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EPISODE TWO
A dull throbbing beats against the back of Iremide’s skull before she even opens her eyes. She groans, shifting her weight, but a sharp ache in her lower back makes her freeze. Every muscle remembers the hours of dancing in heels, the endless greeting, the bending for family blessings.
Her hand sweeps across the nightstand, blind and searching, until her fingers hit the cold metal of her phone. She blinks against the sudden glare of the screen.
4:59 AM.
Iremide sits up, her brain fogged and heavy. She swings her legs off the mattress, her feet searching for the rubber slippers, but her toes hit bare, unfamiliar wood. She freezes, looking around the room. The white curtains, the massive wardrobe, the smell of fresh paint - the realization hits her like a splash of cold water.
This isn’t her room in her mother’s house. This is her matrimonial bedroom.
She raises her left hand. The big diamond ring catches the weak, gray dawn filtering through the window, throwing tiny shards of light across her knuckles. She is married to Uchenna Okoye.
She glances at the empty, smooth expanse of the mattress beside her. Where is he?
A sudden memory from last night flashes through her mind: Uche's hand at her zipper, his voice low and careful as he spoke about becoming husband and wife.
Iremide’s breath hitches. She instantly drops her gaze to her chest, her fingers flying down to check her satin top and shorts. The drawstring of her shorts is still exactly how she left it - double-knotted, tight, and untouched.
She exhales, a soft puff of air leaving her lips. She smiles to herself, her shoulders dropping. Of course. Uche wouldn’t force a thing. He is strict with rules, even his own desires. She trusts him with her life.
She steps into the hallway, heading toward the living area to look for him.
A sharp, acrid scent hits her nostrils halfway down the corridor. It isn’t vanilla oil anymore. It’s thick, heavy, and unmistakably charred. Smoke drifts in thin gray ribbons near the ceiling.
Panic snaps her awake. Iremide bolts down the hall, bursting into the kitchen. A pot sits over a bright blue gas flame, hissing violently. She lunges forward and twists the knob, cutting the fire. Without thinking, she grabs the metal lid.
“Ouch!”
She drops it instantly, the hot aluminum scorching her thumb. Sucking on her injured skin, she grabs a dry napkin from the counter, wraps it around the handle, and yanks the lid off.
A cloud of white steam hits her face, carrying the bitter smell of ruined food. Inside is a mound of half-cooked, completely blackened rice, stuck to the bottom of the pot like tar.
She stares at the mess, her jaw dropping. Who puts rice on the fire and walks away? Better yet, who attempts to cook a full meal at five o’clock on a Sunday morning before church?
Iremide storms back into the bedroom, her slippers slapping loudly against the floor wood. She grabs her phone, her thumb stabbing the screen as she dials the contact.
🌻 Uchenna
The line rings once. Twice. He picks up.
“Heartbeat, where are you?” Her voice is tighter than she means it to be, the frustration bubbling up.
This wasn’t the first morning she pictured. Where was the breakfast in bed? The warm arms wrapping around her waist to pull her back into the sheets? The lingering wakeup kiss after all his big talk last night?
“Baby, I’m in the room we converted into the home office,” Uchenna’s voice replies, completely calm, completely oblivious to the state of their kitchen.
Iremide doesn’t hang up. She drops the phone to her side, marches back down the hallway, and follows the sound of faint typing to the far end of the house. She stops at the final door on the right, takes a deep breath, and knocks twice before pushing it open.
Iremide stops in the doorway, her tongue drying up instantly.
Her husband sits at a sleek desk, bathed in the blue glow of a monitor and a laptop. This is entirely new. Because of their strict courtship rules, she has only ever seen Uchenna in stiff, well-ironed shirts or formal native wear for church and family introductions. Seeing him in casual clothes feels like looking at a stranger.
A very attractive stranger.
