SUNNY WEDNESDAYS: IVIE (IX)

 

She had been given a heads-up by Rita, so she wasn’t caught completely off-guard. But no amount of warning could have fully prepared her for the effect seeing Osaze again would have on her. As much as she hated to admit it, even to herself, he still took her breath away. She quickly steadied her thoughts. Rita had quietly asked her to at least hear him out. And she would. For Rita’s sake.

“Have your seat,” Ivie said, gesturing toward one of the wooden-carved chairs opposite her desk.

“Thank you,” he replied, stepping cautiously into the room.

Osaze took in the office, his eyes sweeping over the subtle changes since he had last been there. The cream-colored walls now carried a calming presence, softened further by warm, floral accents that brightened the corners. A large cream sofa stood against the window, tastefully adorned with throw pillows in dusty rose and sage green. There was a soft jasmine scent in the air, probably from the reed diffuser beside the bookshelf. Her desk had a fresh bouquet, probably from the Welfare unit. Everything felt cozy and lived in, with little touches of Ivie’s warmth scattered everywhere. He settled onto the wooden chair she had offered and silently muttered a prayer under his breath.

She caught the tail end of it and a small smile tugged at her lips. Osaze had always had a way with words, but this, this quiet prayer, felt different. Sincere. Almost broken. Ivie sat opposite him, her hands folded over her belly, her eyes waiting, watching, for what he would say.

Osaze cleared his throat and met her gaze. “I want my wife back.” The words hit her like a sudden gust of wind. A jolt rippled through her abdomen. A kick. Then another. Maybe more. She wasn’t even sure anymore. Her breath caught in her throat.

He had noticed that she had spaced out, he didn't know what to say, he felt defeated but the wince from her had sprung him up,  “What's wrong Ivie,”

She remembered what the doctor had said, these last few weeks were critical. She was 37 weeks along. With triplets. She had to avoid stress, keep her feet elevated, stay hydrated, and most of all, stay calm. But how could she? His words felt like someone had just pushed her off a cliff. She wasn’t sure if what she felt was anger or relief, or both. For so long, she had wanted him to fight for them. And now he was here. Asking. Pleading. Looking like a man who had walked through fire.

She had gone back to church. With Rita’s support, she’d completed the full indoctrination program and joined the Welfare Department. The community had embraced her, bump and all.  She was also added to the Marriage WhatsApp Group even when she had hesitantly told the Minister-in-charge that she and her husband were separated, he had only smiled and patted her shoulder. That small, understanding gesture had carried the weight of a thousand unsaid things. And she had held on to it.

Now, Osaze sat across from her with sadness in his eyes she had never seen before. Was this really happening? Wasn’t this what she had wanted all along? She groaned and almost fell to the ground, he was by her side helping her up, “call Rita,” she said through pain. Then it came again, harder this time. A sharp contraction gripped her belly, like a band tightening and twisting deep inside. Her back arched slightly as a wave of pain crested, and she winced, pressing one hand to her lower belly.

Osaze’s eyes widened. “What’s wrong, Ivie?”

Another contraction hit. This time, she groaned and reached for the edge of her desk, her breath ragged. The pain radiated from her back to the front of her abdomen, and she felt a dampness, her water had broken.

She gasped. “Call Rita,” she said through clenched teeth, her voice strained, almost breathless.

Panic surged through him. He scrambled to get up, but her scream, raw and piercing, pulled him right back. More alarmed than ever, he tried to race out, but was brought in by more screams of pain, sheer pain, he screamed out for Rita Adedeji and held onto Ivie as she made concentrated breathing exercises. He was disoriented, he had come to ask for forgiveness, not witness what he couldn't explain, 

“Ivie!”

He reached out and caught her just as she slumped toward the floor. Her breathing had become rhythmic, deep, and fast, panting in short intervals, just like she had practiced in antenatal classes. She was in early labor, no, active labor, from the intensity of the contractions. He held her hand, offering it as support, but she gripped it with a strength that shocked him. He could feel her squeezing through the pain, through the fear.

Rita burst into the room, instantly taking in the situation with a composed smile. “Call the hospital,” she said quickly.

“I—I don’t have their number,” Osaze stammered, clearly disoriented.

“On her desk,” Rita pointed, already by Ivie’s side. “SeaGate Hospital. Check her contact list. We’ll meet you there. Your triplets are on their way.” His hands trembled as he grabbed the phone from her desk and dialed. Triplets?

ππππππ

“These false contractions are the easiest way to remind you to pack your bags and head out soon. So I will be given you two days from now, watch and note down how far apart the contractions are before then okay? And once again, your babies are doing fine, they are just as excited, as we are, to come into this world,” Dr. Bridget said warmly, adjusting the ultrasound wand on Ivie’s taut belly, she took one last scan to reassure the mother, her friend and who she assumed was the disoriented husband from the look on his face.

She flashed a reassuring smile, her deep brown eyes crinkling behind her glasses. Her white coat hung slightly loose over her floral blouse, a pen tucked behind her ear like she had no time to find a proper place for it. The screen beside her showed the rhythmic movements of three tiny beings, their heartbeats syncing in a pattern that made the small room hum with life. “Thank you so much, Doctor Bridget,” Ivie and Rita chorused.

Ivie let out a small, exhausted sigh of relief. Her hospital gown was pulled slightly to the side for the scan, and Osaze couldn’t help but notice how tired she looked, dark circles beneath her eyes, her lips dry, the weight of the babies stretching her belly like a balloon just before it bursts. Osaze had been quiet all through the drive to the hospital, he hadn't known he was expecting triplets. He stood by the door, awkward and silent, unsure of where to place his hands, or his emotions.

He had no words, he just wanted to make sure Ivie Thomas was fine. Hearing that he would be a father soon blanked him out, Fatherhood. Three times over, what did he know about fatherhood?

How was he to love those children if he himself didn't know how to love himself. What did he know about being a father? How could he give what he didn’t have? Love, protection, assurance, things he himself was still trying to figure out. And now, life had dropped three fragile miracles into his arms without warning.

“Help her up,” Rita said softly, breaking into his spiraling thoughts. Her hand nudged his elbow gently. He knew more than ever that he needed help.

Rita's quiet nudging brought him back to the room, He blinked, as if waking up, and quickly moved to Ivie’s side. She extended her arm without protest. He helped her off the bed with care, holding her steady as her feet touched the ground. He had insisted to drive her home even though she had protested and said Rita would.

Rita offered a light-hearted excuse about an “impromptu meeting” that needed her attention. Osaze raised an eyebrow but said nothing. He didn’t believe her for a second. But he was grateful. She had created the space he needed, space with Ivie.

Outside the maternity suite, the hospital corridor buzzed with quiet urgency, nurses pushing carts, hushed voices at the reception, the beeping of monitors in distant rooms. SeaGate had a calming atmosphere, cool blue walls, low-hung paintings of mothers and children, and indoor plants at every corner that seemed to breathe tranquility into the place. The drive back was silent at first. The late afternoon sun poured in through the windows of the car, making the air thick and golden. Ivie leaned back in her seat, one hand on her belly, the other occasionally brushing her curls away from her damp forehead. She didn’t speak, and neither did he.

Osaze needed answers. Answers only Ivie could give him.