No one except those who had also gone through it will understand the pain of losing a child. It annoys her so much when people expect her to forget about it and move on since there was one more living child. Her son's death changed her. People barely saw the sorrow and anguish hidden behind her smiles except Jafar. He knew when she's lost in thoughts about his brother. There are some events that happen which reminds her of her son. There are times she looked at Umar and saw little Khalifah in him. She would get up, go to her room, lock herself and cry, the unfathomable pain eating her up.

Losing a child is a happening no one can expect. It frustrates her when people try to relate to her situation when they have actually not gone through it. They don't understand how it feels to reminisce all those years she spent with him. She had carried him for nine months, watched him grow, stayed by him during his hard and good times, saw him finish university, graduate, serve his country, find a good job in Abuja, marry, become a great husband and father, just to die.

A child's death is every parents' worst fear, their nastiest nightmare. The parent live each day thinking about the child. You see something that remind you of that child, travel back to the past just to realise the child is not there. They don't know how painful it is. It's worse than a heartbreak, worse than dying. She had not seen her son die but she could imagine the pain he would have gone through when those heartless people left him to bleed to death by the road side. There was guilt, the guilt of still living when her son's dead.

Hajia Jummai stared the photo in her hand. It had been Khalifah's university graduation. He had been embarrassed because she had called him her baby and kissed his cheeks in front of his friends. It had taken so long before she had the picture with him. She will never forget that feeling of joy she felt watching him finish school. Few nights later, he had hugged her, told her he was not reading again. Those years in university had been hectic. He had struggled through and now that's he's done, he is not reading again. He won't further his education to Masters.

She had laughed. It was in this same room, on the same bed, where he had laid, his head on her laps. Now that memory brought tears to her eyes and hollowness to her heart. That spot Khalifah had left will forever be empty. No one can fill it up. No one can fix her. She broke down. Warm tears raced down her face. The muscle of her chin trembled as she held in aching sobs, her face in her palms. She had not seen or heard the door open because she had been lost in her grief. When she felt those soothing hands go around her, she had leaned into their comfort. She buried her face into the person's chest, breathing in the familiar scent of musk and citrus. She clung to the person, letting out her cries but her comforter was there to whisper words of solace to her, pat her and wipe away her tears. She knew who it was. It was her Jafar.

Khalifah had been his best friend. They had grown up together and despite Khalifah had left Nigeria to study, they always had been in touch. Khalifah was his confider. He did nearly everything with him, told him all his problem because he had been a good listener and adviser. He had told him about Osasere and those days, as he remembered, Khalifah had teased him about this Edo crush of his. They had done many mischievous acts together, gotten into trouble together just to have Khalifah take the blame.

It was Khalifah who had known how he had wished and hoped to meet Osas's again. His brother had said "When the right time come, you guys will meet but it will be unexpected"

When he fell, Khalifah had risen him up. When he cried, Khalifah had wiped his tears. When he needed someone to talk to, Khalifah had always been there. He wondered what Khalifah will say about Osasere if he was alive. Khalifah would have mocked him and called him a wood seller yet, supported his occupation. They had left Osasere's house some minutes to seven. On their way, they had branched a mosque and prayed. The traffic jam had been minimal but Umar who was tired had fallen asleep at the back seat. He had gone to tuck Umar in bed and decided to spend the night since it was already too late to drive back home when he checked on his mother. He found her crying, Khalifah's graduation picture next to her. He understood the situation and walked into it.

His ringing tone slashed through the silence and darkness of his room. His caller ID showed Atikah. He sniffled, wiped his tears before answering his phone. She had been bubbling as usual, asking if he was alright and how his day was. That reminds him, he had never called her. Atikah had always been the one calling. She asked if he will be free the next day. Because he had disappointed her last time, he had agreed to go out with her.

-----

It had been a hell of a night. So much had happened within few hours. Her day had started great and ended as terrible as it could. She still cannot believe her car had been stolen. Her baby, her Range Rover Sports, had been stolen. Those men had taken it to God knows where. She wanted to scream but her muscles ached and tiredness weakened her. It was as if the same tiredness made her tongue heavy.

Lola lowered her head into her hands after running a hand through her damp hair. The images from few hours ago played in her head. Those men dressed in black with mask on their faces came out of nowhere. They shot in the air, frightening Lola and her friends. They had all screamed and docked because it was what their subconscious mind could think about. The men had shouted, collected the car key from her. They collected their phones and valuables. They were about to leave when one of them had noticed the ring in Kiki's hand. They had called him white. He had told Kiki to remove her ring. Because time was not on their side and Kiki was shaking and sweaty, the guy had lost his patience.

He lost his temper and shot Kiki. When they ran away, all she and Adeola could think about was how to get Kiki to the hospital. It started to rain. In the rain, they had found a Good Samaritan who had stopped. The first hospital they got to said they could not admit her. They said she was bleeding too much so she might die. They do not want another death to occur in their hospital. Lola had shouted, lost her temper but the doctor stood his ground. Incompetent bastard! They next hospital admitted her. Only if Osifeso Medical Center was closer. They had better staffs and facilities. They can always transfer Kiki to the hospital later.

