She’s Pregnant

A hospital gown. A baby bump. A caption that changes everything Tola thought she was fighting for.

Tola made it to the car before she broke.

She had held it together in Chinyere’s apartment. Held it on the walk downstairs. Held it while she fumbled with her car keys. Held it while she sat down and closed the door.

Then she gripped the steering wheel with both hands and cried like something inside her had finally torn open.

Not the pretty kind of crying. Not the kind you see in movies where one tear rolls down and the music plays. No. This was ugly. This was shaking. This was her whole body folding into the steering wheel, her mouth open but no sound coming out for the first ten seconds, and then all the sound at once.

She cried for the three months she wasted. She cried for the jollof rice he ate two plates of while his wife was pregnant in Abuja. She cried for every “I miss you” that was never real. She cried for the girl she was three weeks ago, the one who showed her friends his picture and smiled like the world finally made sense.

That girl was gone.

Chinyere came downstairs and found her. Didn’t say anything. Just opened the passenger door, sat down, and held her hand while she cried. That’s the thing about Chinyere. She always knew when to talk and when to just be there.

After a while, Tola wiped her face. Her eyes were swollen. Her chest hurt.

“She’s pregnant, Chinyere.”

“I know.”

“He’s going to be someone’s father. And four days ago he was sitting in my living room eating rice and laughing like he doesn’t have a whole life waiting for him in Abuja.”

Chinyere squeezed her hand. “What do you want to do?”

And that was the question. The only question that mattered now.

She drove home. Sat on the floor of her bathroom because the bed felt too soft for how hard everything was. She ran through her options like she was solving a problem at work.

Option one: walk away. Block him. Delete his number. Pretend it never happened. Move on.

The cleanest option. The safest. The one Bisola would recommend.

But she knew she couldn’t. Because walking away meant Dubem won. He’d keep living his double life. He’d find another Tola in Lagos. Another girl in Port Harcourt. Another woman somewhere else. And Nkem would stay in Abuja, pregnant, happy, clueless.

Option two: tell Nkem everything. Send her the messages. The pictures. Blow the whole thing up.

Funke would love that option. But Tola wasn’t Funke. And Nkem was pregnant. Stress like that could hurt her. Could hurt the baby. Tola didn’t want that on her conscience.

Option three: confront Dubem. Face to face. Let him see the receipt and the ring and the photos and the truth all at once. Give him no room to deny it, no space to twist it, no chance to make her feel crazy.

This was the one. This was the only one that felt right.

Not revenge. Not destruction. Just truth. She wanted to look him in the eye and say, “I know.” She wanted to see what his face did when the mask had nowhere to hide.

She picked up her phone. Opened his chat.

His last message was from two hours ago: “Goodnight my person ❤️”

My person. She almost laughed. How many “persons” did this man have?

She typed: “Can we meet tomorrow? I want to talk about something.”

Three dots appeared immediately. He was typing.

“Of course baby. My place?”

“No. Somewhere public. That restaurant in VI.”

Pause. Longer than usual.

“Okay… is everything alright?”

She stared at the screen. Her thumb hovered.

“Just come. 7pm.”

“I’ll be there. ❤️”

She put the phone down. Lay back on the bathroom floor. The tiles were cold against her back.

Tomorrow night, she was going to sit across from Chidubem Okafor for the last time. And for the first time, she was going to see the real him. Not the version he built for her. Not the character he played in Lagos. The real him.

She wasn’t nervous. She thought she’d be nervous. But she wasn’t.

She was ready.

Chinyere called at midnight.

“Have you eaten?”

“No.”

“Tola.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“I didn’t ask if you were hungry. I asked if you’ve eaten. Those are two different things.”

Tola smiled. Small, tired smile. But real.

“I’m going to see him tomorrow. VI. 7pm.”

Silence on the other end. Then: “You want me to come?”

“No. This is something I need to do alone.”

“You know I’ll be in that parking lot if you need me. You know that, right?”

“I know.”

“And if he tries anything stupid, I will create a scene that CNN will report.”

Tola laughed. A real laugh. The first one in days. “Goodnight, Chinyere.”

“Eat something. Even if it’s biscuit. Goodnight.”

She ate two digestive biscuits and drank water. Brushed her teeth. Lay in bed.

She thought about Nkem. Lying in her own bed right now in Abuja. Probably sleeping on her side because the baby bump made sleeping on her back uncomfortable. Probably with her phone on the nightstand, her husband’s name saved with a heart emoji, just like Tola had.

Two women. Two beds. Two cities. One man between them who didn’t deserve either of them.

Tomorrow, one of those women was going to stop pretending.

Tola closed her eyes.

Sleep came slow. But it came.

END OF EPISODE 6

Next Episode: “We Need To Talk” – She placed the receipt on the table. For the first time in three months, he had nothing to say.

Chinyere waiting in the parking lot is the friend we all need. But is Tola really ready for what Dubem might say tomorrow? 💔 Tell us in the comments.