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EPISODE THREE
Monday Morning
The sharp, savory scent of fried onions and scotch bonnet peppers drifts into the bedroom, waking Iremide before her alarm can even trigger. Her stomach lets out an immediate, loud rumble. She adjusts the hair bonnet slipping off her forehead.
She reaches for her phone.
5:16 AM.
She rolls her eyes, swinging her legs out from under the duvet. Why on earth does this man have a lifestyle of cooking at ungodly hours?
Iremide slides her feet into her fluffy lounge slippers, letting out a massive yawn. “Holy Spirit, good morning,” she murmurs, tapping her chest before shuffling into the bathroom.
She splashes cold water on her face, brushing her teeth with quick, aggressive strokes. She has a home-tutoring job by 8:00 AM, so time is already ticking. Back in the bedroom, she drops to her knees beside the half-packed travel box she hasn’t found the strength to fully unpack. After a chaotic scramble through the lace and satin, her fingers wrap around a simple white cotton t-shirt. She pulls it over her head, smoothing down the bold, customized lettering across the chest:
Prayerful. Petty. Pretty.
She grabs her daily devotional booklet, slips into a pair of comfortable shorts, and marches out into the open-plan living area.
“Baby, good morning.” Uchenna’s voice is low, gravelly with sleep, but his smile is blindingly bright. He is standing by the gas cooker, a wooden spatula in his hand, looking up as her slippers slap against the floor wood.
His eyes track the text on her shirt, a warm, amused crinkle forming at the corners of his eyelids. “You seem to have an endless supply of these customized tops with funny phrases.”
“Good morning, Heartbeat.” Iremide strolls over to the kitchen island, pulling the stool out. “If I like a phrase, I wear it. It’s called branding. But why are you the one cooking right nau? I am supposed to be making breakfast for us.”
Uchenna turns off the back burner, leaning his hip against the counter with a soft chuckle. “Mrs. Prayerful, Petty, and Pretty, please don’t stress your head. I woke up early today and thought it would be nice to surprise you with breakfast in bed. But look at you, already awake and active.”
Iremide smiles, the warmth of the gesture softening her defense just a bit. She climbs onto the barstool, dropping the devotional booklet onto the smooth surface of the kitchen island. “Since the food isn't ready, let’s do our morning devotions while we wait.”
Uchenna pauses, his eyebrows lifting above his dark frames. “We are studying a devotional booklet today?”
“Ehen, nau,” Iremide says, tapping the cover. “Yesterday was Sunday, so we did the standard bible study during Sunday school. But from Monday to Saturday in this house, we are studying devotionals.”
Uchenna nods slowly, his jaw shifting as he tries to suppress another smile. He knows her too well by now. Handing Iremide a devotional booklet at dawn is an open invitation for chaos, but looking at her determined face, he can’t bring himself to refuse. He crosses the kitchen, pulling out the stool directly opposite her.
Iremide adjusts her bonnet, flattening the pages of the booklet with the palm of her hand. “Today’s topic is Living a Spirit-Filled Life.” She shoots a pointed glance at her husband across the island.
She clears her throat, her voice ringing out loud and theatrical in the quiet morning kitchen.
“Many Christians desire a deeper relationship with God but often wonder what that looks like in everyday life. We may imagine a Spirit-filled life as dramatic encounters, powerful miracles, or extraordinary experiences. While God certainly works in miraculous ways, living a Spirit-filled life is often found in the ordinary moments of daily obedience.”
Uchenna nods along, he is barely looking at the book, his eyes locked on her face.
He leans his chin on his palm, a soft smile plays on his lips as he watch her hands wave about in wild, dramatic demonstration as she reads. The absolute affection in his gaze is heavy enough to fill the room.
“A Spirit-filled life is not about striving harder to be a better Christian,” Iremide continues, raising her pitch and tilting her head for maximum emphasis. “It is about surrendering ourselves to God and allowing the Holy Spirit to guide our thoughts, words, decisions, and actions.”
She slams her palm lightly onto the page. “Glory!”
Uchenna blinks, his shoulders jerking back slightly, startled by the sudden shout.
She looks up, her eyes narrowing playfully as she locks eyes with him. “What does this passage teach you, Uche?”
Uchenna clears his throat, instantly straightening his spine and slipping into his best, well-behaved Sunday-school student posture. “To allow the Holy Spirit to guide our thoughts, actions, and decisions?”
