Chapter Two

The silence in the room had stretched so long that Emelia felt her own heartbeat drumming in her ears. August sat on the edge of the bed, his eyes lowered, his chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. Neither of them spoke, because there was nothing left to say.

 Finally, she stood, her decision hanging heavy in her voice.

 “Okay,” she whispered, her throat tight. “I’ll do it. Where is he?”

 August lifted his gaze slowly, his eyes red-rimmed. “He’s… he’s in the guest room. Waiting for us.”

 Her stomach churned. Waiting. As if this had been planned all along. She swallowed hard, refusing to let her trembling show. Without another word, she walked out of the bedroom, each step feeling heavier than the last. August rose and followed, his footsteps a shadow behind hers.

 When they reached the guest room door, she paused, her hand hovering in the air. She knocked twice.

 The door opened almost instantly. Ethan stood there, his broad chest bare, a pair of briefs clinging to his waist. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes lingered on her with something that made her heart sink further. She kept her face still, expressionless.

 “I’ll… wait out here,” August muttered, turning his face away. His breathing was ragged, as though each inhale cost him.

 Ethan’s hand brushed hers, firm but not gentle, guiding her inside. The room smelled faintly of cologne and something heavier, muskier. The door clicked shut behind them.

 For a moment, she felt herself float outside her body, watching as Ethan moved closer, his hand tugging at the strap of her nightgown. Fabric fell away, pooling around her feet. She stared past him, at the wall, at nothing.

 His lips parted, and she caught the hunger in his gaze, but she felt none of it—only a cold weight pressing down on her chest. To him, she looked like an angel. To her, she felt like a sacrifice.

 When he entered her, she winced, her nails digging into the bedsheet, every muscle in her body stiff with resistance. She closed her eyes, blocking it all out, praying silently in her heart for it to be over.

 She told herself it was not for pleasure. Not for love. Not for desire.

 It was for survival. For family. For August.

 And that night, she surrendered her body for the child that was meant to save them both.

 "Wake up, sunshine.”

 A warm hand brushed across Emelia’s bare arm, tender but insistent. She groaned softly, resisting the tug of morning, before her eyelids parted to let in the rays of sunlight that spilled through the half-drawn curtains.

 Her gaze settled on August. He stood at her side, smiling down at her with a gentleness that both comforted and pierced her. His eyes were tired, bloodshot, the kind of eyes that had kept vigil through the night. In his hands was a wooden tray: steaming tea in a ceramic cup, and a plate with buttered slices of bread neatly cut into triangles.

 “It’s morning already?” she whispered, her voice hoarse from sleep.

 But the question did not matter. The moment memory returned, her body tensed, her lips pressed into a thin line. She remembered the night before—the silence, the shame, the surrender. She remembered Ethan.

 Her heart clenched.

 August’s smile faltered for a moment, but he quickly masked it. He set the tray carefully across her lap and sat on the edge of the bed, his hand brushing her thigh as though to anchor her there with him.

 “I know you’re not happy,” he said quietly. His voice trembled, the words weighed down with guilt. “I know. But please… don’t be angry with me. I’ll make it up to you. We need this child. Please understand.”

 Her chest rose and fell in slow, deliberate breaths. She stared at him, searching his face, and what she found was not hardness, not cruelty, but desperation. He had cried. The redness in his eyes betrayed him. August was a man tormented by his own weakness, by a truth he could never confess to his father, his mother, or the congregation that revered him as the son of Pastor Echezona.

 She owed him her life. She had promised herself she would never forget that.

 So she forced a smile, small but convincing, and lifted the tray with both hands. “Thank you,” she murmured, though her throat tightened with the effort.

 Relief washed over his face, and he let out a long breath, as though her acceptance gave him a fragment of peace.

 “Where’s he?” she asked suddenly, her voice neutral.

 “He left early this morning,” August replied quickly. His eyes darted away, and she could almost hear the unspoken thought: before you could see him again.

 Her shoulders relaxed. She lifted the cup of tea to her lips, but the first sip burned her tongue. She yelped softly, nearly spilling it, and placed the cup down with a clatter.

 August chuckled, the sound raw but genuine. “Blow it, babe. It’s hot.”

 Her glare snapped to him, sharp and irritated. “Why didn’t you tell me before I drank it?”

 “I’m sorry,” he said, raising both hands in mock surrender, though the corners of his mouth curved upward. “C’mon, drink your tea, take your bath, dress up. We’re going to have today all to ourselves.” He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to her cheek before standing and walking briskly to the door.

