You were never the problem. And when you do find the right man, I believe you’ll have your own children. Don’t let what happened to you steal your peace. They thanked the doctor and left. Outside the hospital, Goi sat on a bench, her body shaking from the truth she had just heard. All these years, she whispered, “I begged God. I cried every night.
I hated myself. And I wasn’t the one. A marker sat beside her and held her hand. Chik will pay for what he did to you. I swear, N Goi, one day he will look at you and wish he never let you go. Goi looked up at the sky. Maybe this is the beginning of my healing. The next few weeks were different. Goi started helping a marker with her tailoring business.
She wasn’t smiling fully yet, but she was no longer lost. She began waking up early again, eating small meals, and even laughing sometimes. One evening she told Amaka, “I want to start something. Maybe a small food business. I’ve always loved cooking.” Amaka smiled wide. “Yes, that’s the spirit. I’ll help you. Let’s make it happen.
” They used a marker’s small verander to start a food stand. Every morning, Goi would cook rice, beans, my moy, and soup. By 7:00 a.m. workers from nearby offices were lining up to buy. People began to know her again. Not as the woman chike divorced, but as the woman who made the best jolof in the area. One afternoon, a customer smiled at her and said, “Madam, you look different.
There’s a glow on your face.” Goi smiled softly. Maybe I’m finally free. But even with the small happiness, there were nights when the pain returned. One night as she was folding aprons, she turned to a marker. Do you think he ever loved me? Amarka looked at her and said slowly, “I think he loved himself more.
That’s the only thing I’m sure of.” Goi nodded. “I just wish I didn’t waste so many years.” “You didn’t waste them,” Amarka said. “You grew. You became stronger. And one day, God will give you more than you lost.” N Goi didn’t reply, but deep inside something was changing. A small fire had started. A quiet strength.
One Sunday afternoon, a marker came home from church with news. Goi, guess what? Goi looked up from her pot of soup. What happened? I saw Chik’s cousin today. He told me Chchik is preparing to marry someone new. A flashy girl from Lagos. Go’s heart paused for a moment. Oh, she said quietly. He’s even inviting some of your old friends to the wedding, Amaka added.
He wants people to come and see what a real wife looks like. Goi looked away. He hasn’t changed at all. Amaka came closer. You know, he might even send you an invite just to mock you. Goi didn’t say anything. She stirred her soup slowly. Then she whispered, “Let him do whatever he wants. I know who I am now.
” But that night, as she lay on her bed, her hand rested on her belly. She stared at the ceiling for a long time, remembering what the doctor said. “You’re healthy.” She placed her other hand over her chest. “God, if you ever saw my tears, please show the world that I was never the problem.” And she closed her eyes, not with pain, but with a small smile of peace.
N Goi stood in front of her food stand one morning wiping the edge of a table with a cloth. The street was already buzzing with life. Children were rushing to school. Kik drivers were honking and women were calling out prices from their stalls. She was wearing a simple gown with a scarf tied around her head. The smell of her jolof rice filled the air and a small line was already forming.
She smiled weakly at each customer, dishing rice and stew into takeaway plates. But inside her heart there was a quiet war. One part of her was moving on. Butanother part still remembered the pain. Still remembered Chik’s voice. Still remembered how she was called barren, useless, and thrown out like trash. Madam, two plates, please.
A man’s voice broke her thoughts. She turned. The man standing there was tall with kind eyes and a calm face. He wore a white shirt tucked into neat brown trousers and he carried a small black laptop bag. He smiled gently, pointing to the rice pot. “Your jolof smells too good to pass,” he said. N Goi forced a small smile.
“Thank you. Spicy or normal.” “Spicy,” the man replied. “Very spicy. I like my food to fight back.” That made Gozi chuckle a little. She packed the two plates and handed them over. “How much?” he asked. “2,000,” she replied. He handed her a clean note, took the food, and looked at her for a second.
“You don’t talk much,” he said. Goi shrugged. “I just like to focus on the food.” “That’s fair,” he smiled. “My name is Emma. By the way, I work at the firm down the road. I’ll be coming back often. Your rice has already won my heart. Goi gave a polite nod. Thank you, sir. As he walked away, she didn’t think much of it.
Just another customer. But Emma came back the next day and the day after that and the next. Sometimes he ordered two plates, sometimes just one. But each time he came, he made a small joke or shared a short story. He never stayed too long, never forced a long conversation. But Goi noticed he always made her smile. One afternoon, he stayed a little longer.