The housekeeper, a woman in her early fifties, had called Lola for her bath. When Lola rose to her feet, her muscles cried. They had been in the hospital until the early hours of the morning. She found her mother shouting at Tenny for coming back home past two in the morning. Few minutes before Lola walked in. Tenny had gone to some party, taking one of the cars. She had worn a skimpy skirt and armless crop top. To their mother, she was virtually naked. Lola had walked in just in time to prevent her mother from hitting the strong headed teenager who claimed nothing's wrong with her clothing and her coming home late. Lola sank into the hot tub. Her muscles sighed as she let out air of relieve from her lips.

Cynthia had woken Richard up after shouting that one of his daughter's was home at an unusual time. Something good came out of all the questioning and little drama. Her father had promised to send money for a new phone and get her another car since she requested for it.

"Even though they find my Range Rover, I will not ride it again because I do not know who had ridden it and what they have done to it. You know how much I hate people sitting at my car's wheel"

"What are you trying to say?" Her mother had asked with a little frown.

"I meant I want a new car" she had said with a triumph smile.

Her mother had objected to the idea because she had just gotten a car at the beginning of the year. Her father had not complained and just granted her wish. Lola smiled. It seems her night was not totally bad. At least, she was getting a new car and phone. Which one should she buy? The latest Porsche Macan or the latest Mercedes Benz G-Class?

-----

Sunday was not the usual way it was meant to be. He had barely concentrated on the service. When he had met his friends at their usual spot, he was lost in thought. He kept sipping the glass of Hennessey and drowning further in his deep thoughts. His friends had noticed and cared to know because he barely commented on anything they spoke about which was so unusual of him.

His wife had not been home since Saturday. No man in his right senses who cared so much will sit back and relax without worrying. Her number had not been going through. Most times, it diverted into voicemail. He could barely sit without thinking about her. He was restless. His fear grew in his throat nearly knocking his breath as another day came to an end and she was still not home. What will he tell her family? He had none of her friends' number. They had not gotten to that stage in their relationship where they get to know their friends.

He got up, paced the room. His palms were sweaty. He hoped she shows up to finally put his frenzy mind at peace. What if the worst has happened? What will he tell her mother who barely liked him? The woman will surely kill him if anything should happen to her daughter. He shook away his negative thoughts. Lola was just pulling one of her stunts. She's perfectly fine. He told himself but had he believed?

Joshua perched his body on her organised table. He looked at his leather wrist watch for the umpteenth time. It was past ten in the morning but she was yet to arrive. He picked a pen then started to play with it. He threw the fountain pen in the air then caught it in between his fingers.

"What are you doing here?" He heard her voice. The pen landed on the floor. He could smell her. Her flowery scent wafted through the air of the office, the only evident odour that overpowered the sweet fragrance of the air freshener that had been used few hours again.

He picked the pen up, trying to compose himself. Relieve had rushed through him. She was fine and he was glad.

"Good morning to you too" He said, his lips arching up as he placed the pen in its rightful place.

"Have you lost it?" She yelled a bit before shutting the door.

He stared at her. She wore an Eden blue floral three quarter trouser suit. She was professional except for the ample of cleavage that showed through the deep neck of her blazer. Her hair, red lustrous curls that flattered her deep brown skin, was held to the back into a low pony tail. Her subtle makeup looked as if she had barely used any makeup but the glossy and popping lips and light eye shadow told otherwise.

"You know you should not be here" She headed to the room, her clear heels clicking the floor. She swung her little red bag on a sofa. There was a white leather bag in her other hand.

"You have not been home since Saturday, Orekelewa" he headed to her.

"So? I am perfectly alright as you can see"

"Your number was unreachable" His eyes followed her.

"Why do you care so much? Why do you give a fuck about where I go to?"

"Because I am your husband"

She snorted and walked to her table. "Don't remind me of that" She huffed.

"What happened?" Worry laced his voice. She looked at him. His eyes were gentle as if they were trying to understand and read her. There was relieve in those deep dark eyes.

She needed to stop playing difficult. This man here had been worried to death about her disappearance. She did wrong. A part of her felt guilty. She had been away for more than twenty four hours. At least, he would have been worried. Showing up at their house the day before would not have hurt. It was pride and anger and the fact that she wanted to prove no one would change her life because she was married that had her acting that way.

At that point in time, she saw the way his tie was off-centre. It picked her interest due to the fact that she would like to have her hands on him. It was also to feel his chest, to feel those muscles that had trapped her few days ago when she had nearly slipped to the floor.

Lola still had the episode in her head. It was quick, unexpected. She was rushing for work and had come out of the bathroom, water still dripping from her body. She had wanted to go into the cubicle called a closet and he wanted to come out. A step and her foot slipped. A shrill left her lips. Expecting to find herself on the floor, she opened her eyes to see him looking down at her with concern and fright. He had both his arms around her, his body bent over hers. God! She was enchanted by his beauty, by the way his deep dark eyes slithered with worry, the little part of those plump pale pink lips of his. For the first time, his lips got her attention. Her hand had gripped his shirt insentiently during the fall. Under the heel of her hand, she felt nice muscles.

