“He is inviting your old friends too. He wants people to see what he calls a real wife.”
Goi stirred her soup slowly. “He hasn’t changed at all.”
Amaka came closer. “He might even invite you, just to mock you.”
Goi did not answer. But that night, as she lay in bed, she placed a hand on her stomach and stared at the ceiling.
“You are healthy.”
The doctor’s words echoed in her mind.
She placed her other hand over her heart. “God, if you ever saw my tears, show the world that I was never the problem.”
Weeks later, a man named Emma came into her life.
He first appeared at her food stand one busy morning. He was tall, with kind eyes and a quiet smile. He wore a white shirt tucked into brown trousers and carried a small black laptop bag.
“Two plates, please,” he said. “Your jollof smells too good to pass.”
Goi served him. “Spicy or normal?”
“Very spicy,” he replied with a grin. “I like my food to fight back.”
That made her laugh.
His name was Emma, and he worked at an office nearby. At first, he was only a customer. Then he became a regular. Then a familiar smile. Then a gentle presence that somehow kept making her day softer.
He never rushed her. Never pushed her. Never tried to force himself into the space where her wounds still lived.
One afternoon, when the street had grown quieter, he said gently, “If I am being too forward, forgive me. But are you married?”
Goi looked away. “I was.”
Emma nodded. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to touch anything painful.”
“It’s all right,” she said quietly.
He hesitated, then added, “You seem like someone with a good heart. Strong, too. I admire that.”
He walked away after that, leaving only warmth behind him.
Slowly, over the following weeks, they talked more. He brought supplies to support her food stand. He stayed for short conversations. He listened more than he spoke.
Then one day, he sat beside her and said, “I was married too. My wife died in a car accident years ago. I have not tried to love anyone since. Until recently.”
Goi looked at him in surprise.
“You remind me what peace looks like,” he said softly. “Not the loud kind. The kind that makes your chest feel like home.”
Goi lowered her gaze. “I am scared.”
“I know,” Emma said. “But I am not Chik. I will not break your heart.”
It took time, but eventually Goi said yes to coffee. Then to dinner. Then to Sunday walks in the evening.
One day, sitting under a tree in the park, she asked him, “Why me? You could have chosen anyone.”
Emma smiled. “Because you are real. You carry pain, but you still smile. You were broken, but you did not stay down. That is the kind of woman I want beside me.”
Tears filled Goi’s eyes. She reached for his hand and held it tightly.
“Then I want to try too,” she said.
They married six months later in a small, quiet ceremony. No loud music, no grand display. Just close friends, family, and joy. Amaka danced the hardest of everyone.
“I told you!” she shouted. “I told you good things would still come!”
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