Heart Fire.

Chapter Twenty Two: “Not your wife yet. If ever.”

SOLAPE’S P.O.V:

PK didn’t look at Sis Ifeoma again. He didn’t look at the crowd that had formed either. He just turned and started walking toward his office, and somehow that was worse— because it meant the correction wasn’t for public consumption.

It was for her.

Miriam leaned in. “Babe, calm.”

NJ’s voice was low and practical. “Don’t speak first.”

Solape hissed. “I won’t speak first. I’ll speak second.”

They followed PK through the hallway. The church suddenly felt smaller than it really was. Like walls had ears. Like every step was being recorded.

At his office door, PK opened it and stepped aside. “Come in.”

Solape entered first.

NJ and Miriam entered with her.

PK stepped in last and shut the door gently.

Gently.

Like the room wasn’t already tense enough to snap.

Solape didn’t sit. She stood near the edge of the desk, arms folded, breathing like she’d just finished running.

Miriam and NJ stood behind her like witnesses.

PK’s eyes moved between all three of them.

A pause.

Then, polite and calm, he said, “Miriam. NJ. Please excuse us.”

Miriam blinked. “Excuse—?”

NJ’s brows rose. “Pastor, I think—”

PK’s voice stayed soft, but there was steel in it. “Please.”

Solape turned slightly. “No, let them stay.”

PK didn’t argue with her directly. He just looked at Miriam and NJ again, and something in his gaze said: I’m not negotiating this.

Miriam crossed her arms. “We’re not here to fight you. We’re here because she’s upset.”

NJ nodded once. “And because we want to ensure you get all the details.”

PK inhaled slowly, like he was choosing his next words with care.

Then he said it.

“I love her.”

Silence.

Even Solape’s chest stuttered a bit. She hadn’t expected him to say it like that. Not as romance, but as a fact.

He continued, still calm. “She is safe with me. I will not harm her. I will not shout at her. I will not disrespect her.”

Miriam’s face softened a fraction.

NJ didn’t move, but her eyes shifted— evaluating.

PK held their gaze. “But this conversation is for the two of us.”

Miriam opened her mouth again, then closed it.

NJ nodded slowly, once. “Okay.”

Miriam sighed dramatically. “If you stress her, we will haunt you spiritually.”

PK’s mouth twitched. “Noted.”

Solape didn’t laugh.

Miriam touched Solape’s shoulder. “Babe. We’re outside.”

NJ leaned in, quick whisper. “And don’t get overtly emotional. Keep it to the real issue.”

Solape swallowed hard. “Okay.”

They left.

The door shut again.

And just like that, Solape felt the full weight of being alone with PK.

No buffers.

No witnesses.

No jokes.

PK didn’t sit immediately. He remained standing behind the desk, hands resting lightly on the edge— posture controlled.

Solape stared at him, waiting for the scolding. Waiting for the sermon. Waiting for the “as your pastor…”

Instead, he said quietly, “Tell me what happened.”

Solape blinked. “You saw it.”

“I saw the end,” he replied. “I want to hear the beginning from you.”

She took a breath and recounted it— how Sis Ifeoma called her, how she accused her of ignoring greetings, how Solape apologized, how she was turning to leave— and then the line.

Solape’s voice changed when she repeated it.

“All these girls that come because of fine pastor. At least we know why her ideas are always taken.”

PK’s jaw tightened once. It was small, but she saw it. She watched his face carefully, waiting for outrage on her behalf.

PK exhaled slowly.

“And you…” he said, voice low, “why didn’t you walk away?”

Solape stared. “I did walk away.”

“No,” he said, more firmly. “After the apology, you were leaving. That was good. That was wisdom. But when she said that last thing, Solape, why didn’t you walk away?”

Solape’s throat tightened. “Because she insulted me.”

“I know,” PK said.

“And?” Solape shot back. “You think I should just let her say it?”

PK’s eyes held hers. “I think you should have told me.”

Solape’s laugh was sharp. “Told you what? That she was insulting me? You were not there.”

He didn’t flinch. “You should have come to me.”

“And say what?” Solape demanded. “Pastor, please, somebody is gossiping about me? So you can do ‘timing’ and ‘strategy’ again?”

