Post by Being Ready And Stable (BRAS) (@brashub)

NNEKA'S DIARY XVI

The days after Kunle's visit felt different. Lighter. Like something had shifted between us without either of us forcing it.

He called every evening — sometimes just to say goodnight, other times to tell me random stories about Mary: how she had started talking to her mother's picture before sleeping, how she refused to let anyone braid her hair except "Daddy's friend" (one of their neighbors), how she asked him one morning if Mummy could see her from heaven.

Each story broke my heart a little more.

"She talks about her mother a lot," I said one evening.

"Every day," he replied. "Sometimes she asks me if I still miss her. I tell her the truth. Every single day."

"And what does she say to that?"

He paused. "She says she misses her too. Then she tells me it's okay to be sad but not for long. That Mummy wouldn't want us to be sad forever."

I felt a lump form in my throat. "She sounds wise beyond her years."

"She's has to, loosing a mother at that age... it ages you in ways you don't expect."

We talked about everything else that night. Our childhoods. Our dreams. Our fears.

He told me about the day he met Angela — at a friend's wedding. How she was dancing like no one was watching, and he knew right there that he wanted to watch her for the rest of his life.

"She was fire," he said. "Uncontrollable. Beautiful fire."

I didn't feel jealous. Strange, right? I should have. But instead, I felt something else — admiration. He loved her deeply. And somehow, that made me trust him more.

"When you're ready," I said quietly, "I'd love to hear more about her. About both of you."

He was silent for a long time. Then: "You mean that, don't you?"

I said "I do."

"Nneka, your type is rare."

That night, I couldn't sleep. Not because I was worried. But because for the first time in a long time, I felt peace.

In the midst of this peace, I also have questions. If Kunle loved his wife this much, why flirt with me while she was alive?
I deserve answers — not then, but soon.

Mary's voice echoed in my mind then: "Mummy wouldn't want us to be sad forever."

Maybe that was the lesson I needed too.

To be continued …

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