I
The tip of his finger brushed the icing from the corner of my mouth.
Beneath the round glass table, my legs folded instinctively as his hand tilted my chin upward. His touch sent a familiar flutter through my stomach. Our eyes met and for a moment, the restaurant disappeared until all I could see was Daniel's smile.
“My husband,” I whispered.
My vision was clear.
Long before he went on one knee, I had already imagined what a future with him would look like.
Two years ago, I sat with my closest friends. One of whom was preparing for her wedding. We spent the afternoon talking about family, love, and what it meant to become wives and mothers. Since then, I had been waiting—hopeful, expectant, convinced that my own story was only a matter of time.
God writes all our stories, but I must admit that every wedding invitation that arrived after that day felt like a reminder that mine was still unwritten. I knew mine would be beautiful. I just wanted it to happen already.
The warm light protruding from the chandeliers brought me back to reality. I don’t like waiting for anything but this church had become my favourite place to wait.
That Sunday, I sat alone on a wooden pew after service had ended. The OX ceiling fan quietly spread fresh air across the sanctuary, making the room feel airy and calm. Most people had already gone home, but I liked lingering behind. The silence gave me space to reflect on the sermon and imagine what God might have planned for me.
I have always liked plans. Plans made life predictable. They allowed me to see where I was going.
Perhaps that was why I excelled at work. Three promotions in a row had taught me the value of being in people's faces. I know people like to shy away from it, but not me and I’m not sorry. Opportunities don’t come to people who remain hidden. You have to position yourself where they can find you.
The same principle, I believed, applied to relationships.
I noticed Daniel long before I learned his name. His height alone made him difficult to miss, but it was his presence that drew attention. He moved through church activities with purpose, volunteering wherever help was needed. Within months of joining the fellowship, he had become one of the most dependable people in the congregation.
I remember one afternoon after a church camp.
Everyone rushed toward the cafeteria for lunch, exhausted after hours of activities. Daniel stayed behind, stacking chairs in the empty hall.
After service, I would spot him waiting in the car park, offering rides to members who lived along his route. During meetings, people naturally gravitated toward him. He spoke confidently without sounding arrogant. He listened attentively. He made people feel important.
I found myself searching for him every Sunday. And whenever I asked myself why, I never quite had an answer.
The thought of a man like Daniel becoming my husband filled me with excitement. He reflected everything I had ever prayed for in a partner. He asked me to be his girlfriend even before I exhausted my carefully mapped out plans.
A shadow crossed my line of sight.
I looked up.
Daniel was in front of me. I must have travelled to the depths of my thoughts that I didn’t even notice him coming. I quickly looked away, hoping he hadn't noticed my flushed cheeks.
“How are you, Debby?” he asked. The way he looked at me always made me feel as though I were the only person in the room.
“I'm well,” I replied, adjusting my glasses. Inside, my heart was already racing. A loose braid had fallen across my face. Daniel’s hand reached to grab it but I got it before him. I gently tucked it behind my ear.
“Would you like to go to dinner tonight?” he asked softly. “I'll pick you up.”
I remembered our first date immediately. The care he had put into every detail had left me speechless. No one had ever made me feel so deliberately chosen. “Yes,” I said.
His smile widened. “I have a meeting with the technical team,” he said, lifting my hand and brushing a kiss across my knuckles. “I'll call you later.” Then he walked away.
Daniel liked being in control. He made decisions confidently and spoke about the future as though it were already settled. At first, I questioned it. Eventually, I began to admire it. Surely God would not bring someone this close only for him to be wrong for me. My sight was clear.
II
Two weeks after that dinner date, I found myself in Aunty Ruth's kitchen. Her warm smile and soft but firm arms always welcomed me. She always seems to know when something is wrong.
During Bible studies, she had a way of explaining Scripture so simply that even a child could understand it. And since I joined the church two years earlier, she had become more than a mentor. She was family.
