CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT “CONVINCED”

© Opeyemi Akintunde

Inspired by the Holy One

Teju’s POV

Everyone arrived excited.

Laughter filled the house before reality did. My parents came first, dressed as though this anniversary was proof that obedience still worked. Imade’s parents followed shortly after, her mother already scanning the house with the sharp eyes of a woman who believed she had orchestrated destiny successfully. Gifts were exchanged. Compliments were traded. Jokes were made about how fast two years had gone.

Only I knew that time had not moved forward.
It had only gone in circles.

Imade had ordered all the meals earlier. She moved in and out of the kitchen with trays covered in foil. The house smelled like celebration. Pepper soup. Jollof rice. Fried rice. Grilled chicken. Everything that suggested abundance and favour.

Before the food was served, Imade’s mother pulled her aside.

I watched from the dining table as she leaned in close, her voice low, conspiratorial, familiar. The kind of whisper that carried expectation.

Later, I would learn what she asked.

Why she was not yet pregnant.

Why two years had passed with no sign.

Why silence had followed.

And Imade, with a calm face and a rehearsed heart, had smiled and said she had a surprise to announce during dinner.

Her mother didn’t ask further questions.

She sprinted back into the dining room like a woman whose prayers had finally been answered.

I was seated with both fathers at the table. We talked about business. About the economy. About how hard it had been to build what they had built from nothing. I nodded when appropriate. I smiled when expected. I kept my back straight and my hands steady.

Then I noticed it.

My mother-in-law leaned toward my mother and whispered something into her ear.

I saw my mother’s face change immediately.

Her eyes widened.

Her hand went to her chest.

She smiled… the kind of smile that reaches a woman’s knees.

My heart sank.

I didn’t know what had been said, but I knew what they thought.

Imade joined us moments later.

We prayed.

Long prayers. Thanksgiving prayers. Anniversary prayers. Prayers about legacy, fruitfulness, and God’s faithfulness across generations.

Each word felt like salt on an open wound.

We ate quietly.

The clinking of cutlery was loud. The chewing sounded forced. Everyone kept glancing at Imade, waiting. Anticipating. Holding their breaths around an announcement that had already been named in their minds.

Eventually, Imade cleared her throat.

The room went still.

She placed her cutlery down slowly, deliberately, like someone about to testify.

“Mummy… Daddy… Mummy… Daddy,” she began, addressing both sets of parents. “I want to first thank you.”

Her voice was calm. Too calm.

“You both came from humble beginnings,” she continued. “You struggled. You sacrificed. You built something better for your children. You chose progress over comfort. And because of your choices, we have the lives we live today.”

Heads nodded.

Pride swelled in the room.

“But,” she said, pausing, lifting her eyes slowly, “that better life has come at a cost.”

My stomach tightened.

“I have lost my peace,” she said. “I have lost my joy.”

Confusion rippled across the table.

“I am not happy,” she continued, looking directly at her parents now. “And I haven’t been happy since the beginning.”

Silence fell heavily.

“I am not in love with Teju,” she said plainly. “And I want out of this marriage.”

My mother gasped.

My father froze.

Her mother’s smile collapsed instantly, like a building with faulty pillars.

Before anyone could speak, Imade continued, her voice gaining momentum, like she had rehearsed this moment many times.

“We have not made love since we got married,” she said. “Not once.”

My mother covered her mouth.

Her father shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“And when I travelled,” Imade added, turning slightly toward me without really looking at me, “I returned to find another woman in my room. Beauty. In our bed.”

The room erupted.

Questions flew. Accusations rose. Chairs scraped.

I felt something inside me snap.

I stood up.

My hands were shaking but my voice was steady.

“That is not the full truth,” I said.

Everyone turned to me.

I explained. Slowly. Carefully. I explained the night she left. The twenty-four-hour ultimatum. The loneliness. Beauty showing up under the guise of concern. I explained that nothing had happened, that nothing had ever happened, and that if there had been sin in that house, it was not the kind she was presenting.

Then I turned to Imade.

I asked the question that had been burning holes in my chest.

“Who is Daniel?”

Her face drained of colour.

Confusion flashed briefly before panic took its place.

The parents looked between us.

“Daniel?” her father asked. “Who is Daniel?”

I looked at her.

She looked at me.

I could have said everything.

I could have told them about the phone call. About the stalking. About the truth that had finally torn the veil from my eyes.

But I didn’t.

I inhaled deeply.

“This is her decision,” I said instead, turning back to the parents. “And I respect it. I ask that you respect it too.”

My mother cried openly now.

Her mother was shaking.

Her father looked like a man who had just realised the foundation he trusted was cracked all along.

“I thank you for accepting me into your family,” I continued, my voice breaking slightly. “And I am sorry this did not turn out the way we all hoped.”

No one spoke.

Shock sat heavily at the table.

Dreams died quietly.

And just like that, the celebration ended…

To be continued…

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