PK’s nostrils flared slightly. He controlled it quickly.

“Solape.”

“That’s the truth,” she pressed. “You’re always managing.”

PK’s voice stayed calm, but it dropped…dangerously quiet.

“My wife cannot be seen fighting with members.”

The sentence landed like a slap.

Solape froze.

Then her eyes narrowed. “Your wife?”

PK didn’t correct himself. Didn’t retract.

He meant it.

Solape swallowed, anger and hurt twisting together.

“I am not your wife yet,” she said slowly. “If ever.”

The room went still.

PK’s face changed, not dramatic, but something dimmed behind his eyes. Like she had pulled a chair from under his chest.

He nodded once, almost to himself. “Okay.”

Solape’s heart thudded. She hadn’t meant it like a breakup line. She meant it like a warning: Don’t start claiming me when you won’t defend me.

But it came out sharper than she intended.

PK kept his gaze steady. “Solape, this is not about controlling you or silencing you.”

“Then what is it about?” she snapped. “Because it sounds like I’m the one you’re correcting again. Not her.”

PK’s jaw tightened. “I’m correcting you because you are mine to correct.”

Solape’s mouth opened, furious. “So she is not yours to correct too?”

PK stared at her for a beat, then said quietly, “If you think I won’t speak to Sis Ifeoma about this, then you don’t know me.”

Solape’s laugh was bitter. “From precedence, PK… it’s okay for people to insult me and you don’t speak up.”

PK’s eyes flashed.

“Solamipe,” he said… full name, warning.

Solape’s chest rose. “Yes, call my full name. What next?”

His phone beeped on the desk.

PK’s eyes flicked down.

Solape saw the screen light up.

PBA.

His mentor.

The timing was wicked.

PK stared at the phone for half a second too long.

Solape’s anger sharpened again. “Ah. Now you have a meeting.”

PK didn’t deny it. “I have a meeting.”

Solape stepped closer. “We are not done.”

PK picked up the phone. His voice was controlled, but his eyes were tight. “This meeting is important.”

Solape scoffed. “Everything is important except me.”

“That’s not true,” he said quickly.

“Then stay,” she demanded. “Finish this.”

PK hesitated.

For one second, she thought he would choose her.

Then his face hardened into responsibility.

“I have to go now.”

Solape stared at him. “So you’re walking out.”

PK’s voice stayed calm. “Solape…”

“No,” she cut in, jaw trembling with anger she refused to turn into tears. “Go. Since you’re so careful.”

He looked at her for a moment like he wanted to say something else— something softer, something human.

But he didn’t.

He turned, opened the door, and walked out.

No touch.

No apology.

No “I’ll call you.”

Just the sound of the door closing behind him like a final decision.

Solape stood there, breathing hard, staring at nothing.

And for the first time since this whole thing began— blogs, whispers, “meekness” and “submission” conversations— she felt it in her bones:

This wasn’t just a misunderstanding.

This was a fault line.

And PK was about to walk into a meeting with his mentor with that fault line still fresh. Which meant whatever happened next… would not be small.

PK’S P.O.V:

He didn’t slam the door. That was the maddest part. He walked out of the office like a man who had not just left the woman he loved standing in a room full of heat and unfinished sentences.

Like a man whose hands weren’t shaking.

Like a man who didn’t want to turn back.

He mumbled a greeting to NJ and Miriam and just kept walking.

But by the time he got to his car, his chest was tight in a way he could not explain. He sat behind the wheel for a second, not starting the engine.

He could still see her face. Not the angry one from outside. Not the “fire girl” who spoke like thunder.

The other one. The one that flashed when she said: “I am not your wife yet. If ever.”

That line had entered him like a pin. Not because it was cruel. But because it was… true enough to sting.

He had said “my wife” instinctively, the way men slip into possession when they’re trying to impose order.

And she had reminded him— sharp, clean, humiliating— that she was not yet his to impose anything on.

He started the car.

His phone buzzed.

He didn’t check.

Another buzz. He ignored.

He could already guess what it was: One of the guys from the conference, another ministry colleague, somebody with “How far man of God?” energy.