He wears a pair of black cotton shorts that contrast sharply with his dark skin, and a simple white t-shirt that seems to cling tightly to his broad shoulders. Thick black socks are stuffed into indoor lounge slippers.
His dark eyes lock onto hers. A slow, knowing smile spreads across his face.
“Missing me already?” He pushes his chair back and stands up.
Iremide instinctively takes half a step back, her heel hitting the door frame. Why is he looking at her like that? The intense, focused expression on his face makes her stomach do a nervous flip. For a wild second, she wonders if this whole marriage thing was a hasty mistake. He looks like a man who has finally reached the finish line after months of forcing himself to walk instead of run.
She clears her throat, coughing lightly to break the silence. “The rice you were boiling is burnt, Uche. It is now completely black. Why would you just leave it on the fire?”
Uchenna’s eyes widen, his hand flying to his forehead as if the memory just dropped back into his brain. “Oh, baby. The rice. I completely forgot. My team had a critical bug to fix before the morning deployment, and I had to push the code quickly.” He takes two long strides toward her.
Iremide’s back hits the door firmly this time. There is nowhere else to retreat.
“Code? On a Sunday morning before service?”
“Yes, baby.” He stops right in front of her, the clean scent of his soap mixing with the faint odor of smoke from the hallway. “I’m almost done here anyway.”
Iremide nods rapidly, her fingers twisting the edge of her satin top. “I switched off the gas. I’ll just go and boil another rice.”
“Don’t worry about cooking. We’ll just order some food on our way back from church.” His hands leave his sides, sliding smoothly around her waist. He smiles brightly, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Let’s pray, baby. Lead us in morning prayer.”
A bright, challenge-ready smile flashes across Iremide’s face, as if he just handed her a weapon she knows exactly how to wield. She reaches down, lifting his large hands off her waist as if handling contraband, and grips his fingers firmly. She locks her gaze onto his, her expression dropping into a stern, maternal warning.
“Respect the Holy Spirit, Uche.”
Uchenna merely nods, the mischievous tug at his lips staying firmly in place, his thumbs drawing lazy, deliberate circles over her knuckles.
Iremide squeezes his hands warningly, anchoring her feet to the tile floor, and shuts her eyes so tight her eyelashes quiver. “Father, good morning. Holy Spirit, good morning. Jesus, good morning.”
Uchenna cracks one eye open, staring down at the top of her head. Is this supposed to be a standard protocol for prayer? he wonders, his tech-brain instantly analyzing her lack of order.
“We lift ourselves to you, Lord,” Iremide continues, her voice rising in passion as she sways her head slightly. “Help us, Holy Spirit. Guide our marriage. Guide our hearts. Father, any spirit of naughty desires trying to rise up today, we bind it! We cast it out! Die by fire!”
Uchenna’s shoulders shake with a silent chuckle. He mouths a small, dry, “Amen.”
“Father, we know the spirit is willing…” Iremide’s grip suddenly turns into a vice grip, her voice dropping into a deep, desperate tone. “…but this marriage is already stretching the flesh to breaking point, Lord! So we need your emergency intervention!”
Uchenna’s smile widens. He mouths another reluctant, thoroughly amused, “Amen.”
“Abba, we thank you,” Iremide adds cheerfully, her voice switching back to normal.
Isn’t thanksgiving supposed to come at the very beginning? Uchenna thinks, his analytical mind tracking the chaotic theological sequence.
“Our loving Father, we ask for wisdom. Holy Spirit, teach us.”
“Amen,” Uchenna responds aloud this time, thinking they are finally approaching the finish line.
He is wrong.
Without a single breath of warning, Iremide accelerates. Her tongue moves into a rapid, supersonic stream of prayers. One minute passes. Two minutes. Five minutes.
The syllables fly out of her like a rapid-fire machine gun, bouncing off the walls of the small office. She isn’t just swaying anymore; she begins stamping her rubber slippers against the floor tiles, a sharp thwack-thwack-thwack that echoes through the room. She is fully lost in the spirit, her chin tilted toward the ceiling, pulling Uchenna’s hands up and down in sync with her intercession.