She was flustered, enthralled. It was that moment she felt his hand at the lowest part of her back and the other hand on her bare thigh. His grip was firm on her bare thigh. The rough fingers against her soft skin. That brief contact with him stimulated feelings she had never felt, like the flip in her stomach and tingles running through her skin. Joshua had asked if she was alright which she had nodded to. Too flushed to speak, she marched to her dressing table and got dressed in silence. Her physical attraction for this stranger increased tenfold. Damn it! He bothered her.

"My phone and car were stolen" She killed the urge to touch him hating the fact that he made her feel such desire. "Now" Her voice grew icy as she lifted her eyes to gaze at him. "Please leave my office. I will hate it so much if anyone find out about our marriage. You really need to stop visiting here" She brought out the content of the leather bag. It was an iPhone. "You will make my workers curious"

"It's out already" He answered, slipping his hands into his pockets.

"Uhn?" She tore the pack of the new iPhone.

"Our marriage is no longer a secret. Did you not check the tabloid today? Someone has leaked our marriage to the media"

-----

The abrupt click which indicated the end of the phone call told her that her mother had not been pleased with their conversation. Haseenah barely paid attention to her mother's words anyways. She had listened but could barely make a single word because it sounded like the scrapping of nails against a board. A slight headache had set in at the high pitch rant.

Her mother's phone call had been nothing but to remind her she was yet to bear a child. Her mother had not failed to remind her that her cousin, Yasmin, had just put to birth that morning and her step sister Hafsa is pregnant with her second child when her marriage is barely three years. The conversation had somewhat annoyed Haseenah and in the process, she had told her mother of her desire not to have a child. Not in her marriage to Ahmad. Her mother had not taken it lightly. The conversation turned into an argument she won.

Haseenah sighed, stretched her legs out as she laid her back against the seat. She can't imagine being a mother to a child that belongs to Ahmad. She can't give an abusive man a child he would do the same thing to. Once abusive. Always abusive. And Ahmad does not seem like the kind of man who will change. She is not the kind of woman to think if she gives him a child, he will change. There had been no remorse for any physical pain he inflicted on her. She had always seen a glint in his eyes, the kind that sent chills rolling down her spine. He was always pleased. Can this kind of man ever father a child?

Ahmad constant nag for a child is not because he wanted one but because he wants people to stop bugging him about one. Last night, at a dinner with some of Ahmad's business associate, one of the men had asked them when they would have kids.

"You guys have had enough of one another, let the children come in" He had said and everyone laughed.

Her husband might have laughed but it had angered him deep down. Getting home last night had led to another transfer of aggression. He had pushed her away but had not hit her. That push gave her the limp in her leg. She sprained her ankle. She won't give Ahmad a child. She would rather suffer years of physical assault than to bring a child into this world of hers.

He came home some minutes to six. She had abruptly jumped from her seat when she heard the honking of his car. The known fear sets in. Only God knows what sort of mood he was coming home with. Her unsteady eyes swept across the room. The curtains were pulled apart nicely. The cushions were arranged on the chair. The floor was sparkling. Everything was in order and neat just the way he likes it. She had cooked what he ordered her to make in the morning. Something clicked into her head. The bedroom. Tremors started at the tip of her fingers. She rushed to the room. The bedroom was in order. Bed neatly laid. The closet well arranged. The incense was burning. He loved the scent of incense. The day she had forgotten to burn it, he had beaten her until she had a swollen eye. Anything that made him hit her was her fault.

"It's your fault, Haseenah" He had said to her one day. "So when you make a mistake and I try to correct you, you should never complain and just accept corrections" He said.

And she believed it was always her fault. He made her feel that way. Maybe if she acts the right way, does what he wants, he won't hit her.

She remembered going to hospital after he gave her a black eye and when the doctor asked her how it happened, she lied she drove her car into a pothole. It was one of the many lies she told in the hospital. The days of broken ribs, she lied she was hit by a ball some kids were playing or was pushed in a run or slipped in the bathroom.

When the abuse continued and became constant, she tried to fight back. She will never forget the day she shouted back at him. Her body trembled at the memory. She can still feel every kick, every blow, every hateful word he spat at her. She could still see herself curled on the floor, in unbearable pain that nearly killed her.

He told her she has nowhere to go to. No one to talk to. Her parents won't believe her. They won't listen to her which he was right about. Leaving her marriage will ruin her father's political career. She just have to bear it. Each word that left his lips were the bitter truth.

Haseenah was standing by the entrance when he entered. She stood like the dutiful wife he trained her to be. After greeting him without looking at his eyes, she collected his bag. She served him cold water and he requested for pain killers for his headache.

He said to her "It's your fault anyways. The thought of coming back here started the headache"

At dinner, he asked "When are you going to give me a child, Haseenah?"

She had nearly choked on her couscous. "Hm?" She managed to hum after drinking water.

"You heard me. I want a baby" He said it as if a baby is an item you purchase in the market.

She dropped her spoon then kept her hands on her laps. Her hands started to shake. Haseenah wondered where the conversation will lead to. Another scream? Another beating? "Ehm....ehm..."