 Emelia watched him leave, her heart a storm of contradictions.

 Her fingers touched her stomach almost instinctively. It was flat, unchanged, empty. Maybe it will take time, she thought. But the thought did not calm her.

 Her mind drifted to the past—their wedding night. She remembered how August had lifted her in his arms after the final goodbyes were said, carrying her across the threshold of their new life. He had undressed her slowly, reverently, like a man unwrapping a gift too sacred to rush. He had bathed her with his own hands, whispering promises as warm water slid across her skin. She had gasped when he first claimed her, her body yielding to him in pain and joy. It was her first time, and she had felt blessed that it was with him—the man who had once saved her, the man she trusted with her everything.

 And that morning, just like today, he had made her breakfast in bed.

 But the memory twisted, warped by the intrusion of Ethan’s image. She thought of his hands, rougher, more demanding. She thought of his body pressed into hers, of how her fingers had betrayed her by clutching his back, of the shameful truth that her lips had kissed him—uninvited, uncontrollable.

 Her breath hitched. Heat flushed her cheeks. She slid her hand beneath the bedsheet, soothing herself unconsciously as the thought of Ethan lingered.

 What am I doing? she scolded herself silently, jerking her hand back as a knock rattled the door.

 “Who is it?” she called out, forcing irritation into her tone.

 “It’s Chisom. Can I come in?”

 Relief flooded her chest. She sat upright quickly. “Come in, babe.”

 The door opened and her best friend slipped inside. Chisom was radiant as always, her braided hair swinging as she walked, her smile as wide as the sun. She had been the first woman Emelia bonded with in the Echezona family. Once, she had been Tobi’s girlfriend, and though their relationship had ended, Chisom had remained in Emelia’s life like a sister.

 “I came to check up on you,” Chisom said warmly. “How are you feeling?”

 Emelia froze for a moment. Did she know? Could she somehow sense what had happened last night?

 “I don’t understand,” Emelia said, her eyes guarded.

 “I mean, you just woke up. How was your sleep?” Chisom chuckled, her smile widening.

 Relieved, Emelia exhaled and mirrored her smile. “I’m fine, as you can see. My lovely hubby brought me breakfast in bed.” She dipped a slice of bread into the tea and took a bite.

 Chisom smirked. “He really is caring and loving. Unlike his brother.”

 Emelia raised a brow. “Tobi is caring now, babe, or is he not?”

 “Don’t get me wrong, girl. He is. But…” Chisom trailed off, her gaze shifting away, her voice softening. “It’s just that… I feel he wasn’t in love with me.”

 Emelia placed the bread down and looked at her closely. “You birthed his child, Chisom. Why wouldn’t he love you? Deep down, even though you two are no longer together, he still cares.”

 “I doubt that,” Chisom whispered. “He has his new girlfriend, Francesca, to love and cherish.”

 Emelia shook her head. “Omo, babe, it’s been three years since you broke up after Rachel was born. You don’t expect him to stay single forever.”

 Chisom’s lips trembled. For a moment, guilt flashed in her eyes.

 Emelia reached out and squeezed her hand. “Forget it. You’re still the mother of his child. That bond will never fade.”

 Chisom’s smile returned, faint but real.

 Emelia leaned back. “By the way, August wants to take me out. You can tag along if you want. I’d love the company.”

 Chisom laughed lightly. “I’d love to, but we’re already going to the beach later.”

 “We?” Emelia’s brows furrowed.

 Chisom’s eyes brightened. “Tobi called. Rachel’s been crying for me. He said she doesn’t play with anyone else apart from her pet. I’ve missed her too, you know.”

 Emelia smiled softly. “I can see why you’re happy. Honestly, if I were in your shoes, I’d be excited too.”

 Chisom tilted her head. “Is this about you not having a child yet?”

 Emelia hesitated. “Maybe. But let’s forget about it.”

 Chisom squeezed her shoulder. “Don’t worry, babe. The God I serve won’t shame you. Me sef go come over for your omugwo one day.”

 Laughter erupted between them, light and healing.

 Just then, August peeked his head in. “Ah, so you’re the one delaying her, Chisom.”

 “Ahh! Bro August, abeg o! My hand no dey inside.” Chisom raised her palms in mock surrender.

 She rose from the bed and dusted off her dress. “I should be going. It looks like Mr. Romantic wants to take his beautiful wife out. Let me not interfere.”

 “Love you, babe,” Emelia called after her.

 “Love you more!” Chisom blew her a kiss before leaving.