I don’t think
about that?”
There. It was out there. The fears he had refused to
acknowledge even to himself.
He covered his face with his hands again, feeling like the
room was spinning at warp speed, feeling like he’d been
ejected from a rollercoaster seat and was now free-falling
without a parachute.
“That’s what I was waiting for. Unearthing ugly truths is
the only way forward,” Idara said. “With every battle, there
comes a moment when you think you’re defeated. But only
the strong will persevere and win, regardless.”
Mofe lowered his hands from his face but didn’t look up, his
feelings tangled, his emotions a mess, the bitterness and
resentment he had quashed with the guilt of his affair now
all he could taste, all he could see.
“At this point, I ask my couples to take a while to
separately process what they’ve heard,” Idara said. “Some
of them do so in a day, some a week, some a few months,”
she looked from Mofe to Morin. “And for some, it’s the end
of the road.”
The silence that followed was pregnant with the peril that
lurked over their reconciliation, the possibly imminent
danger to their union, all the glue that had been used to
bind the fractures in their marriage now threatening to
give way.
“We can meet again tomorrow, or we could meet again next
weekend,” Idara said. “Whenever you decide to have the
next meeting, it will be complimentary, so you don’t have to
worry about.” She looked at both of them again.
“Unpacking emotional baggage in a marriage isn’t
uncommon, and the longer you’ve been together, the more
baggage you have to unpack. Making a marriage takes
work and that’s what you both need to commit to. It’s like a
mutual fund. You don’t know what the future holds, but you
still invest in it, hoping for more.”

Morin
Morin watched with a heavy heart as Mofe walked out of
the room after Idara declared the session over, never
having seen him that emotional in the almost three decades
she’d known him. She closed her eyes, remembering the
abortion, remembering their fights over money,
remembering his affair with Keji, remembering her
relationship with Aize…and wondering if they could ever
truly surmount the relentless hurdles in their marriage.
But later that evening as she lay on the plush bed in the
executive suite she’d been assigned, she knew what she
wanted, and it wasn’t giving up, not after everything they’d
already been through. She was ready to fight for their love.
She was ready to fight for them.
So she made the trek to Mofe’s suite in a separate wing
from hers, determined not to let the reopened wounds
fester. Truth was they’d both hurt each other and, after
being focused on her pain for so long, her eyes and heart
were now open - really open - to Mofe’s.
Her heart pounded in her chest as she knocked on his door,
an alien tension squeezing her heart as she waited for him
to open it. When he did, his bloodshot eyes and bedraggled
look caused her heart to slide to her stomach, anchored
there by his closed-off face, by the possibility that they
could be one of the couples who didn’t survive the
unearthing of ugly truths.
“I decided to risk coming over to check on you,” she said,
smiling in an attempt to defuse the situation. “Let’s just
hope Idara doesn’t throw us out for breaking the rules.”
But he didn’t even smile, his eyes flat and his face
impassive.
“It was a heavy one today,” she remarked, still smiling even
though her heart was now sinking from her stomach all the
way to her feet. “I didn’t think it was going to be so heavy.”
He sighed and dragged his hands down his face. “Yeah, me
too.”
“The things you said…” she began, knowing she couldn’t
skirt away from them. “It was a tough time for us, Mofe. It
wasn’t the right time for us to have a baby and I thought
you understood that.”
He shut his eyes and leaned on the door frame.
“But it shouldn’t have been a unilateral decision and, for
that, I’m sorry,” she continued. “I’m sorry if I said and did
things to hurt you. I’m sorry if my words and actions made
you feel less than yourself. I was also hurt. I guess it’s true
what they say about hurt people hurting people.”
“After what happened with Keji, I pushed down everything
I was feeling,” he said, his voice weary. “The guilt I felt
subsumed every other emotion. I accept that we weren’t in
a good place when you got pregnant a third time. I know
you really didn’t want a child and, if we’d talked about it, I
would have gone ahead with whatever it was you wanted.
But you didn’t even give me that opportunity.” He sighed
again. “My bigger fear has been what will happen to us if
my business tanks and I lose everything.”
“Your business won’t tank, Mofe.”
He shut his eyes and was silent for a while before
reopening his eyes.
“That wasn’t my question, Morin.”
Before she could speak further, he leaned off the door
frame. “I don’t think we should see Idara tomorrow. I think
we both need time to process today.”
“Okay,” she said, nodding in agreement even though she
was wilting on the inside. “Next weekend then? The kids
can stay with my mom or yours…”
“I think we need more time than that,” he said. “Let’s give
each other till next year and see how we feel.”
It felt like a slow seeping of cold poison through her veins,
her breath shortening like she was drowning without
water, like her lungs were rejecting every molecule of air
she inhaled, like the ground on which she stood had caved
out beneath her as his words sank in, as he communicated
his decision not to immediately proceed with their
counselling and, by default, their marriage.
“Sure,” she managed to answer, the small smile returning
to her face to mask the fact her soul was being turned
inside out.
“Let’s take some time to process all this, okay?” he said.
“Then we can decide if we want to continue.”
Or give up.
He didn’t say the words, but she heard them.
And they broke her.

