The Woman Everyone Trusts

Sunday service always ended the same way at Living Fire Assembly, with Bimbola Adeyanju-Coker standing at the front of the intercessory team, hands raised, eyes closed, voice trembling with a conviction that made grown men weep.

“Somebody in this house needs to know that God sees them,” she said, and the congregation answered with a wave of amens that rolled from the back pews to the front.

Nobody knew Bimbola the way they thought they did. Not even her husband, Pastor Oluwasegun, who watched her from the pulpit with the kind of pride that made his chest swell. Nine years of marriage. Nine years of Bimbola being the woman other wives modeled themselves after. The one who could quote scripture without checking her phone. The one whose skin seemed to glow with something holier than good moisturizer.

After service, she stood by the entrance greeting members, hugging babies, complimenting new hairstyles. She was good at this. She had been good at performing for a long time, longer than anyone in this building could imagine.

“Sister Bimbola.” A voice she didn’t recognize.

She turned and found a man she’d never seen before, tall, unhurried, wearing a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He introduced himself as Solomon, said he’d just relocated to Lagos, said a cousin recommended the church.

“Welcome,” Bimbola said, extending her hand the way she extended it to everyone. “We’re happy to have you.”

Solomon held her hand a beat too long. “The pleasure is mine,” he said. “Benin isn’t easy to leave behind.”

Something in her chest went cold. She hadn’t mentioned Benin. Nobody at Living Fire Assembly knew she was from Benin. As far as this congregation was concerned, Bimbola Adeyanju-Coker had always existed exactly as she stood before them now.

“I’m sorry?” she said, keeping her voice light.

“Nothing,” Solomon said, releasing her hand. “Just something about you feels familiar. I’m sure it’s nothing.”

He walked away before she could respond, disappearing into the crowd of members filing out into the Lagos afternoon heat.

Bimbola stood frozen for a moment, her smile still fixed in place out of habit, while underneath it, something she’d buried nine years ago stirred awake.

That night, she lay beside Oluwasegun as he drifted to sleep, his hand resting against her waist the way it always did. She stared at the ceiling and told herself it was nothing. A coincidence. Benin was a big city. Plenty of people passed through it.

But she hadn’t told anyone in Lagos where she was from. Not her closest church sister. Not her husband’s family. Nobody except the four walls of her own memory knew that Bimbola hadn’t always been Bimbola Adeyanju-Coker, pastor’s wife, prayer warrior, woman everyone trusted.

Once, a long time ago, in a different life entirely, she had been someone else.

And judging by the look in Solomon’s eyes, he knew exactly who that was.

To be continued…

What do you think Solomon really wants from Bimbola? Drop your predictions below.