LOGINThe playground was small and crowded on Saturday morning. Kids screamed from the swings. Parents hovered with coffee cups. Elena arrived twenty minutes early, heart hammering like she'd run the whole way from Brooklyn. She picked a bench near the slide but with a clear view of the entrance. Theo tugged at her hand, already eyeing the monkey bars.
"Can I go now, Mommy?" "In a minute, baby. We're waiting for someone." Theo frowned but didn't argue. He kicked at the gravel instead. She had dressed him in his favorite blue hoodie. The one with the dinosaur on the chest. Simple jeans. Sneakers. Nothing that screamed "meet your billionaire father today." She wore jeans too. A plain sweater. Sunglasses even though it was overcast. Anything to feel less exposed. Alexander appeared at the gate right on time. No suit. Just dark jeans, gray hoodie, baseball cap pulled low. He looked almost ordinary. Almost. The way he moved still said money and control. He scanned the park, spotted them, and walked over slowly. Hands in pockets. No rush. Theo noticed him first. "Mommy, who's that man?" Elena forced a smile. "A friend, sweetie. His name is Alex." Alexander stopped a few feet away. Crouched down to Theo's level. "Hey, buddy. I'm Alex. Nice to meet you." Theo studied him. Serious little face. "You have big shoes." Alexander laughed. Quiet. Surprised. "Yeah. I do. Yours look faster though." Theo glanced at his own sneakers. Then back up. "I can run really fast." "Bet you can." Alexander stayed crouched. No sudden moves. "Want to show me the slide?" Theo looked at Elena for permission. She nodded. Throat tight. "Go ahead. I'll watch from here." Theo grabbed Alexander's hand without hesitation. Small fingers wrapping around a much larger one. They walked to the slide together. Theo climbed up. Alexander waited at the bottom. When Theo slid down laughing, Alexander caught him under the arms. Gentle lift. Spin once. Set him down. Elena watched every second. Chest aching. Part of her wanted to run over and pull Theo away. The other part couldn't look away from how naturally Theo leaned into the attention. They played for twenty minutes. Swings. Sandbox. Alexander let Theo lead. Asked questions. Listened like nothing else mattered. When Theo got tired, they came back to the bench. Theo climbed onto Elena's lap. Sweaty. Happy. "Alex is fun, Mommy." "Yeah?" She smoothed his curls. "Good." Alexander sat on the other end of the bench. Space between them. Respectful. "Thanks for this," he said quietly. "Really." She nodded. Didn't trust her voice yet. Theo yawned. Rubbed his eyes. "Can we get ice cream now?" "Soon, baby." Elena kissed his forehead. "Alex has to go soon." Alexander looked at her. "I brought something." He pulled a small paper bag from his hoodie pocket. "If it's okay." Elena tensed. "It's just bubbles," he said quickly. "The big kind. For the park." Theo's eyes lit up. "Bubbles!" Elena hesitated. Then nodded. Alexander handed the bag to Theo. "Want to try them?" Theo tore it open. Pulled out the wand. Blew a stream of giant bubbles. Laughed when one floated toward Alexander. Alexander blew one back. They chased them together. Theo running. Alexander jogging slow. Elena stayed on the bench. Watching. Feeling everything at once. Relief. Fear. Something warmer she didn't want to name. After a while Theo ran back. Out of breath. "Mommy, Alex said he can come again. Is that okay?" Elena met Alexander's eyes over Theo's head. Alexander didn't push. Just waited. She swallowed. "Maybe. We'll see." Theo pouted but accepted it. "Okay." Alexander stood. Brushed dirt off his jeans. "I should go. Let you two have the rest of your day." Theo hugged his leg suddenly. Quick. Surprised everyone. "Bye, Alex." Alexander froze for a second. Then crouched again. Hugged back. Careful. "Bye, Theo. Thanks for playing." Theo ran off to chase one last bubble. Alexander straightened. Looked at Elena. "He's incredible." "Yeah." Her voice was soft. "He is." "I meant what I said. No pressure. But if you let me... I'd like to do this again." She didn't answer right away. Watched Theo. Thought about the last four years. Alone. Scared. Surviving. "One step at a time," she said finally. Alexander nodded. "One step." He turned to leave. Stopped. "Elena?" She looked up. "If you ever need anything. Anything at all. Even if it's just to talk. Call me." He slipped a card into her hand. Plain white. Only a phone number. No title. No company. She took it. Didn't say thank you. He walked away. Cap low. Shoulders straight. Theo came back. Climbed into her lap again. "Mommy, why are you crying?" She wiped her cheek. Didn't realize tears had fallen. "Happy tears, baby." Theo hugged her tight. "Ice cream now?" She laughed. Weak. Real. "Yeah. Ice cream now." They left the park hand in hand. Theo chattering about bubbles and slides. Elena kept the card in her pocket. Felt its edges against her fingers. She didn't know what came next. But for the first time in four years, the future didn't feel quite so heavy. And somewhere behind them, Alexander watched from across the street until they disappeared around the corner. He pulled out his phone. Dialed a number. "Get me everything on Theodore Marquez. Birth records. Medical. Preschool. Discreetly." A pause. "And on his mother." He ended the call. One step at a time, he'd said. But he hadn't said how many steps he was willing to take. Or how far he was willing to go.The rain returned on the third night after the funeral, heavier than before, like the sky itself was grieving. Elena sat alone in the living room, the lights off, only the blue glow from the television lighting her face. She hadn’t turned the sound on. She didn’t need to hear anything. She just needed to see something move.Theo had left that morning. He hugged her too long at the door, whispered “Call me if anything feels wrong,” and drove back to Lagos with his wife and the twins. Amara had flown out the day before, promising to bring her daughters for the weekend. Kai had called from New York at noon, voice thick, saying he’d be home next month. Nia had stayed until yesterday evening, then hugged her mother and said, “I’m only two hours away. I’ll come whenever you need me.”Now the house was empty.Elena didn’t cry.She hadn’t cried since the hospital. Not at the funeral. Not when they lowered the coffin. Not when the grandchildren asked why Grandpa wasn’t waking up. She had smile