‘What makes you think Daniel is the one for you?’ She asked as I chopped the onions. The knife became heavier in my hand. The question struck something it shouldn’t have. I continued chopping, hoping the rhythmic thock…thock…thock of the knife against the wooden board would drown out the sudden uncertainty rising inside me.
“What do you mean, ma?” I knew exactly what she was asking but this few seconds in between will allow me some time to plan my answer.
She shrugged lightly. “What makes you sure?”
The pungent aroma from the onion seemed to cloud my brain. I searched for an answer. A real answer. Yet all I could come up with was, “I just know.” The moment the words left my mouth, they sounded weak. I cleared my throat. “I mean... I've prayed.”
Even as I said it, I wasn't entirely satisfied with the response. “I feel peace,” I continued. “He's committed to God. He's kind. He's responsible.” I forced a smile. “I know I've made a good choice.”
Aunty Ruth finally turned toward me. “Did you pray before deciding you liked him?”
The question irritated me immediately, more than it should have. “What difference does that make?”
For a moment, she simply looked at me. Then she crossed the kitchen and gently cupped my face. Her eyes were kind. The kind of eyes that saw beyond the words people spoke. “Sometimes, what we see isn't the whole picture, Deborah.”
Her voice was soft. “Sometimes we ask God to guide us.” She paused. “Other times, we ask Him to approve what we've already chosen.”
I pulled away and busied myself with the onions. “Daniel is a good man.” I spoke fast as if the speed could strengthen my argument. “He prays with me. He supports my business. He checks on me.” I hesitated. “He even keeps asking me to visit his apartment.”
Aunty Ruth raised an eyebrow. “You haven't gone, have you?” I shook my head. “No.” I wasn't about to abandon my boundaries. Still, I couldn't understand why she seemed concerned. What exactly was there to question about a man like Daniel?
By the time I left her house, the weather had changed. The bright afternoon sky had surrendered to thick grey clouds. A cool wind swept through the street as I walked home. I told myself Aunty Ruth was overthinking things. I should have forgotten her words. Instead, they followed me all the way home.
That night, I opened my Bible three different times. Each time, I stared at the pages without reading a single verse. My right eye twitched again. With a sigh, I removed my glasses and placed them on the bedside table. The room felt unusually quiet and for the first time in years, certainty felt far from home.
Still, I pulled the blanket over my shoulders and closed my eyes. This was probably just fear. Wasn't it? After all, I could see exactly where my future was heading.
III
‘Do you want more cream in your salad?’
Having these dinner dates with Daniel was something we had both come to enjoy. After the one we had before I visited Aunty Ruth, he asked me out to one another.
It is like our own little ritual where we pay homage to the burning desire to be with each other. Daniel slid the bowl toward me before I could answer. The restaurant was quiet except for the soft hum of conversation from nearby tables. A jazz melody drifted through hidden speakers.
Outside, evening traffic crawled along the road, headlights blinking through the glass windows. I smiled and added a little cream to my plate even though I already had enough. Daniel leaned back in his chair. “You know,” he said, “everything is happening faster than I expected.”
I looked up. “What do you mean?”
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I mean us.”
The word settled warmly in my chest. For a moment, I forgot the uneasiness I had carried since my conversation with Aunty Ruth. Daniel reached across the table and covered my hand with his. “I can't wait to call you mine completely.”
Heat rushed to my cheeks. I lowered my eyes and focused on my plate. My right eye twitched again. Recently, it seemed to do that whenever I was thinking too much. Or perhaps whenever I wasn't thinking enough.
Daniel squeezed my hand. “You've been stressed lately.”
I nodded. “Work.”
“Lagos traffic?”
I laughed. “Definitely Lagos traffic.”
His expression softened. “Then let me help you relax.”
I looked up. “What does that mean?”
A mischievous smile appeared on his face. “Come over to my apartment tonight.”
