CHAPTER 10: WE CAN SEE HIM AGAIN
1072 Words
– WE CAN SEE HIM AGAIN~
A fragile, tentative warmth began to seep back into the walls of the Isa residence. It was not the roaring fire of before, but the gentle, persistent glow of embers coaxed back to life. With his parents in the house, a certain old-world decorum was restored, forcing a performance of normalcy that slowly began to feel less like acting.
Abdulsalam made a conscious effort. He came home for dinner every night, his phone left in his study on Bashir’s strict orders. He asked Aisha about her school projects, truly listening to her long, winding stories. He debated current affairs with his father, not as a politician, but as a son. And he looked at Mariam—really looked at her—across the table. He saw the tired lines around her eyes, but also the unwavering strength in her posture. The wall between them was still there, but he was no longer adding bricks to it; he was looking for a gate.
One evening, he found her alone in the kitchen, preparing tea for his parents.
“Mariam,”he began, his voice soft.
She stilled,but did not turn.
“I know you may never be able to forget my words,”he said. “But I want you to see me trying to be the man who would never say them again. Not for the cameras. Not for politics. For you. For us.”
He didn’t wait for a reply,simply taking the tray from her hands and carrying it into the living room himself. It was a small gesture, but it was real. For the first time in months, Mariam felt a flicker of something other than cold resolve or searing pain. It was the faint, fragile seed of hope.
Later, as they got ready for bed, Khalid stood in the doorway of their room. He looked at his father, then at his mother.
“We can see him again,”he said simply, before turning and walking away.
The statement was so profound it left them both breathless.Their son, their most unforgiving critic, had just declared that the father they had lost was finding his way back.
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In the bustling, liberating world of university, Fatimah was navigating a different kind of reality. The agreed-upon coffee with Tunde had stretched into several—quiet meetings at a cafe off-campus, long walks where they talked about everything except their fathers. She discovered a sharp, thoughtful mind behind his calm exterior. He wanted to study political science not for power, but to understand the systems that created men like their fathers.
During a walk along the lagoon, the city lights shimmering on the water, Tunde stopped and turned to her.
“I need to confess something,”he said, his usual composure replaced by a raw honesty. “That day in the library, defending you… it wasn’t just chivalry. I’ve noticed you for years, Fatimah. I just never had the courage, or the right, to say anything. My last name always stood in the way.”
He looked at her,his gaze open and vulnerable. “I’m telling you this so you know my interest isn’t a game. It’s real. And it’s terrifying, because I know what we’re up against.”
Fatimah’s heart hammered against her ribs. His confession was both everything she had hoped for and everything she feared. It was real. And that made it infinitely more complicated.
“I don’t know how to do this,Tunde,” she admitted, her voice barely a whisper. “How do I hold your hand while our fathers are trying to rip each other’s throats out?”
“I don’t know either,”he said. “But I know I don’t want to be on the other side of this war from you.”
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Just as the family dared to believe in their fragile peace, the political storm Binta had warned them about broke. A prominent newspaper ran a front-page exposé: “CAMPAIGN FUNDS SCANDAL: Questions Trail Millions in Barrister Isa’s Account.” Fabricated documents, sleek and convincing, were presented as evidence of high-level embezzlement.
The news hit the family breakfast table like a physical blow. Aisha looked confused, Hajia Isa gasped, and Alhaji Isa’s face darkened with anger. Mariam’s hands trembled slightly as she poured the tea. The old cracks in their foundation threatened to splinter wide open.
But the response was not what the plotters expected.
Instead of Abdulsalam scrambling to deny it,a statement came directly from the Presidential Villa. The President’s office, in an unprecedented move, held a press briefing. They did not just deny the allegations; they eviscerated them. They presented authentic financial records, audited and sealed, showing the campaign’s accounts were not only clean but meticulously managed. Furthermore, they showcased a portfolio of Abdulsalam’s successful, transparently funded projects, contrasting his public service with the “desperate, evidence-free character assassination” of his opponents.
The scandal didn’t just fizzle; it backfired spectacularly. The public saw a leader being protected by the highest office, his integrity affirmed. Abdulsalam’s popularity, instead of plummeting, soared.
That night, as the family watched the news, a stunned silence filled the room. Abdulsalam had not just survived; he had been vindicated by the President himself.
But later, in the solitude of their bedroom, Mariam looked at her husband, not with relief, but with a deep, unsettling doubt.
“How?”she asked, her voice flat. “How did the President have those exact documents ready so quickly? It’s as if he was waiting for this.”
Abdulsalam met her gaze,his own eyes shadowed. “Because I gave them to him, Mariam. In our meeting. I showed him the trap before it was sprung.”
The revelation should have comforted her.Instead, it chilled her. It meant her husband was now playing a game so deep, so calculated, that even a presidential defense was a pre-planned move. The man coming back to her was not the simple, principled man she had married. He was a strategist, a master of the very system that had almost broken them. She could see him again, yes, but the man she saw was more complex, more dangerous, and more powerful than ever before. The crack that had begun to patch in her heart now revealed a new, more complicated fissure beneath—the terrifying realization that salvation and manipulation were two sides of the same coin.
- Writer
