The next few days moved quietly, like the world itself was tired of drama and wanted rest. The children went to school every morning with bright faces. I arranged my new shop slowly, shelf by shelf, creating something that felt like mine again.
Kunle called once a day—nothing heavy, nothing demanding.
“Are you okay today?”
“Do you need anything for the shop?”
“Should I come see the children?”
It wasn’t pressure.
Just consistent presence.
Finally, one evening after closing the shop, I sent him a message:
We should meet with Tosin tomorrow. All three of us. Neutral ground. Community center. 4pm.
His reply came almost instantly.
I’ll be there. Thank you, Kemi.
The next day, I wore something simple—a plain blue gown—and tied my scarf neatly. I didn’t want to dress like someone fighting. I wanted to dress like someone moving forward.
When I reached the community center, Kunle was already waiting. He stood up immediately when he saw me.
“You look well,” he said softly.
“Thank you.”
Tosin arrived shortly after, baby strapped to her chest. She sat down quietly, avoiding both our eyes.
For a moment, none of us spoke. The silence felt thick, but not dangerous. Heavy, but not explosive.
Finally, I cleared my throat.
“We’re here to create peace,” I began. “Not to blame or attack. That part is behind us.”
They both nodded.
“Tosin,” I said, turning to her gently, “you asked for boundaries. I appreciate that. And I have a few in mind.”
She shifted nervously.
“I’m listening.”
I folded my hands on the table.
“First,” I said calmly, “the relationship between you and Kunle will be strictly about the child. No personal conversations. No closeness. No favors.”
“Yes, ma,” Tosin agreed quickly.
Kunle nodded. “That’s exactly what I want too.”
“Second,” I continued, “any communication about the baby will happen openly. Either through text messages or calls during reasonable hours. No secret visits, no private meetings.”
“That’s good,” Kunle said softly. “I’m fine with that.”
Tosin nodded firmly. “Me too.”
I inhaled deeply before the third one.
“Third… when you relocate, we will discuss how Kunle will support the baby—financially, respectfully, and consistently. But without interfering in your personal life.”
“Yes,” Tosin said. “I won’t disturb your marriage. I promise.”
Kunle sighed, relieved.
“It’s best for everyone.”
I looked at Tosin for a moment. She looked calmer than before—more determined to let things go.
“I don’t want you to feel chased away,” I told her gently. “But I do want space to rebuild what was broken. Distance will help all of us.”
She smiled sadly. “I understand. And honestly… I need distance too.”
The baby began to whimper, and Tosin adjusted him lightly. Kunle looked but didn’t move closer. That was good. Boundaries had already begun working.
After another stretch of silence, Tosin stood up.
“Thank you, Aunty Kemi,” she said quietly. “For listening. For not insulting me. For not cursing me. I will never forget your dignity.”
She began to cry but covered her face quickly.
Kunle looked at her, regret in his eyes—not romantic regret, just remorse for the chaos.
“Tosin,” he said, voice low, “I’m sorry for the pain this caused you too. But we need to do things right now. For your baby… and for my family.”
She nodded and left slowly, carrying her child like a fragile promise.
Kunle and I were alone now.
He didn’t rush to speak.
He just breathed out deeply, as if he’d been holding air for months.
“Thank you,” he said finally. “For handling that with grace.”
“It wasn’t grace,” I replied softly. “It was necessity.”
He looked down at his hands.
“Kemi… do I still have a place with you?”
I didn’t answer immediately.
I studied his face—the face I had loved for years. The same face that disappointed me so deeply. The same face begging for a second chance.
“Kunle,” I said gently, “we are not healed yet. But today… I feel like we took the first real step toward something better.”
He lifted his head, hope shining in his eyes.
“I’m ready for the work,” he said. “Counseling, honesty, patience—anything.”
“I know,” I replied. “But I won’t rush back home yet. Not until I feel steady inside.”
He swallowed and nodded.
“Whatever pace you choose,” he said, “I will follow.”
Another silence passed, warm this time.
Then he whispered what felt like a prayer:
“Please… just don’t close the door.”
I looked at him—really looked.
“I haven’t closed it,” I whispered.
“And today… I opened it a little more.”
His shoulders relaxed, relief washing through him like fresh air.
We walked away from the center separately, but something subtle had changed between us.
Not perfection.
Not instant healing.
But direction.
A path.
A chance.
And sometimes…
a chance is the beginning of a miracle.
To be continued....