Mofe
He knew he was breaking her heart. He saw it in her face
as the cracks emerged, but he was unable to do anything to
stop it. Even though he wanted nothing more than to hold
her, the pain he felt was too fresh, the hurt his
subconscious had regurgitated too raw for him to.
“I’ll get our tickets changed to the earlier flight,” she said,
the smile on her face belied by the quiver of her voice.
He cleared his throat. “We’ll figure it out tomorrow. We
don’t have to do that tonight.”
She nodded and stepped back, still smiling but with a sheen
in her eyes. “I better go. Have a good night.”

Morin
The world slipped into slow motion as she headed back to
her wing, her feet leaden with every step she took, the
ground like quicksand both keeping her motionless and
pulling her under, as she accepted the painful reality.
That they’d broken after all.

Mofe
Standing under the blast of the shower, he replayed not
only the painful conversations from that day but all the
thoughts he hadn’t given free rein to in years. He saw their
caustic arguments, heard their abrasive words, felt the
financial helplessness he’d suffered and the decisions that
had been taken out of his hands because of it. He allowed
his tears comingle with the water pouring from the
overhead spout, wishing those memories had remained
stowed away, wishing they hadn’t been exhumed, wishing
he’d been left to forge ahead without remembering the
extent and depth of his own pain.
Book made for [email protected]
 CHAPTER THIRTY
ALL I WANT IS FOREVER

Morin
The ride to the airport the following morning was made in
silence. Mofe’s head was tipped back on the headrest, his
eyes closed, but his steady breathing giving away that sleep
was far from him. Morin leaned her own head on the
window, barely taking in the view of the scenic town or the
sprawling greens that lined the roads leading to the
airport, every hope, every dream she had come there with
dashed.
As they disembarked at the airport, she stood back as Mofe
generously tipped the Uber driver and as he effortlessly
lifted both their bags. She lingered back as he walked,
entering the airport behind him as she struggled to accept
how differently they were leaving the town from how they
had arrived brimming with excitement for their future. But
two days later, there they were, barely speaking and not
knowing if there even was a future.
“I’ll get a ticket to Abuja instead,” Mofe said as they walked
to the Ibom Air counter to see if they could get on the
earlier flight to Lagos than they were booked for. “I’ve
been trying to get Abolore to arrange meetings with a few
ministers and I figured I might as well do that now before
the year ends.”
As someone who’s natural default was to flee, Morin
recognised what it was he was doing; fleeing, putting space
between them. She looked at him, wanting to plead with
him not to go, wanting to beg him to stay so they could
figure things out, wanting to tell him how deeply sorry she
was for every way she’d hurt him.
But instead she nodded. “Okay.”
“I’ll be back before Christmas,” he said. “I’ll speak with the
kids when they’re back this week.”
“Okay,” she repeated, nodding even more vigorously as she
stepped ahead of him to the counter to change their
tickets…to change her ticket.
She stepped back after successfully switching to the
1:30pm flight, waiting as he bought a ticket for the
outbound noon flight to Abuja, from where they proceeded
to check in and head to the departure lounge.
“That’s me,” he said when his flight was announced an hour
later.
She rose to her feet just as he did and as they stood before
each other, even though they said no words, as their eyes
held, it was the most communication they’d had since the
previous day’s emotional session; hers in a silent plea and
his…his in silent vanquishment, the light that had been in
them extinguished.
“Take care of yourself,” he said as they embraced.
She shut her eyes as she held him tight, burrowing her face
into the hollow of his neck so she could memorize his scent
if this turned out the last time she would hold him like this.
“You too.”
There were tears in his eyes when he stepped back and,
without another word, he turned around and walked away
to join the boarding queue ahead.
Lowering herself back to her seat, she cupped her mouth to
catch the sobs that were warring for release from her
mouth, her heart broken beyond belief.

