A Wife's Plight

The church was alive with music. The choir’s voices soared over the pipe organ as white roses lined the pews, their scent mingling with the warm air of late August. Fans hummed overhead, pushing the fragrance of perfume, powder, and freshly ironed lace into every corner. Guests in bright gele and tailored suits leaned forward with expectation, their eyes fixed on the couple at the altar. Emelia’s palms trembled, though she clasped them tightly to hide it. The lace of her gown scratched lightly against her skin, reminding her of how little she could breathe in the bodice. It was not the dress that made her uneasy—it was the weight of the moment. Every word from the priest’s mouth felt heavier than the marble pillars surrounding them. “August, do you take Emelia to be your lawfully wedded wife?” The priest’s voice rang out, firm yet warm, echoing slightly in the high-ceilinged sanctuary. “I do,” August replied, his baritone steady, carrying across the church like a declaration of vi

"Francesca… Rachel is crying again.” The voice was heavy with fatigue, carrying through the corridor into the bedroom. Tobi leaned against the doorframe, his hair disheveled, his broad chest bare, the weight of sleeplessness etched into the droop of his shoulders. Rachel’s cries echoed from the adjoining room—sharp, unrelenting wails that carried both need and stubbornness. She was a child who had learned that the sound of her voice could bend the world around her, a lesson children of her age never forgot. Francesca, sitting on the edge of the bed, ran a hand through her dark curls and let out an exaggerated sigh. She was beautiful in the way that drew eyes on the street, her figure slender, her skin radiant, but at that moment her expression was anything but tender. “She’ll stop,” she said flatly. “Just ignore her for once.” Tobi’s eyes narrowed, disbelief flickering across his face. “Ignore her? She’s been crying since dawn. I told you yesterday—she doesn’t play with anyone ap

The house was quieter than usual that night. The day’s laughter had long faded, leaving only the sound of the ticking wall clock and the occasional night breeze rattling the curtains. Emelia sat on the edge of her bed, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, her mind far from rest. She should have been comforted by the silence, but it felt suffocating. Her heart still carried the heaviness of Rachel’s cries on the beach—the way the little girl clung to her mother with desperate love. It stirred something raw inside her, something she hadn’t allowed herself to dwell on too much. Three years of marriage. Three years of waiting. Of hoping. Of doctor visits and whispered prayers. And nothing. No child. No little arms to cling to her. She pressed her palms over her face, sighing heavily. Why does it hurt so much? A soft knock came on the door. She didn’t need to ask who it was. “Come in,” she said quietly. The door creaked open, and August stepped in. He looked weary, his shirt unbutto

Night pressed thickly against the windows, the compound quiet except for the distant bark of a stray dog. Emelia sat at the edge of the bed, her wrapper pulled tightly around her frame, as though fabric alone could shield her from what lay ahead.August leaned against the doorframe, arms folded, watching her. His expression carried no malice, only conviction.“It’s for us, Emelia. For the child we’ve been praying for. Just one more time with Ethan. After that, we’ll know.”His certainty pierced her like a blade. She nodded faintly, unable to trust her own voice. Inside, her vow burned: This will be the last time. Never again.Moments later, she crossed the hallway with slow steps, her feet betraying none of the storm in her chest. The door to the guest room stood half open. A faint glow spilled out, the low hum of Ethan’s voice humming a tune to himself. He had been waiting.When she entered, his eyes lit up with that familiar fire, the one that unsettled her, the one she both loathed

Tobi kissed Rachel’s cheek, his voice soft but firm. “Your mommy isn’t here, and Francesca is part of this family too. You should let her help.”Rachel clung tighter to his neck. “No. Please, Daddy. You do it.”Tobi sighed, glancing at Francesca, who gave a small, brittle smile. “It’s fine,” she said quickly, waving him off. “She’s just… tired.”But the hurt in her voice betrayed her.He set Rachel on the counter and rolled up his sleeves. “Alright, princess, Daddy will do it today. But you have to promise to let Francesca help next time.”Rachel giggled, not promising anything.As Tobi knelt by the tub, dipping the sponge into the soapy water, he started humming an old tune—off-key, but familiar. Rachel’s eyes widened.“That’s Mommy’s song,” she said softly, her stubbornness melting.“Yes,” Tobi smiled faintly. “Daddy remembers too.”Rachel slipped into the water, splashing him playfully. He laughed, wiping his wet shirt. “See? Easy. Nothing to it.”Francesca stood by the door now, ar