“Correct!” Iremide points a finger at him, her smile turning entirely mischievous. “So, all those naughty, unchristian phrases you have been throwing around this house since Saturday? Words like ‘I’ve been trying to behave myself’ or ‘I want to explore you’—are you Dora the Explorer? And what is ‘I want to make love’? Excuse me, please? You cannot make love, my brother. God is the only maker and creator of love, only Him understands the depth of love. Then yesterday you said, ‘I am losing my mind.’ Haba! You are a Bible-believing Christian brother, God forbid you lose your mind. Oh, and ‘You’re starving me’? God forbid you starve! Inside Christ Jesus, you are full and overflowing! Such words are not edifying to the spirit. Stop it!”
She drops the booklet onto the counter with a soft slap and reaches across, tapping the back of his hand lightly.
“Let the Holy Spirit guide every single word that comes out of your mouth, and every single action you direct toward your wife,” she raises her chin, her expression a perfect picture of righteous victory.
Uchenna stays completely still for a second, before a wicked smile slowly tugs at his lips. She is pure, unadulterated chaos in a hair bonnet.
“Baby,” Uchenna begins, his voice dropping into that smooth, low sound that usually strips away her defenses. A small, wicked smile tugs at his lips. “First of all, I am not your brother. I am your husband.”
Iremide’s finger-tapping stops instantly. Her hand freezes on the counter.
“And secondly, I was just sitting here on my own quietly and jejely o,” Uchenna adds.
He leans his upper body across the kitchen island, closing the distance until his face is inches from hers. The playful student vanishes; his eyes are suddenly dark, intense, and heavily focused. “You are the one who brought up the topic of intimacy yourself this morning. And who told you I have any plans of saying words that edify you behind closed doors?”
“Ahh.” The word catches in Iremide’s throat. Her breath hitches, her chest freezing mid-rise as she stares at him.
He leans in another agonizing inch, his warmth radiating against her skin. “Those phrases are nothing compared to the things I plan to be saying to you,” Uchenna whispers, his gaze dropping to her lips for a heavy, deliberate second before snapping back to her eyes. “And trust me, Iremide, they are not edifying at all.”
“Oya, it’s okay! It’s okay like that! He don do! Someone cannot play with you?” Iremide snaps the booklet shut halfway, her cheeks burning hot as she pushes herself back against the barstool. She deploys her loud energy like a shield, waving her hands frantically to scatter the thick heat in the air.
“It is that one that we will see you! So you are bad like this Uchenna? Oga o. Let us sha continue the reading.”
She re-opens the page, her eyes scanning the text rapidly to hide her racing pulse.
“The Holy Spirit is not merely a force or influence; He is God’s presence dwelling within every believer. He teaches, comforts, convicts, empowers, and transforms us into the likeness of Christ.”
She clears her throat loudly, deliberately slowing her pace as she hits the next line. “But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. Galatians chapter five, verse twenty-two to twenty-three.” She puts a massive, pointed emphasis on self-control and patience, glaring at him over the top of the booklet.
Uchenna lets out a long, slow exhale, a helpless smile breaking across his face. “Let me check on the food,” he says, standing up to escape the lecture.
Iremide watches him walk over to the cooker. He lifts the lid of the boiling yam, checks the center with a fork, and clicks off the gas under the rich, steaming fish sauce. The aromatic heat fills the kitchen island area, making her mouth water again.
Uchenna strolls back, sliding smoothly onto his stool.
“So, as I was saying—” Iremide starts, lifting her booklet.
“Baby, can we please just pray?” Uchenna cuts in, his hands spreading open on the counter, his eyes fixed on hers with a pleading but firm expression. “I completely understand the core message of the Bible study now. Trust me.”
Iremide glances at the remaining paragraphs, ready to argue, but the intense smell of the sauce sways her judgment. “Okay then. Let me lead the prayer.”
“Ah, no, no,” Uchenna says quickly, his hands moving to clasp hers across the island before she can close her eyes. His fingers wrap tightly around her knuckles, warm and solid. “Let me be the one to lead the morning prayer today. Please. Biko.”
Monday Afternoon
The wall clock in the living room reads exactly quarter past two.
Iremide drags her feet across the threshold, her shoulders aching under the weight of her materials. The heat from the Lagos afternoon sun is still baking her skin, making her white tee stick slightly to her back. She stops by the couch, unburdening herself by dropping her heavy tote bag onto the cushions with a weary sigh.