Mofe
Seated in the plane, he shut his eyes as the plane taxied,
reminding himself of all the reasons why he needed this
space to sit with the reminders from their past, reminding
himself why he didn’t want to go back to feeling that way.
But opening his eyes as the plane lifted off the ground, the
receding airport wasn’t just a building but his marriage
fading in the distance until it disappeared completely from
view. And as the plane gained altitude, his misgivings were
soon dwarfed by a profound sense of loss.
Opening his eyes, vivid images flashed before him, images
as clear as if they were being beamed on the back of the
chair before him, images of Morin crestfallen as he flirted
with Keji at their tenth wedding anniversary party, of her
tearful as he admitted his affair, of her hauling flowerpots
at his car and banging at the car’s other window with her
shoe, of her seated opposite him in Idara’s studio as he let
loose old demons, of her standing in front of his door the
previous night with a smile unable to mask her heartbreak,
and of her crushed and crestfallen as they’d bidden each
other farewell before he boarded the plane. A boulder sized
lump formed in his throat as he remembered sleeping with
Keji that first night, going with her to Geneva, and the
pictures of them that were still flying around the internet
almost four years after their split.
Yes, Morin had hurt him. But he’d also hurt her.
Yes, she’d messed up, but he’d also fucked up.
So much more.
He’d been the one who broke them in the end.
Yet here he was, the one running away.
Was he truly contemplating a return to a time when he
didn’t wake up smelling her hair? A time when he didn’t
hear her sing Burna Boy songs from the bathroom? A time
when he didn’t sit up in bed with her, listening to her
complain about this partner or that project? A time when
he didn’t have the luxury of communicating with her in a
dozen different languages just by the touch of their toes
under the sheets? A time when he couldn’t hold her, touch
her, kiss her, love her the way he wanted?
Up in the clouds, he was suddenly claustrophobic, the
collar of his shirt too tight, and the air pressure in the cabin
too low, the hurt and bruise to his pride from years before
inconsequential compared to the stark reality of life
without the woman he loved.

