chapter 2

That evening, Vivian returned from the hospital with a heart full of secrets and hope. She prepared Jerald’s favorite meal—hot dogs. It felt symbolic. Somewhere along the years, loving Jerald had turned her into an unexpected lover of hot dogs too. In the early days of their marriage, he had taken her to countless spots across town, chasing the perfect taste that reminded him of his school days. Vivian had once preferred shawarma, but love had quietly rewritten her choices.

Tonight was special.

She lit two candles and set the dining table carefully. At the center, she placed a large covered bowl, positioned deliberately in front of her husband’s chair. Beneath it lay a tiny pair of baby shoes—silent, hopeful, sacred. She sat patiently, rehearsing his reaction in her mind, smiling to herself. This was their  wedding anniversary. Tonight would change everything.

Minutes slipped by. Hours followed.

By midnight, the candles had melted into pools of wax. Vivian moved to the couch in the parlour, exhaustion pulling her into sleep.

At exactly 1 AM.The sound of a car engine jolted her awake. Music thumped loudly as the vehicle rolled into the compound. She rushed outside, joy rising again—only for it to crash violently to the ground.

Jerald stepped out of his car going to the other side of the car, he opened the door and helped a lady out her feet barely carrying her. He carried her in his arms dressed in a striking red sleeveless gown, golden heels dangling loosely—one still clinging to her foot, the other abandoned on the ground. Her blonde hair fell wildly across her face. She was drunk, mumbling incoherent words as she clung to him.

“I love you, babe,” the woman slurred, blowing him a kiss. “I will make you feel like the man you truly are…”

With a look of confusion and anger, her forehead squeezed and her eyes widely opened, the sleep and tiredness of the day had disappeared so quickly.

Walking to the door entrance of the house with a woman in his arms. Vivian stood firm at the door  post blocking the way.

“Is it Matilda I see or are my eyes deceiving me?” Vivian shouted

Her cousin Matilda—a model. Beautiful. Young. The kind of woman men stared at twice with a flat tummy and perfectly curved hips and the appropriate size of breast to make her look like the figure eight description..

“Excuse me, please” Jerald emotionlessly requested

Jerald was drunk too. Without really acknowledging his wife , he shoved past her and headed straight into the house. Vivian followed, her heart pounding, as he laid the woman gently on their matrimonial bed.

Fury burned inside Vivian, but she forced her voice to remain calm.

“Honey,” she said quietly, “this is our matrimonial bed. Why have you brought your guest  here? How, or where did you meet Matilda that you brought her to my house tonight? Drunk? Her voice kept rising with each passing moment,

“I thought this thing with you and Matilda was a thing of the past? I mean a thing from years ago? What's happening here?” Vivian asked, She was trying so hard not to lose it.

 “Can you please tell me what's going on here?”

Jerald snapped, anger brimming in his eyes, “Excuse you!” he barked. 

Sitting on the edge of the bed where Matilda was sleeping, stretching to look at Vivian with a wrinkled forehead  with so much anger that could kill instantly. He barely looked at Vivian who was at the other side of the bed as he yelled.

 “Go and sleep in any of the rooms,” stretching out his arm as a sign that she should get out, “ This is my house, and I decide what’s acceptable. Step out before you wake my guest.”

The words cut deeper than a blade.

Right at that moment a tear dropped from her eyes but she quickly cleaned it as she walked out of the room  with her face to the ground. 

Her feet  suddenly became very heavy to move, thoughts womblying through her head. She got to the next door adjacent to the master's bedroom, as she opened the door, not thinking straight or knowing what she was really doing. She walked inside the room, closing the door behind her.  She leaned against the closed door with her back as she gently slid down on the door with tears rolling down her cheeks.

So Jerald never left her alone all these years? When did they reconnect ? How come I never got to know until now ? She was lost in her thoughts and pain,  Vivian cried and wept through the night

The next morning she got up early as her routine was gathering herself together for the day. standing before the mirror she reminded herself with her late mothers sermon. A woman must be well-coordinated—not just for a husband, but for herself. Peace, dignity, and patience were virtues her mother repeated like prayers. Vivian carried them into adulthood,

Vivian from a humble background, raised on values her mother guarded fiercely. From childhood, she was taught these things.

She quickly ran to the kitchen and with the help of Anna the maid she made breakfast. Not thinking so much about last night she had already resolved within herself that her thoughts were not rational .  

“Maybe I am over reacting about all these. I will just wait to have a talk with my husband this morning. I mean it was obvious he was drunk last night”

She quickly ran upstairs to have her bath as soon as she was done cooking. Having her bath, she was humming songs to herself.

When she was done and stepped out of the bathroom, she heard an outburst of laughter from down stairs.

“What is going on there?" she thought out loud as she hurried  to wear a pant under her white robe with her hair tied with a white towel she quickly rushed down. 

descending the staircase. Her heart sank as she saw them—Jerald and Matilda—laughing loudly over breakfast, lost in each other’s company. They were having tea and bread. Both of them had barely finished a slice as all that really concerned them was that they were catching up with each other.

Her breath caught.  Blinded by shock and pain. she could barely see as her eyes became very teary making her sight blur that moment.  She stood a while on the seventh step of the staircase which was the third step to the living room floor. Yet neither Jerald nor Matilda noticed her presence from where they were seated just beside the staircase at the dining table.  

 “I pray my assumptions are not right” she thought to herself, holding her both palms against each other and looking up, she whispered as she took in a deep breath and continued down the stairs’