Uchenna is stretched out on the leather, his laptop resting on his thighs. The steady tapping of his fingers slows down, then stops completely.
“Heartbeat, good afternoon,” she says, her voice soft.
“Baby, welcome back.” Uchenna pushes the laptop away, setting it flat on the couch as he sits upright. His eyes follow her, tracking the tired line of her shoulders.
“You didn’t go into the office today?” Iremide walks past him, heading straight for the kitchen area. She opens the refrigerator, the sudden burst of cool air hitting her face like a relief. She grabs a cold plastic bottle of water and twists the cap open.
“No,” Uchenna says, his voice deep and even. He watches her over the kitchen counter. “I told you I will work from home for the rest of the week. All because of you.”
Iremide takes a long, slow gulp of the water, letting the coldness settle the flutter in her chest, before nodding.
“Thank you,” she says quietly, setting the bottle down on the counter. She clears her throat, “Shouldn’t we unpack those wedding gifts today?”
“Sure.” Uchenna stands up, stretching his long frame. “Let’s head over to the guest room and see what people gave us.”
He takes two slow strides toward the kitchen island, his hands sliding casually into his shorts pockets. “My family called on video right after you left for work. They asked me to call back so they could see your face.”
A genuine smile breaks through Iremide’s fatigue. “Oya, call them back now. Let me properly greet my sweet in-laws.”
Uchenna stops right in front of her, closing the distance. He doesn’t pull out his phone. Instead, he tilts his head slightly, pointing a finger to his right cheek.
“Greet me first, baby,” he murmurs, a small, teasing glint returning to his eyes. “Just a peck?”
Iremide lets out a soft laugh, she steps closer, the tips of her slippers rising off the floor as she tiptoes. She presses her lips against his cheek - brief, warm, and lingering just a second longer than a simple greeting.
Uchenna smiles, the tension in his jaw completely melting. He leans down, his forehead resting against hers for a brief breath before he presses a soft kiss right between her eyebrows. His large, warm hand slides down her arm, his fingers threading firmly through hers.
“Let’s go and tackle the gifts,” he says, pulling her gently toward the hallway.
Iremide follows him smiling, her thumb lightly rubbing the back of his hand, letting the quiet truce follow them into the guest room.
Iremide weaves through the small mountain of colorful gift boxes filling the guest room floor. She drops down onto the rug, folding her legs underneath her and resting her back against the wooden bed frame. Across from her, Uchenna claims the lone single-seater armchair, leaning back and tracking her movements.
“So,” Uchenna says, his voice soft as he watches her adjust her positioning. “How was work today?”
Iremide tucks her ankles closer, a proud spark instantly lighting up her eyes. “My kids are amazing, Uche. Most of them are neurodivergent, but honestly, that is exactly what makes them so incredibly brilliant.”
Uchenna rests his chin in his palm, his gaze completely melting at the sight of his wife.
“This week’s theme is God Made Me Special,” Iremide continues, her hands gesturing excitedly as she reaches for a medium-sized box wrapped in shiny silver paper. “I actually composed a short song for Sultan - he’s the little guy I homeschooled today. I was rushing through the verses and made a mistake, and guess what?”
Uchenna smiles, his fingers tapping a slow, lazy rhythm against his knee. “What, baby?”
“Sultan actually slowed down and read the words properly to correct me! A whole four-year-old shy baby.” Iremide beams, her chest rising as she points a thumb at herself, mimicking the boy’s soft voice and swaying her shoulders. “He looked up and said quietly, ‘I am special, yes it’s true. There is no one just like me. God made me so wonderfully. And I’m proud to just be me.’”
Uchenna lets out a quiet breath, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He looks at her as if he still can’t believe his luck. “I’m really proud of you, baby.”
Iremide’s cheeks warm up, a genuine smile breaking through. “I’m proud of them too. The first day I met Sultan, he wouldn’t even look at me. He just hid behind the curtains. But with a little help from the Holy Spirit, he finally opened up when we did a lesson on bravery.”
“I love you, baby,” Uchenna murmurs, his voice suddenly thick with emotion.
“I love you too, Heartbeat.” Iremide rips off the tape on the silver box, pulling out a sleek, modern blender. “Oh, look. This is actually very thoughtful.” She extends it across the space, and Uchenna reaches down to collect it, checking the brand. “I think that one is from Busayo.”