Ten minutes in, Uchenna opens both eyes completely. The office is getting warm, and the blue light from his coding monitors illuminates the fierce determination on his wife’s face. He clears his throat, his thumbs gently rubbing the back of her sweating palms, trying to anchor her back to the physical world.
“Baby?” he whispers.
Iremide cracks one eye half-open, glaring at him through her lashes without breaking her tempo.
“I think God already heard us,” Uchenna whispers, gently tugging his hands back. “The network to heaven is clear, let’s just go and prepare for church.”
Iremide snaps both eyes open, her hands dropping to her sides. “Ah-ah! I didn’t know you are the Secretary-General of heaven, Uche. Since when did you become the one to decide when God is satisfied?”
Uchenna nods slowly, his smile shifting from amused to something distinctly dangerous, something that makes her breath catch mid-sentence.
He knows exactly how to shut her pretty, dramatic mouth when she starts her rants.
He steps deep into her personal space. His head tilts, his gaze dropping instantly to hold onto her bottom lip.
Iremide’s breath catches sharply in her throat. Her ribs expand against his palms as his hands find her waist again.
The playful defense she just built up dissolves into thin air. What is happening? Where is the quiet, reserved man who used to check his watch and count down the minutes to her curfew on their dates?
“Uchenna? We just finish speaking to the Holy Spirit o” Her voice is suddenly small.
“Hmmm” His gaze stays fixed on her lips, his thumb tracing a slow, warm circle against her skin through the satin top.
Her heart hammers against her chest like a trapped bird. “I… Now that I think about it, God is definitely satisfied now. We should not be like the Pharisees, let me go and freshen up. Church is by eight, and I haven’t even bathed.”
Uchenna smiles mischievously. This always works.
The affection in his eyes is still there, but now it is joined by something warmer, something that makes her suddenly aware that they are no longer courting. They are husband and wife. He pulls her body against his, closing the final inch between them. Iremide’s chest collides with his solid frame, her breath leaving her in a small gasp.
She is in deep, deep trouble.
Her hands tremble as she places them flat against his chest, the heavy, even thumping of his heart vibrating right through her palms. “Uche, let’s…” Her voice drops to a breathless whisper. She isn't ready for this level of intensity yet. A tiny, fluttering panic mixes with the sudden heat pooling in her belly.
His expression softens at her tone. “I’ve been trying to behave myself for seven months, Iremi.” A quiet, rumbling laugh escapes his chest, his forehead resting against hers. “Do you have any idea how difficult it was dropping you off at your parent’s house after every single date?” His thumb gently presses into her waist, grounding her. “Now I wake up, and you’re actually here. In my house.”
He leans lower, his lips brushing the sensitive skin of her cheek as he whispers, “I want to make love to you, baby.”
The sheer intensity of his words sends a jolt through her spine. Iremide forces a loud, sudden laugh, deploying her ultimate defense mechanism to shatter the heavy tension before it consumes her.
“Heartbeat, look at you! What did I carry, what did you throw? Weren’t you working just now? You’re the one who always complains about how stressful debugging is. Go and finish your work so we don’t look like latecomers in church.” She uses the moment to slide out from his grip, twisting away from his hands.
Uchenna stands there, a slow, amused smile breaking across his lips as his hands drop. “Are you nervous, Mrs. Okoye?”
“Me? No! Not at all,” she says quickly, backing out into the hallway. “It’s just about the timing. You have code to push, and I need a shower.”
Uchenna nods, raising his hands in retreat. “Fine. Give me thirty minutes to wrap this up.”
Iremide doesn’t wait for him to change his mind. She turns and practically sprints down the corridor.
Once she crosses the threshold of the master bedroom, she leans against the wall, her chest heaving as a genuine shiver runs down her arms.
