Chapter Two: The Woman on the Line
1560 Words
The phone rang twice, three times, and then—Click.
“Hello?” came a calm, feminine voice.
Andrew Yisa didn’t respond immediately.
He was used to commanding boardrooms, operating rooms, and investment meetings. But calling a woman — one he had never met — to ask if she would pretend to be his wife and the mother of his child?
It was absurd, and yet, absolutely necessary.
“Is this Samantha Gana?” he asked, clearing his throat.
“Yes. Who’s calling, please?”
“This is Dr. Andrew Yisa.”
A pause.
“Oh. The surgeon?”
He wasn’t surprised she recognized the name. In Abuja, his name echoed in hospital corridors, elite events, and even on gossip blogs. The billionaire doctor, the heart-saver, and the man whose personal life was a guarded mystery.
“Yes,” he replied.
Another pause, then a shift in tone: “Is this about the live-in wellness consultant position I saw posted?”
He exhaled. That was the soft name his assistant had used to mask the real job. “Not exactly. It’s more… personal. I came across your credentials. Your background in nutrition and child wellness stood out.”
“I’m listening,” she said cautiously.
Andrew turned to look outside his study window. Rain clouds gathered over the city skyline, the first hints of an evening storm approaching. Precious used to love jumping in puddles. She hadn’t asked to go outside in months.
“I need someone to play a role,” he said carefully.
“A role?” she repeated.
“Yes, for my daughter.”
The silence that followed was thick and heavy. Andrew imagined her narrowing her eyes, bracing for something either wildly unprofessional or downright crazy.
“I’m not asking for anything immoral,” he clarified quickly. “It’s a three-month contract. You’ll live in my home. Pretend to be my wife for school events and a few family appearances. My daughter… needs a mother figure, just temporarily.”
Still silence.
Then a small laugh, dry, short, and almost amused.
“Is this a prank, Doctor?”
“I’m serious.”
“You want me to pretend to be your wife?” she asked again, voice tinged with disbelief.
“Yes.”
“And your daughter’s mother?”
“Yes.”
“And you found me… from a nutritionist job board?”
“Yes.”
Another pause. “You must be really desperate.”
“I am,” Andrew admitted quietly. “But not for myself, but for my daughter.”
The silence this time lingered even longer. He wondered if she had quietly hung up.
But her voice returned, softer this time. “I don’t do pretend. I help people, with food, with care, and with honesty.”
“That’s exactly why I’m calling you.”
He could almost picture her — in a small apartment, perhaps seated cross-legged on a couch worn down by time, with papers and books around her. She didn’t sound like someone who was easily impressed, or swayed.
“And you think I can do this… convincingly?”
“I think you have a calming energy,” he said. “And my daughter needs that. Lately, she cries herself to sleep. Today at school, she drew a picture of a mother — and you look just like the woman in her painting.”
Another pause, but this time, it wasn’t from disbelief.
It was from something deeper.
“I’ll consider it,” she said at last.
Andrew raised his brows slightly. “Really?”
“I said consider, not accept. I’ll need to meet you, and the child. I’ll also set my own boundaries.”
“That’s fair.”
“And I’ll need a signed contract. I don’t step into people’s lives blindly, Doctor. This isn’t a Nollywood script.”
Andrew allowed himself a rare smile. “Agreed.”
“Text me your address,” she said. “I’ll come tomorrow afternoon.”
He exhaled, letting tension ease from his shoulders. “Thank you, Miss Gana.”
“One more thing,” she added.
“Yes?”
“If I get the sense that you’re using this to avoid being a real father… I’ll walk away, pretend wife or not.”
Before he could respond, she hung up.
The next afternoon…
The Yisa mansion loomed in quiet splendor, with manicured hedges, a smooth marble driveway, and a tranquil fountain that didn’t reflect the tension inside.
Samantha Gana stood in front of the heavy wooden doors in a simple blouse, dark jeans, and no makeup. Her brown skin glowed with natural grace. She held nothing but a modest handbag and a professional expression that barely masked her nerves.
The housekeeper, Martha, led her in, glancing at her curiously.