She reaches for a larger, square box, tearing away the yellow wrapping paper. “How was your own work today, Uche?”
“Not nearly as fun as yours,” Uchenna says, setting the blender on the floor beside his chair. “I spent the whole day battling the backend code. Too many API requests are hitting the server at the same time, which is slowing down the app. I’m still trying to untangle the mess.”
Iremide nods sympathetically. The technical terms fly straight over her head, but she knows her husband. Uchenna is a man who will stare at a glowing monitor for three days straight without blinking until every single bug submits to his will.
She pulls the lid off the yellow box and freezes.
Inside sits a thick hardcover book titled How to Raise Godly Children, nestled neatly beside a pair of tiny knitted baby shoes, miniature white onesies, and two plastic feeding bottles.
Iremide bursts into a loud, frantic laugh, lifting the tiny shoes by their strings. “Is this a threat? These people need to calm down, please! We just got married seventy-two hours ago. No babies for now, right?”
Uchenna nods instantly, his hands coming up in mock defense. “No babies at all. You are my only baby for now, under further notice. At least until after our first anniversary.”
“Perfect agreement,” Iremide says, laughing as she passes the baby box over to him.
She dives back into the pile, selecting a long, flat parcel. She tears it open to reveal two sets of matching satin pajamas. Across the back of the shirts, the words Boo Boo and Boo Boo Bear are printed in giant, glittering silver letters.
Iremide stretches the fabric wide, holding it up to her chest so Uchenna can see.
Uchenna bites his inner cheek, his shoulders shaking as he tries to suppress a laugh.
“We are donating this immediately,” Iremide states solemnly, already folding the glittery fabric back into the box.
“Definitely,” Uchenna agrees, his voice cracking with amusement.
Next, Iremide pulls out a heavy glass jar with a cork lid, stuffed to the brim with colorful, folded slips of paper. A wooden label tied around the neck reads: The Marriage Advice Jar.
She lifts it up, her brow furrowing as she glances at her husband. “Heartbeat, our friends are getting way too creative with these gifts. I was honestly expecting things we actually need, like a microwave, washing machines, or at least a bank cheque.”
“It’s the current Nigerian economy, baby,” Uchenna points out, chuckling. “Besides, we already bought all those appliances for the house, so it’s fine.”
Iremide shifts her weight, uncorking the jar. She dips two fingers inside and pulls out a bright pink slip of paper. She unfolds it, her eyes widening as she reads the handwriting aloud.
“‘If Iremide says ‘I am not angry’, brother Uchenna please start a three-day fasting and prayer immediately.’”
Iremide throws her head back, her loud laugh echoing against the guest room walls.
Uchenna chuckles, leaning forward in his chair. “Who wrote that one?”
“I don’t even know o. There’s no name. It’s an anonymous delivery.” Iremide giggles, her fingers diving back into the jar to fish out a blue slip. “Listen to this one: ‘If brother Uchenna says he is not hungry, Iremide should ignore him and buy the food anyway.’”
Uchenna slowly raises one eyebrow, a knowing smile spreading across his face. “Okay, this particular person knows my life history.”
Iremide wipes a tear of laughter from her eye, quickly unfolding a third green slip. She gasps, pointing a finger directly at the paper as she reads it with dramatic flair. “‘For urgent marital peace, brother Uchenna must keep one emergency shawarma in the freezer at all times for Iremide.’”
She drops the note, looking up at her husband with wide, serious eyes. “Uche, find this person right now. I want to initiate a lifelong friendship.”
Uchenna lets out a loud, booming laugh that fills the quiet space between them. For the next thirty minutes, the guest room is filled with the crinkle of paper and the sweet, easy sound of their shared laughter.
Just a surprise bonus thank-you chapter featuring Iremide doing what she knows how to do best 😂
I'm thinking of posting once a week, every Sunday evening. That should give me enough time to deliver quality episodes consistently. How does that sound to everyone?
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How long does iremide think she can put off consummating her marriage for?😂😂 she’s so funny
Darling author please two times a week 😭😭😭I’m hooked on this story abegeth theee
Iremide said "you cannot make love, my brother. God is the only maker and creator of love."
Somebody should please pour water on me before I faint any further 😂😂😂
This is way too creative.
Not me thinking from the past episodes that she's one shy girl 😂😂 I was deceived.