Morning sunlight streams into the nursery like it's trying to comfort me. It warms the tips of my fingers where they rest on the notebook, and I breathe in the soft scent of baby powder that seems to linger from the unopened gift baskets I haven't had the heart to send back.
I'm still on the floor, blanket around my shoulders, head leaning against the wall. I must've fallen asleep writing.
It's peaceful.
For once, that word doesn't feel like a lie.
The phone buzzes beside me. Not a call. A notification.
I reach for it half-drowsy, expecting news or some meaningless update from the world outside.
But it's from a contact saved under a name I forgot was still in my phone.
Mariam-Lawyer.
I open the message.
> "He's trying to claim marital assets. A petition just arrived. Want to talk?"
I stare at the screen.
Of course he is. Despite claiming to love me.
Of course Kolade is going to try and squeeze out whatever he can, even after everything.
But something's different now.
I don't panic.
I don't pace or scream or cry.
I sit up slowly, stretching my legs, hand instinctively resting on my belly.
He's trying to come for what I built. But the woman who built it is back.
I text Mariam.
> "Meet me this afternoon. Let's go over everything. I want to fight smart."
+++
The meeting with Mariam takes place in her modest office, filled with case files and a stubborn air conditioner that hums louder than it cools. She's sharp, quiet, precise the kind of lawyer who doesn't raise her voice because her words alone slice through noise.
She lays out the facts. The marriage, though rushed and private, is still legal on paper. There's no prenuptial agreement. And he's claiming shared interest in my company's intellectual property.
"He's delusional," I say.
"He's strategic," Mariam replies. "But we have something stronger intention. Fraud. Deceit. You didn't just marry a man under false pretenses. You married a man hiding a criminal identity, part of a larger, provable scheme."
She pushes a folder toward me.
"Here's everything I need to fight this."
I open the folder. My name stares back at me from so many places. Contracts. Emails. Security logs. It's like looking at a record of a life I no longer recognize.
But I sign where she points. I trust her.
This time, I'm not navigating alone.
+++
By the time I get home, the sun has dipped low behind the clouds. Gloria is waiting at the door, arms crossed, lips twitching into a smirk.
"You look… dangerous."
"I feel it," I say, stepping inside. "Like myself."
She follows me to the kitchen. We sit at the island and sip chilled zobo like we're unwinding after battle.
"He's trying to claim your business?" she asks.
"Mm-hmm."
"That man has the guts of a goat."
We laugh really laugh, full-bodied and free and I realize how long it's been since I let that kind of sound come out of me.
Maybe too long.
Gloria's smile fades into something gentler. "You're going to be okay, Rita. I see it."
I nod.
Because I'm starting to see it too.
+++
That night, I lie in bed, hands cradling the swell of my stomach. A quiet little pulse beats there now, slow and rhythmic, like a whisper from the life growing inside me.
I speak softly, just in case the baby can already hear me.
"I don't know what kind of mother I'll be. But I promise you one thing… You'll never wonder if you were wanted. You'll always know you were the beginning of everything true."
The tears come not from pain this time, but from something warm and steady.
Something like love.
Real love.
The kind that doesn't lie.