Morin
Sitting in wait for her flight, Morin typed several text
messages to Mofe, messages apologizing for her mistakes
of the past and assuring him of the unconditionality of her
love regardless of how much money he had or how well his
business performed. But she deleted each one of them,
afraid of exposing her heart even more than it already was,
afraid of getting hurt again. But as hours crawled by as her
flight kept getting postponed, she knew she couldn’t keep
using her fear as a crutch.
It was her turn to fight for them.
Her flight didn’t leave Uyo until 7pm, and through the one
hundred- and fifteen-minute journey, her resolve not to give
up strengthened. She was going to remind Mofe of all the
things he’d said when he’d fought for them not once, but
twice.
Let’s start from the beginning…Please, Morin. It’s been two
years. Let me come back home.
I’ve never been surer of anything in my life.
We love each other. Nothing could be more right than this…
Give me another chance. Give us another chance.
You are my whole heart, my whole soul. Without you, all I
am is a shell. Without you, I’m nothing.
Come back to me…Please.
He’d already lain his heart on the line for their marriage.
It was her move now.
It’s the mountain coming to Mohammed.
The memory of him standing in wait in front of her house
after she’d tried to ghost him buoyed her, and sitting in the
Uber ride home, she began to search for a flight to Abuja
for the following morning, determined to do anything she
had to, say anything she needed to…to fix them.
She was engrossed with her phone, frustrated all the early
flights to Abuja were booked, when the taxi pulled to a stop
in front of her house. Mumbling thanks to the driver, she
got out of the car, her eyes still on her phone as she lifted
her bag. But as she looked up, as she looked past the
shrubs and pine trees bedecked with Christmas garlands
and fairy lights, as she saw the familiar form sitting on her
door stoop and rising to his feet upon sighting her, her
breathing shortened, her lung capacity reduced to only a
handful of breaths. Her heart rate accelerated as Mofe
walked to her, his face tired, his shirt rumpled.
“I told you I still needed keys to the house regardless of
how soon you’re moving,” he said.
“How did you…” her voice came out breathless, her brain
struggling to make sense of his getting on a plane to Abuja
and him standing before her. “What are you doing here? I
thought you were in Abuja.”

Mofe
“I turned around when we landed and got on the first plane
back to Lagos,” he answered.
She said nothing in response but as they stood before each
other, everything they had lived through, everything they
had suffered through, everything they had loved through,
flashed on a superhighway from her eyes to his. As he
looked at her, for the first time since he’d made the U-turn
at the Abuja airport, he worried he was too late. For the
first time since walking away from her to board the plane in
Uyo, he worried she’d changed her mind, that she’d
decided they were better off apart after all. And his heart
sank at the mere thought. Because they weren’t better off
apart at all.
Standing there and looking at her as multi-coloured
Christmas lights flashed around them, she was more
luminous, more incandescent than all of them combined.
He loved her. He loved her with an intensity that was
bottomless. He loved her with the fire of a thousand suns.
He loved her in a way that losing her would mean losing
himself. Anxiety shot through his bloodstream as he waited
for her to speak, waited for her to say something, say
anything.
“I love you,” he finally said. “I love you more than my hurt,
more than my pain, more than my fears, more than
anything. And I’m sorry for ever causing you pain. If I could
I’d go back in time and…”
“I was looking for a flight to Abuja,” she cut in, raising the
hand that held her phone. “I was trying to find an early
flight for tomorrow morning.”
His body sagged with relief and a small smile curved her
lips, a smile that infiltrated his body and replicated in every
cell, a smile that beamed opalescent in the pitch darkness
his world had been thrown into in the last twenty-four
hours. And as he walked towards her and she hurried
towards him, as the gap closed between them, and as he
held her, as she commandeered his heartbeat, controlled
his pulse, and held his next breath as her soft hands
cupped his face, it was like looking at a mirror, their shared
memories reflecting back and forth. He realised then that
all the ugliness in their marriage wasn’t an ellipsis they
could wish away or a dash separating their past from their
future, but instead a quadratic equation that had summed
and equated to where they were now.
This was the woman he was made to love.
Forever.

Morin
Her breath shook against his lips as their mouths
connected, everything she felt for him amplified and
multiplied several times over. He pulled her closer and she
yielded, their kiss deepening regardless of the car driving
down the street and the pockets of laughter from a house a
feet away.
“Sessions with Idara need to come with a trigger warning,”
Mofe chuckled as their faces pulled apart, their bodies still
cleaved together.
“Erica did warn me she knows how to dig deep,” Morin
giggled.
“Dig? The woman is an excavator,” Mofe said, his grin
fading as his eyes held hers. “But I’m glad she went that
deep.”
Morin’s heart expanded as she looked at him, the only man
who had ever known her inside and out, good and ugly, the
only man who had ever seen her soul and been consumed
by its fire, the only man with whom she felt whole and
complete. That they had a long journey to healing wasn’t in
any doubt, but that they were committed to doing it
together made the hard work ahead not so daunting.
Because they were going to do it together.
“Me too,” she said, leaning forward to kiss him again.