What was that? The sudden pull, the firmness of his grip - her heart feels like it is about to jump out of her mouth.
The man had spent seven months quoting scripture, checking curfew times, and dropping her off at her parents' gate like a saint. Now she was beginning to realize just how much self-control that had actually taken.
Smiling despite the frantic racing of her pulse, Iremide grabs her towel and rushes into the bathroom to prepare for service.
Sunday Afternoon
The heels of her shoes click sharply against the neat interlocking stones of the driveway. Uchenna catches the car door before it can swing back, his other hand balanced under a heavy stack of foil takeaway containers.
They are both still clad in their heavy church threads - her aso-oke headtie is starting to pinch the sides of her temples, and Uchenna’s matching lace rustles with every step he takes behind her.
Church was loud. A blur of clapping hands, and intense congratulations. But it was the aftermath in the parking lot that left Iremide’s neck feeling warm. The women from the Kingdom Wives circle had practically dragged her into their group, clapping her on the shoulder.
“Ah, Sister Ire, A.k.a Mrs. Okoye! See how you are glowing. Brother Uchenna is doing a great job already!”
Great job. At what exactly? They had only been in the same house for twenty-four hours.
Uchenna bumps the front door open with his hip, letting her pass.
“I am absolutely starving,” Iremide announces, immediately pulling the plastic bags from his grip. She kicks off her heels and heads straight for the minimalist kitchen.
“Me too. That thanksgiving segment took two hours,” Uchenna says, following her into the space.
She dishes the fried rice and roasted chicken onto two ceramic plates, setting them down on the polished surface of the kitchen island. Uchenna slides onto the barstool, his eyes tracking her movements. Once she sits beside him, they lock fingers for a swift, murmured grace, and the silence is replaced by the quiet scrape of spoons against ceramic.
Iremide swallows a piece of chicken, her eyes drifting around the clean space. “Heartbeat, where did you put the wedding gifts?”
“Moved them all into the guest room after you slept,” Uchenna replies between mouthfuls.
She nods, her gaze falling to her left hand. The big gold band sits snugly below her diamond. She looks at his hand - broad, dark, and holding a matching gold ring. The finality of it hits her in a soft, surprising wave.
“I guess we are actually married now,” she says softly. She leans over, letting her forehead rest against the stiff fabric of his shoulder. “I love you, Uchenna.”
Uchenna tilts his head, his cheek resting against the top of her hair. “I love you more, Iremi.”
“I hope we stay exactly like this,” she murmurs, her eyes fixing on her plate. A tiny knot of anxiety tightens in her throat. “I’ve heard so many horror stories about people changing after the wedding. Couples falling apart. I don’t want that for us, Uche.”
Uchenna stops chewing. He turns slightly, his hand coming up to cup her jaw, forcing her to look at him. His dark eyes are deadly serious, but a small, playful twitch sits at the corner of his mouth.
“Don’t worry your head, Mrs. Okoye. Ours is for life. For who shall separate me from the love of Iremide?” He drops his voice into a dramatic cadence. “Shall trouble or hardship or Lagos hustle? Shall inflation or family billing or danger? For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither tech bugs nor extended family, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate me from the love of Iremide.”
Iremide bursts into a genuine laugh, the knot in her chest loosening. She swats his chest. “O se, agba Bible study coordinator! Which one is ‘neither death’? The vow says death do us part o.”
“Mba nu,” Uchenna says, his eyes wrinkling as he smiles. “Let’s finish this food before it gets cold.”
Iremide’s smile lingers as she reaches for her spoon, but a loud, pulsating vibration rattles the smooth marble of the kitchen island. She glances down at the screen.
Mummy Calling...
Her smile widens instantly. She swipes the screen and glues the phone to her ear. “Mama e!” she greets, her voice bouncing off the kitchen tiles at double the normal volume.
