CHAPTER THIRTY “CONVINCED”

© Opeyemi Akintunde

Inspired by the Holy One

Teju’s POV

If Clueless and Unrepentant were human beings, they would bow respectfully to Imade and call her their queen.

Before I could even gather myself from the shock of her last request, the door opened.

Her parents walked in first. My parents followed behind them.

Nobody was shouting now.

The dinner downstairs had dissolved into whispers and speculation. The elders had withdrawn from the chaos and chosen to confront the matter quietly.

Her father looked smaller than he did at the table.

Not physically.

Emotionally.

He walked into the room slowly and sat on the single chair near the window. Her mother remained standing, arms folded, eyes red but still sharp.

My parents stood awkwardly by the door.

Her father cleared his throat gently.

“Imade,” he said, not harshly. Not yet. “What is the real issue?”

I kept quiet.

I could have spoken.

I could have exposed her.

I could have narrated the phone call.

But some foolish part of me still wanted to protect her dignity. Even after everything.

She didn’t return the favour. She walked to her Dad, Knelt before him with the intention to convince…

“Dad,” she said without hesitation, “please tell Teju to give me Daniel’s number.”

The air shifted.

Daniel.

That name again.

Her father blinked slowly.

“Daniel?” he asked.

All four parents were alert now.

“Who is Daniel?”

Imade lifted her chin.

“My soulmate,” she answered confidently.

The slap came so fast I barely saw it.

It echoed across the room.

Her father’s palm met her cheek with a sound that felt heavier than violence. It wasn’t anger alone. It was heartbreak delivered physically.

She stumbled slightly but didn’t cry.

I wanted to defend her.

Instinctively.

She was my wife.

But then I remembered… I had never truly been her husband.

And she had never truly been my wife.

With an almost disturbing calmness, Imade began to narrate everything.

The flight.

The conversation.

The connection.

The hotel.

The walks.

The belief that destiny had introduced her to the one man who finally matched her expectations.

As she spoke, I realized something painful.

This was the first time I was hearing the full story from her mouth.

She had fallen in love with a man she met on a plane.

A man she spent a few hours talking to.

Because he ticked her boxes.

He spoke intelligently.

He challenged her.

He didn’t sound emotional.

He sounded decisive.

Meanwhile, I had been in her life since childhood.

Through primary school.

Secondary school.

University.

NYSC.

Through family holidays and shared houses and combined businesses.

But familiarity had made me invisible.

Her father’s face hardened slowly as she spoke.

Her mother began to cry openly now.

“Imade,” her father said quietly, his voice no longer raised, but far more dangerous, “you are a disgrace.”

The word landed heavily.

“We built this life for you,” he continued, “so you could have a stable future. So your children would not know the hunger we knew. So you would not suffer the way we suffered.”

His voice cracked slightly.

“But you are not ready to sacrifice for your unborn generation. You are not ready to endure for a greater purpose.”

He looked at her long and hard.

“That shows how selfish you are.”

The room was suffocating.

No one moved.

Then he did something I never expected.

He turned to my parents.

To my father first.

His voice was steady.

“You are free,” he said.

The words sounded ceremonial.

“Free from the covenant that held us together.”

My mother gasped softly.

My father straightened slowly.

“Teju,” her father continued, turning to me now, “can go and marry someone deserving of him.”

My throat tightened.

For two years, I had begged silently for her heart.

Now her father was releasing me like a man dissolving a business partnership.

Imade stood there, stunned.

Maybe she thought they would beg her to reconsider.

Maybe she thought they would blame me.

But no one did.

Her mother finally spoke, her voice broken.

“You threw away your marriage for a fantasy,” she said.

And for the first time that night, Imade’s eyes flickered.

Not remorse.

Not guilt.

Confusion.

Because for the first time, the world was not aligning with her narrative.

The silence that followed was not dramatic.

It was final.

I stood there, feeling something unfamiliar.

It wasn’t joy.

It wasn’t victory.

It was grief.

Grief for the marriage that never existed.

Grief for the boy I used to be… the one who believed obedience guaranteed happiness.

And as I looked at Imade… standing there still thinking about Daniel… I realized something that terrified me.

Some people don’t lose their marriage because of temptation.

They lose it because they are addicted to the idea of what could be… and blind to what already is.

To be continued…

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