The End.
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 EPILOGUE

Scan the code below to join my newsletter where the

epilogue with the next phase of Morin, Mofe, and Keji’s
journeys will be shared on February 01, 2025

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 AUTHOR’S NOTE

I was afraid to write this book. As Book 5 drew closer, Mofe

and Morin’s marriage-in-trouble felt so daunting to me. I
was so scared I wouldn’t do it justice, because I wanted to
dive as deeply into the ugliness of a struggling marriage as
I could. So I sat with my thoughts and feelings for a long
time, digging into experiences from my own marriage, my
friends’ marriages, and stories I’ve heard from others to
feel what Mofe and Morin would be feeling. And their story
came to me. It took me longer to write, as I carefully
pondered over every word, every sentence to be sure it was
communicating the right thing. I hope the story resonates
as deeply with you as it does for me.
Thank you so much for following these Malomo kids. It
truly means the world to me. Nonso’s story is next, and boy
oh boy, am I excited about that or what . I just got the
cover of that book commissioned and to say I’m pleased
with it would be an understatement.
Until then, I love you guys always!

Book made for [email protected]

 ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I would say a big thank you to everyone I asked questions

and badgered about questions about their marriage. I
especially want to thank my friend for whom I lifted Mofe’s
rant about the hierarchy of things that were most
important to Morin (yes, that was an actual conversation
had ).
A special thank you as always goes to my bestie, Chichi
Abiagam, for her support. I also want to thank Lani Leigh
for being a sounding board and for those weekly check-in
conversations that encouraged me and pulled me up when I
was struggling. I would like thank Folashade Odusote for
being a listening ear and Amyn Bawa-Allah for always
checking on me, listening to me rant, and giving me all the
words of encouragement I needed. And a special thank you
also goes to my very early reader, Blessing Okwuofu, for
her feedback and support.
But an even bigger big thank you goes to YOU reading this
book. I remain grateful beyond words for you. Thank you
from the bottom of my heart.
Book made for [email protected]
 PLAYLIST

Music is an integral part of my writing process, and it was

the same for this story. This playlist is very special for me,
and I hope you enjoy it too! Scan the code below in your
Spotify app to enjoy it.

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 THE 6-PART MALOMO HIGH REUNION
SERIES

Book 1 – An Unlikely Kind of Love

Tomiloju and Ikenna have been best of friends since high
school. Both academic high flyers, they’ve always had a lot
in common and have remained close without it ever getting
romantic. In the years since graduation, they have
remained there for each other, through personal and
professional turmoil.
They are each other’s safety net and as they head for their
20-Year High School Reunion, are banking on each other
for the support they both know they’ll need. They are
inseparable the whole weekend...until a slip reveals things
weren’t always only platonic for one of them, disrupting
their dynamic of over two decades?
Can their friendship survive it?

Book 2 – A Complicated Kind of Love

She is on the rebound.
After her short-lived reunion with her high school love
implodes, Bioye is left devastated and doubts everything
she thought was certain.
He has sworn off love.
Childhood trauma and a bad break up have made Abolore
swear off love. A confirmed bachelor, his career has
become his passion.
But all that changes that fateful summer.
Seeking solace after her broken engagement and desperate
to get away from reminders of everything she has lost,
Bioye volunteers at the Malomo High summer camp that
her former teacher, Abolore, has organised. Neither of
them sees the explosive romance coming. As their love
affair blooms, a volcano of secrets and lies erupts, and
former flames, political aspirations, and hidden insecurities
threaten to unravel everything.