Not today.

Not now.

He pulled out of the compound and drove like a man heading to a verdict. The road felt longer than it was. And the conversation kept replaying in his mind, not as a memory but as an argument that refused to end.

“My wife cannot be seen fighting with members.” He heard himself say it and hated how it sounded now.

It wasn’t even the principle he hated. It was the timing.

The fact that he said it when he was correcting her. He had just said it because in his mind, he wanted her to end up there. And even if he had been having issues with her responses to situations in recent times, his subconscious still wanted forever with her.

But now, because of a fight, she had shut him up with.... It hurt and it was embarrassing. He knew she was angry, but it still hurt that she felt the need to respond like that.

If ever.

That part hurt the most. All because he was talking to her about having a fight in church.

The fight was not even fully her fault. She had apologized. She had actually apologized.

But the words that came out of Sis Ifeoma’s mouth— fine pastor… that’s why her ideas are taken— they were poison. They were the kind of poison that wasn’t just gossip; it was character assassination.

And Solape… Solape heard it and reacted like a woman who had spent her whole life being accused of being “too much” and decided she would rather burn than shrink.

He understood that.

So why did he feel like she had made it worse?

His jaw tightened.

Because she had.

That was the uncomfortable truth.

Yes, Sis Ifeoma was wrong.

But Solape going ballistic… loud enough for half the courtyard to pause…gave the wrong person the right kind of evidence.

Now Sis Ifeoma would not be “the jealous leader.” She would be “the woman who was attacked.” And Solape would be “the new girl with a mouth.”

And he…PK…would be the pastor who couldn’t keep his own house in order.

He breathed out slowly.

“So what are you protecting, Korede? Her? Or your name?”

The question came sharp.

He hated that he didn’t have a clean answer. He turned into the road leading to the venue where the quorum meeting was happening.

His phone buzzed again. He glanced this time.

PBA.

The name sat on his screen like authority.

He didn’t pick. Not yet. He couldn’t speak to his mentor with Solape’s words still lodged in his throat.

If ever.

He let it ring out.

Then he swallowed and called back, because postponing PBA was not wisdom; it was suicide.

“Sir,” he said when PBA picked. “Good afternoon.”

“Pst Korede,” PBA replied, warm, but warm with weight. “Where are you?”

“On my way, sir.”

“Good,” PBA said. “We’ll be waiting.”

The call ended.

PK’s hands tightened around the steering wheel.

We’ll be waiting.

Not I’ll see you. But, We’ll be waiting.

He knew what that meant.

It meant a whole meeting.

It meant senior men with soft voices and hard conclusions.

It meant concern dressed as counsel.

And he was walking into it with a relationship already bleeding.

His mind did what it always did when pressure came: it started building worst-case scenarios like a habit.

They will say she’s loud.
They will say she’s not meek.
They will say she doesn’t know honour.
They will say she will embarrass you.
They will say you’re too young to see it.
They will say pick wisely.

And the most dangerous thing?

Their advice would not sound evil. It would sound… reasonable. It would sound like Scripture. It would sound like wisdom.

And because he was already upset with Solape, a part of him— tiny but real— would want to agree.

That part disgusted him.

He blinked hard and forced himself to breathe.

Then another thought came, quieter: But what if they’re right?

He hated that thought even more. Because if they were right, then what?

He would have to choose between love and ease. Between the woman who made him feel alive and the life that would feel less complicated. Between fire and peace.

And he had always believed he needed peace. Yet somehow, God had given him Solape.

Or had he?

His phone buzzed again. This time it was Tega. He didn’t pick. Not because he didn’t need him. But because if he heard Tega’s voice now, he might say something he wasn’t ready to confess.

Like: I’m not sure anymore.

He swallowed the thought and turned the next corner.

The building came into view.

Cars parked. Men in suits. A few familiar faces.

He slowed down.

Parked.

And sat there for one extra second, hands still on the wheel.

He remembered Solape standing in his office, chin raised, eyes bright with fury and hurt, saying:

“From precedence, it’s okay for people to insult me and you don’t speak up.”

That accusation cut deeper than the “if ever.”