The smile froze on my face. We had discussed this before. More than once. One of the boundaries we had agreed on was avoiding situations that could create unnecessary temptation.
Daniel knew that. Which was why the invitation caught me off guard. “Daniel…”
His thumb brushed against my hand. “Nothing serious.” His voice dropped lower. “We'll watch a movie. Talk. Spend time together.” He leaned closer.
“You trust me, don't you?”
The question felt less like curiosity and more like pressure. I shifted in my seat. “I do.”
“Then what's the problem?”
I swallowed. “I just don't think it's wise.”
For a brief moment, something changed in his expression. Not enough for anyone else to notice. But enough for me. Then it disappeared. “We're practically getting married.”
The sentence dropped between us in a thud… like the sudden drop of a football. My stomach tightened. I couldn't explain why. It reminded me of those moments when someone begins a sentence with, “We're all adults here.”
You know something uncomfortable is coming. You just don't know what. “I know,” I said carefully.
“Then why are you still acting like we're strangers?”
I looked down at my plate. The restaurant suddenly felt warmer. My eye twitched again. I reached for a serviette. Daniel laughed softly. “Deborah, you're too rigid sometimes.” The words were playful. Yet they stung. Far more than they should have.
A strange discomfort settled inside me. The butterflies I felt earlier had lost their butter. All I was left with now were just flies. Daniel reached across the table and gently lifted my chin. “Debs.” His voice softened again. “You know I love you.” His eyes held mine. Steady. Certain.
For a moment, every doubt faded. This was Daniel. The man who prayed with me. The man who served in the church. The man who remembered the little details. The man I planned to marry.
Nobody was perfect. Relationships require compromise. Didn't they? A memory surfaced unexpectedly. I was twenty-two again, sitting in my grandmother's living room while my mother and aunties discussed a family friend.
“She chased away every good man who came her way,” one aunt had said. “Too many conditions. Too many expectations.” Someone else shook her head.
“Now she's almost fifty and still waiting.” The conversation frightened me then. Perhaps it still did. Maybe that was why Daniel's next words found fertile ground.
“So.” He smiled. “If not tonight, then Friday?”
I hesitated. “Friday is fine.”
His smile returned instantly. Relief flooded his face. Victory too. The rest of dinner passed normally. Or at least that was what I told myself. By the time Daniel dropped me home, I had convinced myself the conversation didn't matter.
I was overthinking. Aunty Ruth was overthinking. Everyone was overthinking. Everything was fine. Yet that night, long after I switched off the lights, I found myself replaying the evening again and again.
Sleep eventually came. Peace did not.
IV
“Have you noticed that Daniel becomes different when people disagree with him?” Sarah's question caught me off guard.
We were standing outside the church building after service, tucked away beneath one of the almond trees near the car park. Families drifted past us, exchanging greetings.
I frowned. “What do you mean?” Sarah hesitated. The hesitation alone irritated me. It felt like she was about to say something she shouldn't.
“You've never noticed it?”
I folded my arms. “Noticed what?”
She sighed. “The way he responds when people challenge him.”
I opened my mouth to defend him before she could continue. “Sarah, the technical team was clearly at fault last week.”
“I'm not talking about who was right.” She lowered her voice. “I'm talking about how he handled it.”
I shook my head. “He was trying to solve a problem.”
Sarah studied my face for a moment. Then she smiled gently. The kind of smile people wear when they realise an argument is already lost. Maybe she understood something I didn't. Or maybe she was simply overthinking things. Just like Aunty Ruth.
Before either of us could say more, I spotted Daniel approaching. My heart responded before the rest of me did. The familiar warmth. The familiar excitement. The familiar certainty. He was carrying a small pack of snacks. His smile widened when he saw me.
“Perfect timing.” He handed the pack to me. “I got this for you.”
I laughed. “You spoil me.”
“Only a little.”
Then he turned to Sarah. “Sorry. I didn't know you were here. I'll get yours next time.”