The Betrayal I Walked Into
Episode 9
Follow Stories by Peace to read the next episode.
Like, Comment and Share ❤️
Kunle called once a day—nothing heavy, nothing demanding.
“Are you okay today?”
“Do you need anything for the shop?”
“Should I come see the children?”
It wasn’t pressure.
Just consistent presence.
Finally, one evening after closing the shop, I sent him a message:
We should meet with Tosin tomorrow. All three of us. Neutral ground. Community center. 4pm.
His reply came almost instantly.
I’ll be there. Thank you, Kemi.
The next day, I wore something simple—a plain blue gown—and tied my scarf neatly. I didn’t want to dress like someone fighting. I wanted to dress like someone moving forward.
When I reached the community center, Kunle was already waiting. He stood up immediately when he saw me.
“You look well,” he said softly.
“Thank you.”
Tosin arrived shortly after, baby strapped to her chest. She sat down quietly, avoiding both our eyes.
For a moment, none of us spoke. The silence felt thick, but not dangerous. Heavy, but not explosive.
Finally, I cleared my throat.
“We’re here to create peace,” I began. “Not to blame or attack. That part is behind us.”
They both nodded.
“Tosin,” I said, turning to her gently, “you asked for boundaries. I appreciate that. And I have a few in mind.”
She shifted nervously.
“I’m listening.”
I folded my hands on the table.
“First,” I said calmly, “the relationship between you and Kunle will be strictly about the child. No personal conversations. No closeness. No favors.”
“Yes, ma,” Tosin agreed quickly.
Kunle nodded. “That’s exactly what I want too.”
“Second,” I continued, “any communication about the baby will happen openly. Either through text messages or calls during reasonable hours. No secret visits, no private meetings.”
“That’s good,” Kunle said softly. “I’m fine with that.”
Tosin nodded firmly. “Me too.”
I inhaled deeply before the third one.
“Third… when you relocate, we will discuss how Kunle will support the baby—financially, respectfully, and consistently. But without interfering in your personal life.”
“Yes,” Tosin said. “I won’t disturb your marriage. I promise.”
Kunle sighed, relieved.
“It’s best for everyone.”
I looked at Tosin for a moment. She looked calmer than before—more determined to let things go.
“I don’t want you to feel chased away,” I told her gently. “But I do want space to rebuild what was broken. Distance will help all of us.”
She smiled sadly. “I understand. And honestly… I need distance too.”
The baby began to whimper, and Tosin adjusted him lightly. Kunle looked but didn’t move closer. That was good. Boundaries had already begun working.
After another stretch of silence, Tosin stood up.
“Thank you, Aunty Kemi,” she said quietly. “For listening. For not insulting me. For not cursing me. I will never forget your dignity.”
She began to cry but covered her face quickly.
Kunle looked at her, regret in his eyes—not romantic regret, just remorse for the chaos.
“Tosin,” he said, voice low, “I’m sorry for the pain this caused you too. But we need to do things right now. For your baby… and for my family.”
She nodded and left slowly, carrying her child like a fragile promise.
Kunle and I were alone now.
He didn’t rush to speak.
He just breathed out deeply, as if he’d been holding air for months.
“Thank you,” he said finally. “For handling that with grace.”
“It wasn’t grace,” I replied softly. “It was necessity.”
He looked down at his hands.
“Kemi… do I still have a place with you?”
I didn’t answer immediately.
I studied his face—the face I had loved for years. The same face that disappointed me so deeply. The same face begging for a second chance.
“Kunle,” I said gently, “we are not healed yet. But today… I feel like we took the first real step toward something better.”
He lifted his head, hope shining in his eyes.
“I’m ready for the work,” he said. “Counseling, honesty, patience—anything.”
“I know,” I replied. “But I won’t rush back home yet. Not until I feel steady inside.”
He swallowed and nodded.
“Whatever pace you choose,” he said, “I will follow.”
Another silence passed, warm this time.
Then he whispered what felt like a prayer:
“Please… just don’t close the door.”
I looked at him—really looked.
“I haven’t closed it,” I whispered.
“And today… I opened it a little more.”
His shoulders relaxed, relief washing through him like fresh air.
We walked away from the center separately, but something subtle had changed between us.
Not perfection.
Not instant healing.
But direction.
A path.
A chance.
And sometimes…
a chance is the beginning of a miracle.
To be continued....
The Betrayal I Walked Into
Episode 9
Follow Stories by Peace to read the next episode.
Like, Comment and Share ❤️
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