Because it had evidence. And PK didn’t know which was worse: That she said it. Or that he couldn’t deny it cleanly.

His throat tightened.

“Lord… help me.”

A pause.

Then, because he was honest enough to admit it, he added:

“I’m angry. And I don’t want to carry anger into that room and call it discernment.”

His chest rose and fell once.

“Help me not to punish her for embarrassing me… and help me not to abandon her because elders are watching.”

Another pause.

Then the hardest part:

“And if I’m wrong about her… correct me. But if they’re wrong… make me brave.”

He exhaled.

Opened the door.

Stepped out.

And as he walked toward the entrance, he felt it, the subtle shift in his own posture.

Pastor posture.

Composed face.

Respectful greeting-ready.

But inside him, the man was still raw.

And raw men, he knew, were vulnerable to voices that offered them an easier life.

He reached the door.

A deacon greeted him.

“Good afternoon, Pastor.”

PK nodded, polite.

“Good afternoon.”

Then he entered the room where they were waiting. And he didn’t yet know if he was walking in to be strengthened…or steered.

*********

PK had expected a simple check-in. That was how these things usually began—warm greeting, small counsel, prayer.

But the moment he stepped into the side office behind the main hall, he knew this wasn’t a check-in.

It was a meeting. A quorum. Three men were already seated.

Not strangers. Elders. Senior pastors. Men whose names carried weight— men who had buried people, built churches, survived scandals, and learned to fear certain headlines more than they feared hunger.

PBA stood near the window, hands behind his back. Calm face. Serious eyes.

“Pst Korede,” he said warmly, “sit.”

PK sat slowly, polite smile on his face, but his spirit already alert.

The oldest elder spoke first. His voice was gentle, almost fatherly.

“Bless you, son.”

“Amen sir,” PK replied.

The man nodded like he was granting grace.

“We won’t waste time,” he continued. “We’ve been watching.”

PK’s stomach tightened.

Not “we’ve heard.” Not “we’re concerned.” Watching.

Another pastor— mid-fifties, clean-shaven, voice like velvet— leaned forward.

“Pst Korede,” he said softly, “You’re carrying weight now. Do you know?”

PK nodded. “Yes sir.”

“You are not a small pastor again,” the man continued. “Your work is growing. Your name is spreading. People are looking to you for clarity.”

PK kept his face composed. “Yes sir.”

A third man— quiet, sharp-eyed— added calmly, “When oil increases, temptation increases. Not only sexual temptation. Reputation temptation. Distraction temptation.”

PK nodded again. Everything they were saying was true. That was the trap. He kept listening, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

The older elder sighed and clasped his hands.

“We’ve seen what’s trending,” he said. “We’ve seen the pictures.”

PK nodded. “Yes sir.”

“We’ve also heard what happened with Mummy,” the quiet one added, eyes steady.

PK’s chest tightened.

He knew exactly which “Mummy” they meant.

Velvet-voice pastor gave a sympathetic smile, the kind that sounded like love before it sounded like correction.

“My son,” he said, “We are not here to shame you. We are here to protect you.”

PBA sat down now, not at the head like a king. More like a referee. Quiet. Watchful.

The elder continued, “Pst Korede, do you know what our mothers used to say? ‘A man is not only married to his wife— he’s married to her mouth.’”

One of them chuckled lightly.

PK didn’t.

Because his spirit already knew where this was going.

The quiet pastor spoke next.

“We heard what she said to Mummy,” he said. “Not the greeting. Not the honour. The response.”

PK’s jaw tightened.

“She was provoked,” PK said carefully. “And she didn’t insult her.”

Velvet-voice pastor lifted a hand gently, like he was calming a child.

“Yes. We understand,” he said. “We are not saying she cursed. But Pst Korede… she corrected.”

PK inhaled. “Sir, what she said was true and Mummy was wrong.”

The elder nodded slowly.

“Truth,” he agreed, “is not the only measure of wisdom. And being that it was Mummy, she can be right and still be wrong. Very wrong. Look at David and Saul… David could have killed Saul, but he respected his position and left the judgement to God.”

PK went quiet.

The elder continued, “The Bible says the tongue is a fire.”

