WHEN THE RAIN STOPS FALLING.

EPISODE 12: FINDING ME AGAIN

I retreated—not out of animosity, but out of need. I requested space from Emeka in the days that followed that heartbreaking talk. He didn't resist. He made no pushes or pleas. With that silent comprehension in his eyes, he merely nodded and added, "I'll give it to you if that's what you need." After that, his absence was both a relief and a pain.

I was able to sit quietly, take a deep breath, and start the process of rediscovering who I was before the boundaries of my identity were distorted by love and loss. I gave my company idea my all, honing every last aspect as if it were a precious object. As usual, I got up early before Oyinye woke up, sat by the window with my journal and tea, and let my thoughts flow freely onto the paper.

When Oyinye turned to wave, I smiled more sincere, held her hand a little longer at drop-off, and drove her to school personally. I found a side of myself that I had almost forgotten in those silent moments of parenting. powerful. Able. Whole, even without a companion by my side.

I got back in touch with women I had met when I first started working at the center—people who had overcome betrayals, destroyed homes, and the crippling burden of being a single mother—and who had started businesses from nothing. I realised that I wasn't alone during lengthy, humorous chats and shared meals. Not only did they persevere, but they also rose from it all with dignity and purpose.

Nevertheless, I kept thinking about Emeka, sometimes as a consolation, and other times as a question mark. I questioned whether he missed us. If he remembered how Oyinye would laugh when he read to her. If he played back our late-night conversations and the effortless way I leaned into him.

However, I refrained from letting the wondering get to me. Because I was the focus of this period in my life, not Emeka. About truly embracing the woman I was still developing into. I saw my reflection in the glass of a nearby café one day while I was going over a grant application. My eyes were brighter and my shoulders straighter. Before, my expression lacked the peaceful assurance that now pervaded it.

I grinned to myself. I was no longer the woman who waited for someone to fulfil me or who clung to what-ifs. I was Amaka—survivor, builder, and mother. A woman realising her own power, not in the eyes of others. And I knew that was a worthwhile love tale.