A new routine crawled in, every morning before heading out, Peace would stand before her long dressing mirror, with her hand gently tracing the curve of her stomach, she would whisper to herself,
"You're my whole world."
The pregnancy was not without its trials. The nausea, backaches, and strange cravings were nothing compared to the emotional toll. Peace still woke some nights with tears on her cheeks. Sometimes she dreamed of Melvin, half apologies, half illusions, and woke confused, with her hand resting over her stomach as if anchoring herself to the present.
Nine months slowly approached, Peace's belly had grown round and heavy, like the weight of a new world she was learning to carry. The quiet home, once a shell of silence and grief, now hummed with new energy. Baby items filled the corners of rooms that had been untouched. The dining room table now bore folded baby clothes instead of dust.
11th of May, 2025, at 7:30 p.m., the theater room went silent, followed by the first cry of life.
"It's a girl," the nurse said, placing the tiny, warm bundle on Peace's chest.
Peace stared down at her daughter, tears spilling from her eyes like rain. Her hands trembled as she touched the child's cheek.
"She looks like Melvin," she whispered, smiling through her sobs. "But she's all light."
"Have you thought of a name?" The black woman nurse asked quietly.
Peace looked up, then back at the baby.
"Yes... Star."
"Star?"
"Yes, just like the nonreturnable Star her father has become, she will be my consolation."
*********************
Five months after giving birth to her daughter, Star, Peace found herself in the bustling Gbagada main market when she unexpectedly bumped into an old university classmate. They had no time to talk amidst the crowd, but they exchanged phone numbers before parting ways.
Back in their university days, Ella was a gifted writer, the best in Linguistics. She had a brilliant mind and a clear vision for her future. Her dream was to build a career out of writing.
Peace had always admired her for her passion and the way she poured emotion into everything she did. Ella had been ambitious, always aiming high and setting goals with conviction.
As Peace arrived at Ella's place days later, she stood at the front door, holding her baby Star on her back, reflecting on how put-together Ella had seemed in the market.
"She's made it," Peace thought. "At least from the little I saw, her looks, her poise, everything about her was just perfect."
The doorbell rang with a loud "Grimmmmmm."
From inside, a raspy voice called, "I'm coming!"
Ella opened the door, her hair unkempt, her face tired but lit with a smile, the moment she saw Peace.
"Here comes the Peacemaker!" she exclaimed, stepping aside. "Please come in."
Peace entered the apartment, surprised as Ella quickly locked the door behind them.
Inside, the room was not what Peace had expected. It was untidy, with the pungent smell of marijuana hanging in the air. A large 10x10 black-and-white portrait of Ella caught her eye, half-naked, cigarette in mouth, surrounded by smoke. Scattered old magazines littered the sofa.
Trying not to show her shock, Peace gathered the magazines and placed them on the glass center table. She sat down just as Ella returned from the kitchen with a plate of sliced apples.
"Here is kola, manage oo, I don't have much," Ella said.
"Thank you, honey," Peace replied, picking a slice. "Please, can I have a glass of water?"
"Yeah, sure, honey." Ella returned shortly and handed her the glass.
Peace gulped it down. "Thank you."
"Take it easy, baby," Ella said, chuckling, as she took the glass and placed it on the table.
"How have you been, dear?" Peace asked.
"I'm fine, dearest."
"You should be. Weren't you the Chimamanda of our time back in school?" Peace laughed.
Ella smiled faintly. "Peace, those days are gone. Things have changed."
"You can't be serious! What happened to our Ella, the great writer?"
"Story for another day, my dear. But hey, I heard you got married?"
"Yeah… but my man is of blessed memory," Peace replied, her tone quiet and heavy.
"Oh no. I'm so sorry," Ella said softly, reaching out. "Your baby is beautiful. I was in a rush the day we met, I didn't even get to hold her."
She gently touched Star's cheek and smiled. "Hope you didn't have trouble finding the place. Lagos is massive."
"Not really," Peace replied. "But omo, I spent a lot on transport. Lagos transport fare no longer smiles at the poor."
Ella laughed. "It's true. Things are tough everywhere. So, how's life treating you?"
Peace sighed. "Life hasn't been easy. Being a single mom is harder than I imagined. My salary barely gets us by. Stress, bills, everything... It's overwhelming."
Ella paused, then asked, "Have you thought about marrying again?"
The question caught Peace off guard.
"Married again?" she said, eyes wide.
"Yes. You need someone to help raise your child and support you. It's not easy alone, I know. And this country? It's a jungle. I want the best for you. I could fix you up with someone."
"A divorcé?"
"Not exactly. His name is Chike. He owns several hotels here in Lagos and shops in Onitsha. I met him at one of his clubs. He's successful but lost his wife recently. He has a daughter about Star's age. He's looking to settle down again."
Peace hesitated, then smiled faintly. "No need for second thoughts. I guess being a second wife isn't that bad."
"Great," Ella said, reaching for her phone. "I'll send him your contact."
***********************************
MARRIED AGAIN
***********************************
"Every day, different women!"
Peace shouted as she stormed into the room, her voice trembling with frustration. She dropped her bag by the door and collapsed onto the soft, threadbare rug that lay across the tiled floor, exhaling as though trying to release two years' worth of pain.
Ella shut the door gently behind her and followed suit, settling beside her friend in silence. The room smelled heavily of weed, thick and sharp in the air.
On the center table lay neatly rolled wraps of marijuana, scattered beside short bottles filled with unlabelled liquor, the kind no one could ever quite identify but everyone drank to forget.
Two years. That's how long it had been since Peace married Chike, two long, silent, suffocating years.
"Living with that man is hell," Peace said quietly, her voice a shadow of its earlier anger.
"No joy. No peace. Since the day we signed that court marriage paper, it's like my life ended. There are no rules, no respect. He walks in at 2 a.m. with lipstick on his collar and the scent of other women all over him. Different women. Every week."
Ella sat still, her expression unreadable.
Peace continued, her voice breaking.
"I don't even have access to his documents, nothing. I'm his wife on paper, but he treats me like furniture, something to use and ignore. No love. No regard. And now, he has recently employed a nanny to look after his child on a flimsy reason that he doesn't want me to stress much, as if he ever cared about my well-being. I'm just tired. Every one of my movements is monitored by him, and he restricts me from going out. I wanted to go back to work. He refused. He provides, sure, money, food, shelter, but at what cost? He monitors everything. I can't step out without explaining where I'm going and who I'm seeing."
Tears welled up in her eyes. "I'm tired, Ella. I'm exhausted."
Ella reached for one of the joints on the table and passed it to her. "Here," she said softly, "take this."
Peace blinked. "Me? Weed? You must be joking." Peace said, rejecting the tiny, long brown object, her friend offered to her.
"Babe, relax, it'll calm you down. Help your mind a bit. You're burning out."
Peace hesitated. For a moment, she looked away, biting her lower lip. Something in her was desperate for escape, any escape. Slowly, with trembling fingers, she took the joint. Ella lit it for her. Peace drew in the smoke and coughed violently.