PK’s eyes flicked.

The elder quoted softly, like counsel:

“James 3:6. ‘And the tongue is a fire… it defileth the whole body.’”

He leaned forward slightly.

“My son, if a woman cannot bridle her tongue, how will she bridle her emotions? And if she cannot bridle her emotions, how will she honour you? How will she honour authority? How will she honour the home?”

The words were calm.

But they landed heavy.

PK tried to respond. “Sir—”

The quiet pastor cut in gently, not rude, just firm.

“‘He that hath no rule over his own spirit is like a city broken down without walls,’” he said, quoting Proverbs 25:28.

Then he added softly, “We are not trying to condemn her. We are trying to show you a pattern.”

PK felt his chest tighten.

They weren’t shouting. They didn’t need to. Age was doing the shouting for them.

Velvet-voice pastor leaned in.

“Pst Korede,” he said, “you know ministry culture. Pastors’ wives don’t only represent themselves. They represent the house.”

PK nodded slowly.

“And if she cannot defer,” the man continued, “how will she fit in with the other pastors’ wives? How will there be unity? How will there be honour?”

The elder added, “It starts with small things. A response. A tone. A refusal to yield.”

PK’s jaw clenched. “She is not rude. She is not stubborn.”

The elder’s face softened slightly.

“My son,” he said gently, “Some of the most dangerous women are not rude. They are simply… ungoverned.”

PK swallowed.

The quiet pastor’s voice was low, careful.

“And you,” he said, “are a shepherd. You will lead. Will she follow?”

The word follow sat there like a stone.

Then velvet-voice pastor asked the question, that one question:

“How will she submit to you?”

PK went still. His first instinct was to react.

Solape wasn’t even trying to be a wife yet. They weren’t even married. Submission was not something to mention at this stage.

But this was an elders’ room.

He could not talk anyhow.

PBA remained silent, watching PK, letting him feel the pressure as it was.

The elder leaned back and sighed.

“My son, marriage is not only love. Marriage is order. If she is loud outside now… what happens inside later?”

PK tried again. “Sir, she has sense. She honours. She is teachable.”

Velvet-voice pastor nodded slowly, like he was conceding something small.

“We believe she has sense,” he said. “We even believe she is sincere. But sincerity is not maturity.”

Then he said gently, “Pst Korede, you are not marrying a babe. You are marrying a wife. A wife must be meek.”

PK inhaled. He was beginning to hate the word meek. Solape was not a sheep.

The elder added, “The Bible says, ‘Whose adorning… let it be the hidden man of the heart… even the ornament of a meek and quiet spirit.’”

PK recognized it immediately—1 Peter 3.

His stomach tightened.

He wanted to say: Meekness is strength under control, not silence. Quiet doesn’t mean voiceless. And your wives are not all quiet either.

But he didn’t.

Because “Bible” had now been brought into it. Scripture used like a soft hammer.

Then the quiet pastor added, “And if we talk submission— Ephesians 5 is clear.”

PK’s jaw tightened again.

He wanted to ask: Is your own submission mutual? Is your own love sacrificial? Or do you only quote submission when it benefits men?

But he couldn’t.

Not here.

Not like this.

So he stayed controlled.

PBA finally spoke then, calm.

“Korede,” he said, “you’ve heard them.”

PK looked at his mentor instinctively— like a son looking for rescue.

PBA didn’t rescue him.

He only moderated.

Not fully agreeing, but not shutting it down.

Which, in that room, felt like agreement.

The elder continued, softer now, as if he was offering mercy.

“We are not matchmakers,” he said quickly, lying politely. “But we will be irresponsible if we do not mention options.”

PK’s stomach turned.

“Remember Fumilola?” Velvet-voice pastor added casually. “She’s returning from the U.S. You two used to be close.”

PK’s eyes flicked up, guarded.

“She is gentle,” the man continued. “Seasoned. She understands ministry. She won’t trend. She won’t argue with elders.”

The elder nodded. “Wisdom often looks boring, my son. But it keeps a man safe.”

PK’s chest tightened.

The quiet pastor concluded softly, “Korede, we are advising you— strongly to choose a more suitable woman.”

The word advising sounded soft.

