SUNNY WEDNESDAYS: IVIE (X)

 

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The silence in the apartment was the kind that could break a wall, thick, weighty, and echoing with things unsaid. It hung in the air like incense after a long prayer, seeping into every corner of the room. Ivie sank into the plush brown sofa, exhaling as she adjusted herself for comfort, her swollen feet propped on the ottoman he’d pulled close.

The weight of the triplets pressed on her lower back and bladder, a constant reminder that rest was no longer just a want, it was a necessity. 

Ivie needed rest but she knew Osaze needed answers.

Osaze knew Ivie needed rest but he also didn't want to start a fight, he needed to be careful with how he said what he said. He moved around her kitchen with careful steps, like a man tracing familiar footprints in a new season. He opened the cabinets without asking, his hands finding what they needed almost instinctively. There was no pride in his movements, just a quiet determination to be useful. Present.

In a few minutes, he returned, balancing a ceramic mug filled to the brim. Sweetened yogurt, with blended dates and blueberries, her favorite evening treat when the babies kicked too hard and sleep stayed far away. She took it with a grateful sigh. “Thank you, Osa babe… sorry, Osaze.”

He paused mid-step, and though the news of fathering triplets still weighed heavily on him, a small, honest smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “I hated that nickname with passion while we were in Uni,” he said, his voice carrying a hint of warmth. Ivie chuckled softly, cradling the mug with both hands. “I know." And just like that, a sliver of tension lifted, like steam escaping from the mug between them.

Osaze sat, not beside her but close enough to reach her if she needed him. He took a deep breath, steadying himself, not for a fight, but for truth. For a beginning, if she would allow it. “I won’t pretend and ask why you didn’t tell me about the triplets,” he began, his tone low and sincere. “Because the truth is, I have no right to ask. I wasn’t there. I wasn’t the man you needed. I’ve been... lost. Still finding pieces of myself. I’m not fully renewed, Ivie, but I’m trying. I’m making an effort to be better—for me first. Because only in being better for me can I truly be better for you. For our babies.”

She didn’t speak, but her lips trembled slightly. She took another sip, trying to keep her composure. “I know it’s a lot to ask,” he continued, “but I want a family again. I want our family. Emmanuel’s been walking with me, and for the first time in a long while, I can see a version of life with you that’s fulfilling. Not perfect, not easy. But real. And I’d rather learn how to love and lead with you beside me than apart.”

Ivie knew she could taste tears and knew they belonged to her, she silently cried as she let the words he spoke sink into places she had sealed off, softened walls she didn’t realize she was still holding up.

“And this time,” he said, his voice thick with emotion, “I will do things right. Counseling, prayer, accountability, everything. I want to be a better man, for you, Ivie Thomas, and for the three lives we’re about to bring into this world. I am sorry. Deeply sorry. For the pain, the silence, the ache. Please forgive me.”

She closed her eyes and let the weight of his apology fall like rain. I’m sorry. Deeply sorry for causing you pain and ache. Please forgive me. And she wept, no longer restrained. She wept like a woman releasing years of disappointment and quiet strength. The sobs came from somewhere deep, a place only love and grief could reach.

Osaze moved closer, carefully, reverently. He knelt beside her, lifting her feet once again onto the pillow he had placed. He didn’t touch her hand, not yet. But he looked up at her face with eyes glassy and humbled.

The room was thick with something greater than them, something holy. A presence. A spiritual weight, like heaven had leaned in to bear witness.