Sarah smiled politely. “No worries. I was just leaving anyway.” Her eyes met mine briefly. Something about the look unsettled me. Almost as if she wanted to say more. But she didn't. She simply waved and walked away.
The moment she disappeared, Daniel stepped closer. “I can't wait for Friday.” A smile crept up my face. If I were light complexioned, you would see my pink cheeks. Daniel noticed both. He always did.
Just then, a church member approached us. “Daniel, please help me carry something to my car.”
“Of course.” Without hesitation, Daniel handed me his phone. “Hold this for me.” Then he followed the man toward the parking lot. I watched him go. Still smiling. Still certain. Still convinced that God had finally answered my prayer. The phone vibrated in my hand.
Once. Twice. A notification appeared on the screen. My eyes landed on the message before I could stop myself. Last night was amazing. My breath ceased. The world around me seemed to pause. Beneath the message sat a blurred image. I didn't open it. I didn't need to.
My fingers tightened around the phone. No. No. No. The word repeated inside my head like a prayer. Or perhaps a warning. There had to be another explanation: A cousin. A colleague. A misunderstanding. Anything. Anyone. Just not what my mind was suggesting.
I stared at the screen. The words remained unchanged. Last night was amazing. My stomach twisted. For the first time, certainty abandoned me completely. The church grounds suddenly felt unfamiliar. The laughter around me sounded distant. The sunlight no longer felt warm.
I looked up. Dry leaves littered the pavement. A little girl ran into her mother's arms nearby. The sight tightened something inside my chest. I wanted certainty. I wanted answers. I wanted someone to tell me I was imagining things.
Daniel returned moments later. Still smiling. Still charming. Still the man I thought I knew. “Ready to go?”
I forced a smile. “Yes.” I handed back his phone. He slipped it into his pocket without looking at the screen. Without noticing my trembling hands. Without noticing the crack that had just appeared in the image I had built of him.
As we walked toward the gate, a question followed me like a shadow. What if everyone else had seen something I refused to see? And what if God had been trying to show me all along?
V
‘Daniel, are you cheating on me?’
The question escaped before I could ignore it.
We were sitting in our usual corner of the café after service. For months, this place had felt like part of our story. Today it felt like a courtroom.
Daniel blinked. “What?”
I held his gaze. “I saw a message on your phone.”
His expression changed. Not dramatically. Just enough. A flicker. Gone before I could fully catch it. “What message?”
I swallowed. “Someone texted you.” I paused. “Last night was amazing.”
Daniel leaned back in his chair. For a moment, neither of us spoke. Then he sighed. “Debby.” The way he said my name sounded rehearsed. Careful. Like someone choosing the least damaging version of the truth. “Why were you looking through my messages?”
I stared at him. The deflection was so immediate that it almost made me laugh. “Are you serious?”
“I'm asking a question.”
“And I'm asking one too.” My voice shook despite my efforts to steady it. “Who was she?”
He rubbed a hand across his face. “Let's not do this here.”
My chest tightened. There it was again. That need to control the conversation. To redirect it. To decide where it went. “Then answer me.”
The muscles in his jaw tightened. A long silence followed. Long enough to serve as an answer. Finally he exhaled. “She doesn't mean anything.”
The words hit my chest like a hammer. What they revealed carried weight but the casual way he said them made me scared. I stared at him. “You cheated.”
“Come on, Debby.” His frustration surfaced immediately. “We're not even married.”
I felt as though someone had emptied a bucket of cold water over my head. “You seriously don't see the problem?”
He laughed once. A short, humourless sound. “You've been acting like I'm your husband since the day we met.”
The words rushed at me like a slap. For a moment, I couldn't breathe. Daniel leaned forward. “Look, I wanted you. I still do. But you made everything difficult.”
My stomach dropped. “What does that mean?”
His eyes held mine. “You were too rigid.”
The room blurred around me. The conversations. The clinking plates. The music. Everything faded. Leaving only his voice.