But the room felt like pressure.

PK exhaled slowly.

He tried one final defence— careful, respectful.

“Sirs,” he said, “I hear your concern. But Solape is growing. She is teachable. And… I don’t believe we should judge a person’s entire future by one moment. And with all due respect to everyone, Funmilola had other priorities asides my ministry. Solape honors my call and honors me. And most importantly, I love her.”

The elder smiled gently. Like a man humouring a younger man.

Then he said, softly, with Scripture again:

“Proverbs 21:9.”

PK froze.

The elder quoted it slowly, like counsel:

“‘It is better to dwell in the corner of the housetop, than with a brawling woman in a wide house.’”

He didn’t say Solape was brawling.

But the implication sat in the air.

Then velvet-voice pastor added another “kind” blow:

“Proverbs 21:19 too.”

PK’s mouth tightened.

They didn’t even need to finish the verse.

He knew it.

It was the kind of Scripture people used to scare men into choosing “soft” women.

Now he was angry.

“Solape is not contentious. She is not angry. She does not nag. This has been a series of unfortunate events and it is unfair to blame Solape alone for all this. I know she needs guidance, but that will be my job as her husband, to wash her with the water of the word. Isn’t that Paul’s command to the men after he tells the women to submit?”

The elder’s tone softened again.

“Korede,” he said, “what is the mission of your life?”

PK answered automatically. “To serve Christ. To disciple men. To raise a people.”

“Good,” the man said. “Now hear me— anything that complicates that mission, even if it’s not sinful, must be handled with extreme wisdom. It is commendable the way you defend her. It is clear that your feelings for her are strong. But Pst Korede, you have a responsibility beyond your emotions,” he said. “Your ministry is not yours alone. People’s faith is tied to your example.”

That line hit. He remembered Sis Ifeoma. And how Solape reacted.

The oldest among them spoke again, “Remember, it was Rachel Jacob loved, but it was Leah who gave birth to the messiah. Think about that.”

PBA stood, signalling the end.

“We have spoken,” he said calmly.

The elders rose too, satisfied, like they had done their duty. One of them patted PK’s shoulder once.

“Pray, son,” he said. “Fast. Don’t let love become a trap.”

PK nodded.

“Yes sir.”

He greeted them respectfully as they stepped out of the room.

PBA shut the door behind them and turned to him.

“Pst Korede, first I want to apologise on my wife’s behalf. I also want to thank you for speaking to me before telling her what you think.”

PK nodded. He could not speak. The weight of the advice he just heard was still too real.

“While I don’t agree with everything that was said this afternoon, I do think you need to prayerfully consider your choice.”

PBA paused to go to his seat. He sat, then he continued, “I have not met your Solape. I trust you enough to know she will be a good person. But the fact that she is a good person, does not mean she is good for you.”

“Sir,” PK started, “I prayed before we started. I got a go ahead from God.”

“Hmmmm. I won’t ask if you are sure. But in light of recent events, I think both of you need to pray. There is no relationship without its storms. Just as there is no marriage without its storms. But when the issues are issues that bring the world into your home, then you need to reevaluate, especially a man of your position.”

PK nodded.

“From what I gather, a woman like her would already have fought with someone in your congregation. If every time she is provoked, she goes on a tirade, people will be like our Pastor’s wife is uncouth. You need to deal with it or it will deal with you later on.”

“Sir, it really has not been that bad.” PK said.

“Korede, don’t be defensive.”

PK stilled. PBA only used his first name when he was getting impatient.

“Do what I have asked you to do.” PBA continued, “Both of you take time out and pray. I want the best for you, and I don’t even think it’s Funmilayo, even though she is my daughter… But if you believe it is this Solape, then do what I have asked. 1 week. After that, bring her to me, I would love to meet her.”

PK looked calm on the outside. But inside him, something had shifted. A seed had been planted. Not hatred for Solape. Not doubt about her love for God or for him or his love for her.

It was fear.

And PK, for the first time in a long time, felt the temptation to do something he rarely did: To manage a situation by force.

But he stood up, thanked PBA and found his way out of his office.

***********

His mind was in turmoil.