Inside, the mansion exhaled wealth — marble floors, tall glass panels, abstract paintings, and an untouched stillness. It was too clean, too perfect, and too lonely.
Samantha inhaled softly. The smell of orchids and polished wood filled her senses.
Then came the sound of light footsteps, a quick patter on the stairs.
“Daddy! I finished the new drawing!”
Precious stopped halfway down the staircase.
Her eyes met Samantha’s.
She blinked, and then blinked again.
Slowly, as if in a trance, she walked closer. She stared with wide, unsure eyes — studying the stranger as though she’d stepped out of a dream.
“You…”
Samantha knelt.
“Hi, sweetheart, you must be Precious.”
The little girl nodded silently.
“You look like my dream mommy,” she whispered.
Samantha’s throat tightened. She hadn’t expected that.
Andrew watched quietly from the hallway, arms crossed. He said nothing — just observed the moment like it was something sacred.
“I’m Samantha,” she said gently, offering her hand. “Your daddy asked me to visit because he thought you might need a little help.”
Precious didn’t take the hand.
She hugged her.
Arms small, but fierce, like someone who didn’t want to let go again.
Samantha froze.
Then slowly, almost cautiously, she wrapped her arms around the child. It felt so natural, so real.
Andrew cleared his throat.
“Let me show you to the sitting room.”
But Samantha didn’t move.
She looked down at the child in her arms and whispered, “I think I found my answer.”
Later, in the study…
Andrew poured a glass of chilled zobo into a crystal tumbler. Samantha opened a slim, weathered notebook and flipped to a fresh page.
“Let’s talk terms,” she said without preamble.
He smiled. She didn’t waste time.
“I’ll be here full-time,” she began. “I’ll act as your wife in public and for school activities. I’ll share meals, routines, and attend any events as needed.”
“But?”
“I won’t share your bedroom. I won’t engage in intimate displays unless we agree on when and where. I reserve the right to withdraw if this negatively impacts your child.”
Andrew nodded. “Understood.”
“And I’ll need payment, Five hundred thousand naira per month. Plus… nutrition outreach budget. I want to start something for underfed children.”
His brows lifted.
“You drive a hard bargain.”
“I’m not auditioning for a role, Doctor. I’m stepping into a broken space. I need to bring something real with me.
He respected her resolve. “Deal.”
“I’ll have my lawyer review the final draft,” she said.
“I’ll notify mine.”
They shook hands.
Her grip was warm, and assured.
Andrew felt something stir inside him, small, and dangerous.
Hope.
That night…
Precious wandered into Samantha’s room, cradling a book.
“Can you read this with me?”
Samantha looked surprised. “Where’s your dad?”
“He’s on the phone, Hospital stuff. He always talks long.”
Samantha nodded and patted the bed.
They read together by warm lamplight. Precious leaned into her shoulder as the story unfolded. Halfway through, Samantha noticed a page with a drawing — a mother, a father, and a child sitting beneath a tree.
“Do you think daddies can love two mommies?” Precious asked suddenly.
Samantha blinked. “What do you mean?”
“Like… my real mommy and my pretend mommy. Can he love both? Or does one have to leave?”
Samantha paused. Her heart cracked in places she thought had healed.
She closed the book slowly and whispered, “We’ll make sure no one leaves without saying goodbye.”
Precious yawned and curled beside her. “Good. I like you already.”
Later that night, as Samantha walked into the hallway to find her room, she paused.
Andrew stood just outside his study, phone in hand.
On the screen, mid-call, was a name that flashed like thunder in the dark:
Jessica Yisa.
His ex-wife.
He tapped the screen, ending the call quickly.
But not fast enough.
Samantha stared at him, her arms folding slowly.
“Your ex-wife just called.”
Andrew looked away. “It’s nothing.”
But his eyes betrayed him.
And deep down, Samantha knew...
Her new role had just become much more dangerous than she imagined.
To be continued...
Next: “Rules of Pretending” — Jessica makes her first move. Samantha draws a line. And Andrew starts feeling what he swore he wouldn’t.
- Writer