Uchenna flinches beside her, his spoon pausing halfway to his mouth. He shifts slightly on his barstool, a small, amused twitch forming at the corner of his lips. When Iremide decides to be loud, she goes all out. There is no middle ground.
“Happy Sunday to you too, Ma!” Iremide continues, projecting her voice as if her mother were standing across a noisy Lagos market instead of holding a phone in a quiet house.
Mama Shade’s voice filters through the earpiece, loud and cracking with energy. “You people did thanksgiving at your church, abi?”
“Yes now! We just got back.”
“Good, good. So, when are you both traveling for your honeymoon? Tomorrow morning?” Her mother’s tone drops into a knowing, mischievous voice. “And I hope my son has not exhausted you too much? Tell him he should be careful with my baby o.”
A sudden, fierce heat rushes up Iremide’s neck, turning her ears hot. She glances sideways at Uchenna, her fingers tightening around her napkin. Why does every older woman in her circle seem completely obsessed with what goes on behind her bedroom door?
“We are traveling next month, ma,” Iremide says quickly, steering the conversation away from the trap. She clears her throat, shifting her weight on the stool. “We both have a few things to wrap up first.”
“Okay, okay. No problem,” Mama Shade says. “Listen, I will be sending Shade over tomorrow to bring you some things. Foodstuffs, the remaining wedding cake, the remaining meat and drinks, and some of your boxes left in your room here.”
Before Iremide can reply, Uchenna leans his broad shoulders into her space, his face close to the phone. “Good afternoon, ma,” he calls out, his deep voice smooth and respectful.
“Ah, oko mi!” Mama Shade’s voice erupts from the speaker, so vibrant that Uchenna pulls his head back slightly with a grin. “My fine and responsible bobo! A ku inawo ana o! Congratulations on the wedding!”
Uchenna instinctively bows his head, his shoulders dropping into a submissive posture even though his mother-in-law is miles away. “Thank you very much, ma. Yes, ma.”
“Take care of your wife o,” Mama Shade adds, her tone turning warm and fiercely maternal. “She is the apple of my eye. Eyin oju mi niyen o! Continue being the good man I know you to be. Oko mi, olowo ori mi, dakun oko mi!”
Uchenna nods, his smile breaking out full and bright as he catches Iremide’s eye. He gives her a playful nudge with his elbow. It is completely obvious where Iremide gets her dramatic, unfiltered energy from. They are cut from the exact same cloth.
“What of Baba Shade?” Iremide chimes in, trying to reclaim her phone.
“He is fine, he is fine. He is resting,” her mother replies quickly, already moving to the next agenda. “Oya, go and take care of your husband. Let me not disturb you two. And make sure to wear all those fine, short nightgowns I bought for you o! Let your husband look at you tonight and say, Omo tan!”
Before Iremide can even sputter out a protest, the line goes dead with a sharp beep.
Iremide drops the phone onto the counter, her cheeks burning a deep crimson as she stares at her rice. She lets out a helpless laugh, burying her face in her hands. Uchenna’s chest shakes with a silent, deep rumble of laughter beside her as he picks up his glass of water.
Sunday Evening
The bedroom is suffocatingly quiet.
Iremide sits at the vanity table, her fingers mechanically rubbing a cotton pad over her face. Her evening skincare routine ended ten minutes ago, but she is still staring at her reflection, gripping the edge of the wooden table.
Behind her, reflected in the mirror, Uchenna is already settled. He is propped up against the headboard, wearing a pair of long-sleeved pajamas. His reading glasses rest on the bridge of his nose as his fingers tap a rhythmic beat on his laptop keyboard.
Her stomach twists. Will it be painful?
During the frantic weeks of wedding planning, she had read every blog and marriage manual she could find online. But none of those neatly typed articles prepared her for the sheer physical reality of the situation.
She is twenty-six - an adult, a sensible woman - but looking at the sheer scale of her husband makes her mouth dry. She is five-foot-three, while Uchenna is a solid six-foot-three, broad-shouldered and heavy-set.