Outwardly, he had been calm. Respectful. “Yes sir,” “I understand sir,” “Thank you sir.” He had even smiled in the right places, like a son being corrected by fathers who meant well.

Inside, he felt like someone had taken his relationship and laid it on a table under fluorescent light.

They didn’t call it an ambush. They didn’t need to.

It had been wrapped in prayer, draped in concern, seasoned with Scripture— meekness, submission, bridling the tongue, honour, “a pastor’s home must not be in disorder.”

Everything they said sounded right.

That was the problem..

He sat in his car for a full minute after leaving the building, hands on the steering wheel, staring ahead like the road would tell him what to do.

A notification popped on his phone.

Tega: Call me when you can.

He didn’t call.

Not yet.

If he called Tega now, it would become a debrief.

If he debriefed, he might start believing the elders more than his own heart.

And his heart— stubborn thing— still wanted Solape. Even after what happened at church. Even after that office scene. Even after “if ever.”

That sentence came back again like a mosquito that refused to die.

If ever.

He didn’t even know why it had hurt him so much. He had heard worse things from strangers. He had been dragged by bloggers and laughed at by people who didn’t know him.

But “if ever” came from her mouth.

From the woman he had already started thinking of as home.

It wasn’t just that it hurt.

Oh yes it hurt. It stung.

Ok true. It hurt. But beyond that, It was what it revealed. That in the middle of a conversation where he was trying to understand her side, something in her had reached for a threat.

Not even intentionally. But it came out too fast. And he knew what that meant. It meant when she felt cornered, she reached for control. And he… he reached for strategy.

So they were stuck in a loop.

He exhaled slowly and then he started the car.

And before his brain could present him with ten reasonable arguments, his body did the more emotional thing: It headed toward her.

Not for romance. For clarity.

Maybe because if he went home, he would sit with those voices in his head until they started sounding like God.

Maybe because the only way to remember what was real was to look at the woman who was real.

If he went home without seeing her after the day they both had, he would start turning caution into prophecy and fear into discernment.

He drove through Lagos with the city doing what it always did— traffic, horns, vendors, noise— while his mind did what it always did when it felt responsible:

It began rewriting the future.

If you marry her, there will be rooms like today.
There will be women like Sis Ifeoma.
There will be older mothers who expect soft answers.
There will be expectations.
There will be pressure.

And then the thought that he didn’t want to admit: Will she bend at all?

He hated that thought, because he didn’t even want a bent Solape. He wanted her full. But there was a difference between being full and being uncompromising. Between confidence and combat. Between fire and wildfire.

His phone buzzed again.

A ministry colleague.

He declined.

Another call came in immediately— different name.

He declined too.

He didn’t have the capacity for conversation right now. Not when he had barely survived being a man in a room full of “wise counsel.”

At a red light, he finally prayed— short, raw.

“Lord… help me not to punish her because I feel pressured.”

Then, because he was honest, he added:

“Help me not to run from her because she’s difficult.”

A beat.

“And help me not to call fear ‘wisdom.’”

The light changed.

He drove.

And somewhere between “I love her” and “can she do this?,” he chose his plan: He was going to talk to her. Although he needed to choose his words carefully.

Because if he went to her house to “resolve,” they would fight.

Solape didn’t do “pause.” She did “finish it now.”

But he wasn’t going for a resolution. Not fully. Not tonight. He was going to say something he knew would offend her spirit: I want us to take a break.

---

Author’s Note: Our Faves are going through a lot. Chaiii. 🤣

Can you people forgive PK now, you can see that he is going through a lot too o. 😏

Break keh? ahhhhh. lol.

To Catch up: Read Chapter one here, Chapter two here, Chapter three here, Chapter Four here, and Chapter Five here, Chapter Six here, Chapter Seven here, Chapter Eight here, Chapter Nine here, Chapter Ten here, Chapter Eleven here, Chapter Twelve here, Chapter Thirteen here, Chapter Fourteen here, Chapter Fifteen here, Chapter Sixteen here, Chapter Seventeen here, Chapter Eighteen here, Chapter Nineteen here, Chapter Twenty here, and Chapter Twenty One here.

See you Next week.❤️