Book 3 – A Betrayed Kind of Love

In the very last weeks of high school, angelic Alero gives up
her virginity to ladies’ man, Bonju. Their relationship
proves to be no different than his other casual liaisons, and
not only does he go on to break her heart, he leaves her
reputation in shreds.
Twenty years later, she still feels horribly betrayed and is
unable to even remain in the same space with him at their
high school reunion. She is blinded by the desire to strike
back, to hurt and humiliate him just as badly as he did her
so many years before.
But they soon discover that there is a thin line between
being vindictive…and falling in love again.

Book 4 – A Broken Kind of Love

"Love rules without rules."
After a ten-year long engagement, the love between
childhood sweethearts, Ogugua and Jachike, comes to an
abrupt end, with Jachike marrying someone else. Years
later, a text message leaves Ogugua battling a whirlwind of
emotions after many years spent loathing him. And when
tragedy throws them back in each other’s company, they
have to decide whether to work their way back to their
love…or walk away from each other for good.
After the loss of his older brother, Olumese finds himself
captivated by Ogugua, and is determined to win her heart,
irrespective of a daunting ten-year age difference.
Initially caught between these two men – her first love who
is still married to another woman, and the way-too-young
man whose love for her is like nothing she has ever known
– Ogugua soon finds herself at a crossroads, afraid to
surrender to a love she worries is a unicorn...a beautiful
fairy tale unable to survive in the real world.
Until an unexpected bombshell changes everything.

Book 5 – A Renewed Kind of Love

Best friends from childhood, Morin and Keji are like sisters,
forming a trio with Keji’s high school boyfriend, Mofe. After
graduation, Keji reluctantly leaves for England to study,
soon losing contact with her best friend and boyfriend.
After a chance encounter years later, Morin and Mofe form
a connection, a connection that leads to love…and
marriage. They enjoy several blissful years until life
changes put a strain on their marriage and as Morin and
Mofe approach their tenth anniversary, their marriage
hangs in the balance. And Keji’s reappearance at their high
school reunion sends everything unravelling.
Reignited emotions put the decade-long marriage in
jeopardy, leaving Mofe torn between the woman he has
pledged forever to…and his high school love.

Book 6 – A Forever Kind of Love

Twenty years after Nonso is heartbroken by the beautiful
Ogonna, she is desperate for a comeback, doing everything
she can to win him back. He starts off loving the fact that
tables have turned, and is determined to enjoy every
minute of it, before finally doing to her what she did to him.
Except he finds himself losing his heart to her all over
again.
Happy-go-lucky Zina is just as popular with her
schoolmates twenty years after graduation as she was
when they were in school. After building a very successful
career, she is now set to marry a guy who is perfect on
paper. But is he the perfect guy for her, or are there any
old embers from years past ready to start burning again?

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 BOOKS BY ADESUWA

Standalones
Accidentally Knocked Up
Faith’s Pregnancy
You Used to Love Me
The Love Triangle
Golibe
Iya Beji
You, Me…Them
A Love of Convenience
Jaiye Jaiye
Adanna
The Sisters
The One!
The Marriage Class
No Perfect Love (March 2025)

The Ginika’s Bridesmaids Series

Ginika’s Bridesmaids 1: Ara
Ginika’s Bridesmaids 2: Isioma
Ginika’s Bridesmaids 3: Ife
Ginika’s Bridesmaids 4: Ozioma
Ginika’s Bridesmaids 5: Ginika
Whatever It Takes: A Ginika’s Bridesmaids Epilogue
Any Love: A Ginika’s Bridesmaids Epilogue
Love Forever: A Ginika’s Bridesmaids Epilogue (2026)

Malomo High Reunion Series

 An Unlikely Kind of Love
A Complicated Kind of Love
A Betrayed Kind of Love
A Broken Kind of Love
A Renewed Kind of Love
A Forever Kind of Love (Summer 2025)

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 ABOUT THE AUTHOR

INVESTMENT BANKER BY DAY, romance writer by night,

Adesuwa O’man Nwokedi began writing by accident and
what started as a few scribbles for friends has led to 30
titles...and counting.

A self-described hopeless romantic, when she's not creating

new characters, she's a loving wife and mom of three.

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