“You won't come over. You kept setting boundaries. You kept saying no.”
Each sentence felt uglier than the one before. As though every value I held had somehow become evidence against me. I stared at him. Disbelief slowly giving way to clarity. “Are you hearing yourself right now?”
Daniel groaned. “You want honesty?” I said nothing. He took my silence as permission. “It started as a bet.”
The world stopped. I blinked. Once. Twice. “A what?”
“A bet.” His gaze dropped briefly to the table. “A stupid bet.” I felt my heartbeat thudding in my ears, gbim…gbim…gbim... He continued.
“A friend of mine said women are predictable.” Not a single shame flickered across his face. “I stayed because I actually liked you.” The words made me sick. As though he expected them to repair something. As though affection could excuse deception. “I saw the way you looked at me.” His voice softened. “You liked me from the beginning.”
I laughed. The sound surprised even me. Because there was no humour in it. Only hurt. Months of hurt. Months of excuses. Months of certainty. Cracking apart all at once. The waiter approached our table.
“Would either of you like anything else?” she asked. Daniel shook his head. I looked at the woman standing before us. For one strange second, I envied her. She would leave this conversation untouched. “No thank you.”
She nodded and walked away. Daniel reached across the table. I moved my hands before he could touch them. Something inside me had finally woken up. “Do you know what hurts the most?”
He looked at me. Waiting.
I shook my head. “It's not the cheating.” His eyes widened slightly. “It isn't even the lie.” My voice trembled. “It's realizing how many times I ignored what God was trying to show me.” For the first time all evening, Daniel looked confused.
I continued anyway. “Aunty Ruth warned me.” The words came slowly now. Measured. Steady. “Sarah warned me.” I thought of the sleepless nights. The uneasiness. The eye twitching. The boundaries that suddenly became negotiable. The peace that seemed to make sense. Every warning I had explained away.
Every red flag I had painted green. “I wanted you so badly that I stopped asking God what He wanted.” Tears filled my eyes. But this time I didn't hide them. “I mistook desire for discernment.”
Silence settled between us. For months I had convinced myself that my vision was clear. That I knew exactly where my life was going. That God was simply confirming what I already wanted. The truth was far less flattering. I hadn't been seeing clearly at all. I had been staring at the future I wanted and calling it God's will. A sad smile touched my lips.
“The fault was never God's silence.” Daniel frowned. I stood. Picked up my bag. And looked at him one last time. “The fault was my sight.”
For the first time since I met him, I walked away without looking back.
Three months later. I sat on the same wooden pew. The church was quiet. Peacefully quiet. I folded my hands on my lap and looked toward the altar.
Three months ago, I would have been sitting here imagining a wedding with Daniel. Imagining a future I was certain belonged to me. Now, for the first time in a long while, I wasn't imagining anything. I was simply present.
The strange thing about heartbreak is that it removes more than people. Sometimes it removes illusions too. For weeks after the breakup, I questioned everything. My judgment. My prayers. My ability to hear God.
I wondered how I had missed what now seemed so obvious. Then one evening, during my devotion, a thought settled into my heart. Some lessons you learn come because God loves you enough to correct your direction. The realization changed everything.
God's mercy prevails. A soft smile touched my lips. I adjusted my glasses. The movement made me laugh quietly. All those months, I had been obsessed with seeing clearly. Yet the most important lesson had nothing to do with sight. Faith was not certainty.
Faith was trust.
Trusting God when His answer was different from mine. Trusting Him when His timing felt slow. Trusting Him when His plans interrupted my own. For the first time in many months, my heart felt light. I didn’t know what would happen next. I couldn’t suddenly see the future. But I knew the One who could.
I glanced toward the stained-glass window above the altar. Then I bowed my head and whispered a prayer. “Your will, Lord. Not mine.” This time, I meant it. The future before me was uncertain. But my trust was not. And somehow, that was better than sight.