Simi my love

Chapter 14: The Third Time

Baby Ire arrived on a Friday morning, five days past his due date, looking absolutely

unimpressed with the entire process of childbirth.

He was named Ire—meaning "wealth" in Yoruba—because Damilola insisted that three

children was the perfect amount. "We're wealthy in family," he'd said, which Simi had

found equal parts romantic and ridiculous.

Ire was different from his siblings. Where Ayaan had been angry at birth and Amara had

been screaming, Ire simply appeared and looked around like he was assessing the

situation before deciding how he felt about it.

"He's judgmental," Simi said to Damilola. "He already looks like he disapproves of

everything."

"He's been on Earth for thirty seconds. What could he possibly disapprove of?"

"My hair, probably. You saw how hard he judged me when I was feeding him."

But despite his apparent skepticism about his new surroundings, Ire was perfect. At 3.8

kg, he was the biggest of the three, with thick dark hair and a small birthmark on his left

cheekbone that looked almost deliberately placed.

Ayaan and Amara were introduced to their brother the following day, and for once, they

weren't excited. They were confused.

"Why is he so small?" Amara asked.

"Why does he look angry?" Ayaan added.

"Because all babies look angry when they're born," Simi explained. "It's how they

communicate."

"He's communicating that he wants to leave," Ayaan said with certainty.

Over the next few weeks, Simi's mother moved in again, and the compound became

organized chaos. Mama Kemi started a betting pool on Ire's future profession (she was

convinced he was going to be a lawyer based on his "serious expression"). Damilola's

father officially announced that three grandchildren was the perfect number and that any

further additions would be negotiated with the ancestors.

Chief Mrs. Adeyemi, undeterred, started planning Ire's engagement party.

By the time Ire was two months old, Simi had completed the outline for her third novel. By

the time he was four months old, she had finished the first draft. By the time he was six

months old, it was with her publisher.

She was becoming that writer—the one who balanced motherhood with a demanding

career, who wrote late at night after everyone was asleep, who somehow managed to be

present for her children while also being absent-minded about everything else.

"You walked into the kitchen looking for your phone that was in your hand," Damilola

reported one evening.

"That's what happens when you're writing about a love story with complications while your

youngest is teething," she replied.

"Fair point."

It was that evening that Damilola sat her down and asked her the question she'd been

waiting for.

"Marry me again," he said.

"I'm already married to you."

"I know. But I want to renew our vows. Now that we have three kids, now that you're a

published author, now that we've built this entire life together. I want to renew them in front

of everyone and remind myself why I gave up a five-year vow for you."

Simi's heart did something complicated.

"That's ridiculous," she said. "We got married two years ago."

"And I want to get married again. Every year, if you'll let me. Because every year, I fall

more in love with you."

She kissed him instead of answering, because words seemed inadequate for the way she

was feeling.

The vow renewal was scheduled for Damilola's birthday, six months away. It was

supposed to be simple—just a blessing at the compound, a gathering of family and close

friends, nothing elaborate.

Of course, Chief Mrs. Adeyemi had other ideas.

"A vow renewal should be bigger than the first wedding," she announced, as if she was

stating an obvious fact. "More flowers. More champagne. More people."

"Mama, Simi doesn't want a big ceremony," Damilola said, using the voice Simi had

learned meant he was preparing for a losing argument.

"What Simi wants is to celebrate her marriage. And what I want is to see my son publicly

declare his love again. We're having a big ceremony."

By the time the vow renewal rolled around, it was almost as elaborate as the original

wedding. There were flowers (orchids and roses, a compromise). There was champagne

(excellent champagne, at that). There were people—lots of them.

But the essential thing remained: it was about Damilola choosing Simi, again and again.

As they stood under the arch of flowers, with Ayaan as ring bearer (who insisted on

wearing sunglasses "like Daddy"), Amara as flower girl (who threw the flowers dramatically

instead of scattering them gently), and baby Ire in Simi's mother's arms, Simi felt like she

was living the best version of her life.

"Five years ago, I made a vow that I wouldn't love anyone until I found the one," Damilola

said, looking directly at her. "I spent those five years thinking I was waiting for someone

specific, someone perfect. But the real vow should have been that I would wait until I found

someone real. Someone who would challenge me and make me laugh and give me three

beautiful children and somehow find time to write bestselling novels."

The crowd laughed.

"Simi, you are everything I prayed for and nothing I expected. And I choose you again.

Every single day. I choose you."

Simi couldn't speak through her tears, so she kissed him instead. The crowd applauded.

Ayaan took off his sunglasses to look impressed. Amara threw more flowers, some at

Damilola, some at their mother, some at the ground.

And baby Ire, in his grandma's arms, opened his eyes and stared at both of them with

what Simi was pretty sure was judgment.

As they danced at the reception (Damilola dancing despite his protests, moving with the

same smooth precision that had first captured her heart), Simi whispered: "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For believing in the vow. For waiting. For choosing me."

"Always," he said. "I'll always choose you."

That night, after everyone had gone home and the children were asleep, Simi sat down to

work on her fourth novel. Not the contracted one—that was already finished and with the

publisher. This was just for her, just to see what would happen if she wrote about a man

and woman who loved each other so much they decided to renew their vows every year.

She got three chapters in before she realized: that wasn't fiction. That was her life.

That was the most beautiful part of being Simi—living in a story so good she could sell it to people , and having it be real at the same time .