SUNNY WEDNESDAYS: IVIE (V)

She knew before she even saw the sheen of sweat glistening on Rita’s brow that she had an uninvited guest. Rita stood nervously by the doorway, her breathing shallow, eyes flickering with silent apology. “I’m so sorry, Ma,” she whispered, wringing her hands. “I tried to stop him from going in, truly I did, he just pushed past me.”

Ivie nodded, her expression calm, almost unreadable. She had known this day might come. She also knew exactly who awaited her behind her office door. “It’s okay. Thank you for holding the fort,” she said gently, her voice low but steady. “Please move my 12 p.m. meeting to 4.”

Rita hesitated, biting her lip, worry etched into her features. She wanted to ask, will you be okay alone with him? but instead, she gave a tense nod and stepped aside. Ivie inhaled deeply, then pushed the door open.

ππππππ

“Good morning, Osaze.”

Her tone was cool, polite, too polite. She walked in with grace, setting her structured black leather bag onto the couch with deliberate care. Her eyes didn’t waver as they took him in: Osaze, once the wild, smooth-talking charmer back in university, now dressed in a well-cut grey suit that did little to mask his restlessness. He stood by her desk, hands shoved into his pockets, agitation radiating from his very pores. His fair skin was flushed red with annoyance, and his lips curled in that familiar mix of arrogance and disdain.

“What kind of people do you employ?” he spat, pacing like a man who had missed breakfast and made up for it with rage. “She tried to block me like I’m some intruder.” You are an intruder, Ivie thought but didn’t say.

Instead, she replied evenly, “What can I help you with?” Inside, her spirit whispered a prayer, Lord give me strength. Osaze scoffed, then stepped forward dramatically like he was auditioning for a scene. “I reckon I’m the father of our child, and I figured it was time to be present.” He spoke the word “father” with a smirk, like he found the idea of it amusing. As if to punctuate the absurdity, he casually fished out a piece of chewed gum from his mouth and stuck it, disgustingly, on the edge of her pristine crystal-ball-shaped desk. Ivie watched, unfazed. He was predictable.

He had always delighted in poking her, in ruffling her edges just to see how quickly she'd fray. But he was unaware that she was no longer the same woman he once knew. He didn’t know that it wasn’t one child she carried, but three. And he never would. She walked over to the soft peach love couch in the corner of her office, sat down with intentional ease, and folded her legs. She gestured toward her laptop. “One second, please.”

He didn’t move. Instead, he made himself more comfortable, lifting his legs and planting them shamelessly atop her elegant glass desk, as though the office was his.

She’s doing well for herself, he thought begrudgingly, his eyes scanning the elegant minimalism of her workspace, the soothing palette, the glass trophies. The air in the office smelled of lavender and intention. But she didn’t rise to the bait.

“If I understand you correctly,” she began, lifting her eyes from the screen and locking them on him, “after two years of silence, no calls, no texts, no support, now you’re suddenly The Father of Our Child?” Her voice wasn’t raised, but it was laced with steel.

“I honestly don’t understand why you’re here. Whatever conversations need to happen can be directed to our respective lawyers. I have work to get to. And an antenatal appointment later today. So kindly… see yourself out.”

For a moment, silence clung to the air between them like fog. Osaze didn’t move. He stayed seated, feet still on her table, but something in his expression shifted. He studied her, really studied her. She was no longer the woman he remembered: the one who would scream, throw things, collapse into emotional chaos. She had always been fiery, reactionary. But now... now she was composed, centered. Unbothered.

There was a stillness about her, a calm strength that unnerved him more than any shouting match ever could. And he couldn’t help but notice… she looked radiant. Not just pregnant, but glowing with something he couldn’t define. Peace? 

ππππππ

“You can do better than cause her pain.” The words sliced through the air with the precision of a scalpel, gentle yet deeply piercing. Osaze froze mid-step, as if the pavement beneath him had suddenly shifted. There was something in that voice, calm, but bruised with restrained emotion. Not angry. Not bitter. But deeply resolute.

He turned, his brows knitting slightly in confusion as he faced the speaker. She stood just a few feet away, dressed simply, but everything about her posture was guarded. Her arms were gently folded across her chest, and her eyes held the kind of still fire that could melt through even the most hardened exterior. “And you are?” he asked, trying to mask his discomfort with a scoff, though his voice lacked its usual edge.

“You know who I am, Sir.” Her voice was soft, but not timid. “Rita Adedeji. I’m Ivie’s assistant. But today, I speak to you not just as her staff but as a woman led by God.” Osaze squinted slightly, piecing her face together with a memory.

“Rita… right?” He nodded slowly, recalling the stern look she had shot him earlier in Ivie’s office. She had looked like she could throttle him with a single stare. Rita inhaled deeply. She really didn’t want to have this conversation. Everything in her screamed to walk away, to let the man stew in his own drama. But the Holy Spirit had nudged her gently, firmly.

“I’ll be honest, Sir, I didn’t plan to speak to you,” she began, voice thick with both reluctance and obedience. “But you’re soon going to be a father. Or rather, a father to children.” He stiffened. Children? The word clung to his thoughts like static. That couldn’t be right. Ivie had said nothing about twins. Or… more? Her words weren’t just sentences. They were arrows, quietly finding their mark.

“You’ll come to understand, even if only a glimpse,” Rita continued, “what it’s like for God to love us. Unconditionally. Even when we fall short. Even when we run.” He leaned back against his sleek black Mustang, arms folded, watching her closely. He expected a lecture. Maybe scripture after scripture. A tongue-lashing. Instead, this woman, this assistant, was standing in front of him speaking like she’d had a full conversation with heaven before stepping outside. She probably had.

“Tell me,” he said, a sarcastic lilt threatening his tone, “you got a crusade to drag me to next?” Rita chuckled lightly, the tension between them momentarily softening. “Not quite,” she said, reaching into her bag and pulling out a thin, brightly colored pamphlet. “There’s a movie night at my church this Sunday evening. Nothing fancy. Just food, fellowship, and a film.”

Osaze blinked. Of all the things she could’ve offered him, that was not what he expected. He had braced for some ‘seven-days-of-fire-and-purging’ type of invitation. Not popcorn and projection screens. He took the pamphlet slowly, more out of curiosity than courtesy. “I won’t lie to you,” he muttered, almost amused, “I don’t plan to come.”

Rita gave a small smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, but still radiated something deeper, peace. “That’s alright, Sir. Enjoy the rest of your afternoon.” He watched her turn and walk back into the glass doors of the company building. Her steps were light, but firm. She didn’t glance back. She didn’t push further. And for some reason, that shook him more than any rebuke would have. She had expected nothing. Offered peace. And left.

Something about the way she carried herself, the quiet strength she exude left him uncharacteristically intrigued.

No cajoling. No threats. No scriptures thrown in his face.

Just a simple invitation.

He glanced at the pamphlet again.

Maybe he’d show up.