She closes her eyes, whispering a quick prayer under her breath, before realizing how ridiculous she is being. What is prayer going to do about intimacy?
“Baby.” Uchenna’s voice breaks the silence.
Iremide’s shoulders go rigid. “Yes?”
“Are you coming to bed anytime soon?” He doesn’t look up from the screen, his fingers still flying across the keys. “You have a home tutoring for eight tomorrow morning. You need sleep.”
Her heart does a violent, unstable tap-dance against her ribs. Why was he still typing like there wasn't an enormous elephant in the room?
“I’m coming,” she says, her voice a little higher than usual.
Uchenna finally pauses. “Do you always take this long with your face? I guess I’m learning new things about you tonight.”
“I’m almost done, jor.” She stands up, her mind spinning at high speed. There has to be a way to buy time. Just a few days to get used to sharing a room, a bed, a life.
My monthly cycle.
The thought drops into her head like a lifeline. Perfect. Plausible. Difficult to challenge.
A bright, slightly forced smile glues itself to her face as she crosses the room. She climbs onto her side of the mattress, instantly pulling the thick duvet up to her chin. She turns her back to him, curling into a tight ball. “Good night, Uche.”
The bed shifts behind her. The soft thud of his laptop closing echoes in the quiet room, followed by the click of his glasses hitting the nightstand. Then, a warm, heavy palm settles gently on her bare arm.
“Baby,” Uchenna’s voice is low, vibrating against the mattress. “Are you trying to starve me?”
Iremide swallows hard, her pulse pounding in her ears. She slowly rolls over to face him, keeping the duvet tucked tightly under her arms. “What do you mean starve you?”
Uchenna searches her face, his expression softening as he notices the slight tremor in her chin. He pulls her a fraction closer, his chest warm against her shoulder. “Are you scared? I told you last night, Iremi. I will be gentle. We go at your pace.”
“I… it’s not that,” she stammers, the lie rolling off her tongue before she can stop it. “I’m actually having my monthly cycle. It started this evening.”
Uchenna blinks. His hand freezes on her arm. His eyebrows knit together as his internal tech-brain instantly tries to run the data. “Your cycle? But three weeks ago when we went to choose the cake, you said—”
“It fast-tracked!” Iremide interrupts quickly, her eyes widening. “The wedding stress, Uche. It alters hormones. Ask any doctor.”
Uchenna’s eyes narrow briefly. “Really?”
“Yes now.”
“Hmm.” Uchenna stares at her for a long second, looking like a man who has just encountered a bug he doesn't know how to fix.
A small, defeated but relieved smile breaks across his face.
He slides his arm under her neck, pulling her completely into his chest. “Oh. Is that why you were hiding at the vanity for thirty minutes? Planning how to deliver the news?”
“Yes.” She exhales, letting her forehead rest against his collarbone, her fingers loosening their grip on the blanket. “Don’t worry. In the next four days, it will be over.”
“I was worried for a minute,” he murmurs into her hair. He leans down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss against her forehead, his grip tight and protective.
"You'll survive four days," she whispers, fighting back a guilty smile.
Uchenna’s arm tightens around her. “Four days then,” he murmurs.
“Four days,” she agrees.
Uchenna pulls the duvet over both of them, his steady, deep breathing slowly filling the space. Iremide closes her eyes, her heart finally slowing down as she lets the warmth of his arms carry her toward sleep.
Thank you to everyone that engage with my last post 🙏
What do we think about Iremide and Uchenna?
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Hanhan, Iremide , after all your prayer warrior you can still tell a lie😂
I get that she's shy or scared but omooo. Does this mean that she doesn't want the intimacy?
Yunno I have this question that I sometimes ask, is sex enjoyed by a woman? Why is it usually a man who looks forward to this thing and the woman is just cowering?
Is this something about our upbringing in Nigeria?