The rain came back on the first anniversary of Alexander’s death, not gently this time, but with a low, angry growl that rolled in from the Atlantic and refused to leave. It hammered the Lekki compound roof like fists, rattled the windows, flooded the garden paths into muddy streams. Elena woke to it at 3:47 a.m., heart already pounding before her eyes opened. She lay still for a long moment, listening to the storm tear at the palms outside, feeling the old fear crawl up her spine—the fear she thought she had buried with him.She reached for the bedside lamp. The light came on weak and yellow. Alexander’s side of the bed was cold, the pillow untouched. She sat up slowly, eighty-one years of living pressing against her bones. Her hand found the small wooden box on the nightstand—the one he had kept locked for decades. She opened it without thinking, the way she had opened it every year on this date since he left.Inside, the letters were still there. The USB drive (copies made long ago
The rain had become a language Elena spoke fluently by her eighty-third year. She could tell the difference between the sharp, angry downpour that came with arguments and the soft, forgiving mist that followed forgiveness. Tonight it was the latter—gentle, almost hesitant, as if the sky itself was unsure whether to speak or stay silent. She sat on the veranda in the rocking chair, the same one that had rocked her through every storm and sunrise since the old penthouse days. The blanket across her lap was threadbare now, but it still smelled faintly of jasmine and Alexander’s aftershave, even though he had been gone seven years.The compound was quiet. The children and grandchildren had left after the weekend celebration of her birthday. Theo had flown back to Lagos with promises to return next month. Amara had hugged her tightly and whispered, “I’ll bring the girls for Christmas.” Kai had played one last song on the veranda—something new, something sad and hopeful—and kissed her foreh
The rain returned on the first anniversary of Alexander’s death, not as a storm but as a quiet, persistent visitor. It tapped against the veranda roof of the Lekki compound like someone too polite to knock loudly, soft enough to be background music, steady enough to remind Elena of every rainy day that had shaped her life. She sat in the rocking chair—the one that had traveled from the old penthouse balcony—wrapped in the same wool blanket she had used on the night he slipped away. At eighty-two, the chair still fit her perfectly, as if it had grown old with her.The house was full again. Theo and his wife had arrived the day before with their grown children and the twins’ toddlers. Amara had flown in from London with her daughters. Kai had come from New York, guitar case in hand. Nia had brought her family from Abuja, including the newest great-grandchild, a six-month-old girl named after Elena. The courtyard had echoed with laughter, the smell of jollof rice and pepper soup, the cla
The rain had returned by the time Elena opened the second envelope. It wasn’t the violent downpour of her youth, nor the steady drumming that had accompanied so many turning points in her life. This was a soft, almost apologetic rain—drops tapping lightly against the veranda roof like someone too polite to knock loudly. She sat in the rocking chair, the same one that had rocked her through pregnancies, grief, joy, and now this. The envelope in her lap was heavier than it looked. Cream paper, slightly yellowed, sealed with old wax that had cracked in places but still held. Alexander’s handwriting on the front:For Elena – Open when the rain remembers.She had found it that morning, tucked inside the back cover of the final bound volume of her manuscript—the one she had finished writing after his death. She hadn’t noticed it before. Or perhaps she hadn’t wanted to. The book had been her way of keeping him close; maybe she had saved this letter for when she needed him most.Her fingers s
The rain had started again by the time Elena opened the second envelope. It wasn’t the violent downpour of her youth, nor the steady drumming that had accompanied so many turning points in her life. This was a soft, almost apologetic rain—drops tapping lightly against the veranda roof like someone too polite to knock loudly. She sat in the rocking chair, the same one that had rocked her through pregnancies, grief, joy, and now this. The envelope in her lap was heavier than it looked. Cream paper, slightly yellowed, sealed with old wax that had cracked in places but still held. Alexander’s handwriting on the front:For Elena – Open when the rain remembers.She had found it that morning, tucked inside the back cover of the final bound volume of her manuscript—the one she had finished writing after his death. She hadn’t noticed it before. Or perhaps she hadn’t wanted to. The book had been her way of keeping him close; maybe she had saved this letter for when she needed him most.Her fing







