*Chapter 17: The Lullaby*
1237 Words
Night 3 in the penthouse felt longer than the other two combined.
Ada couldn’t sleep. Not because of the bed. It was the softest she’d ever felt. Not because of the silence. She’d begged for silence her whole life in noisy Surulere.
It was the loneliness. 40 floors up. No Amaka to whisper gossip. No David to send secret texts. Just 4 nurses who only spoke in vitals and vitals only.
Baby B’s monitor beeped slow. Beep……beep. Stress levels down since she “chose calm.” Daniel’s plan was working. And she hated that it was.
At 2:17am she gave up on sleep. Walked to the nursery. 2 cribs. White and gold. Daniel’s name engraved on tiny silver plates. Not hers.
She ran her finger over the engraving. `Okafor`.
Inside her, Baby A kicked like it was angry. Baby B fluttered like it was scared.
Ada sank to the floor between the cribs. Pressed her forehead to the cold wood. And without thinking, she started singing.
Soft. Broken. The only lullaby her own mother knew.
_“Sleep, my child, sleep, my love,
Stars are watching from above
Close your eyes, don’t you cry
Mummy’s here, no need to ask why…”_
Yoruba lullaby. Her mother sang it when there was no light, no food, just her voice in their one room.
Ada sang it for Baby A. Then Baby B. Then both. Voice shaking at first, then steadier. Tears fell but her voice didn’t break.
She didn’t know Daniel was watching.
*Floor 38 - Daniel’s Study*
Daniel didn’t sleep either. He never did when things were out of control. And Ada + twins + David = very out of control.
4 screens in front of him. Stocks. CCTV. Hospital vitals. Ada’s room.
He wasn’t supposed to watch her sleep. That was creepy. That was weak. Daniel Okafor didn’t do weak.
But he did anyway. Every night since she moved in.
Tonight, she wasn’t sleeping. She was in the nursery. On the floor. Singing.
The audio from the penthouse mic was soft. Distorted. But he heard every word.
_“Sleep, my child, sleep, my love…”_
Daniel froze. His pen stopped mid-signature on a $200M contract.
That song. Those exact words. Yoruba. Off-key at the high notes.
His mother sang that to him. 27 years ago. Before she died. Before his father sent him to boarding school in London at age 6 because “Okafor boys don’t cry.”
No one else knew that song. He’d never told anyone. Not David. Not his father. Not his ex-fiancée.
Yet Ada, this secretary from Surulere with no connection to his world, was singing it to his children.
His children. If they were his.
Daniel’s hand shook. He set the pen down before he ripped the contract.
On screen, Ada rocked slightly, hand on her stomach, singing the second verse. Voice breaking on `“Mummy’s here, no need to ask why”`.
Something cracked in Daniel’s chest. Not his heart. He didn’t have one of those anymore. Something harder. Older. A wall he built at age 6 when his mother’s coffin closed.
For 5 seconds, Daniel Okafor, billionaire CEO, didn’t breathe. Didn’t think. Didn’t plan.
He just listened. And felt.
*Penthouse - 2:30am*
Ada finished the song. Silence again. She wiped her tears with her sleeve. “Sorry, my loves,” she whispered to her stomach. “Mummy misses her own mummy too.”
She stood slowly, back aching from twins + floor. Turned to leave the nursery.
Daniel stood in the doorway.
Ada screamed. Short. Sharp. Hand flying to her chest. Baby B’s monitor spiked. Beepbeepbeepbeep.
“Don’t!” Daniel said immediately, hands raised like she had a gun. “No stress. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
He stepped back 3 steps. Gave her space. Something Daniel Okafor never did.
“You… you were listening?” Ada asked, voice still shaking. From fear. From being seen.
“Yes,” Daniel admitted. No lie. No control. Just yes. “The nursery mic. For Baby B’s safety. I heard you sing.”
Ada crossed her arms over her stomach. Protective. Exposed. “So? It’s just a lullaby. My mother taught me.”
“My mother taught me that same lullaby,” Daniel said quietly. Too quietly. “Word for word. She died when I was 6. I haven’t heard it since.”
Ada stared at him. The cold CEO. The man who moved her to a prison 40 floors up. Talking about his mother. With pain in his eyes. Real pain.
For 1 second she forgot he was her captor.
“How?” she whispered. “You’re… you’re Daniel Okafor. You grew up in Lekki mansions. My mother was a cleaner in Surulere.”
“My mother was a nurse,” Daniel said. “Before my father married her. Before she became Mrs. Okafor. She worked night shift at General Hospital, Surulere. To pay for my school fees before he noticed her.”
The world tilted for Ada. Surulere. General Hospital. Nurse. Same hospital her mother was at now.
“You’re saying…” Ada couldn’t finish.
“I’m saying my mother was from Surulere too,” Daniel finished. “Same streets. Same struggles. Same lullaby to keep me quiet when bills were due.”
Silence. Heavy. Not hostile. Just… heavy.
Baby B’s monitor slowed back down. Beep…beep. Like it was listening too.
Daniel took 1 step forward. Then stopped himself. “I’m sorry I scared you. I’m sorry I moved you here without asking. I’m sorry I… I don’t know how to do this gently, Ada. I only know how to own things. Protect things. Control things.”
Ada nodded slowly. “I know. That’s what scares me.”
Daniel looked at the cribs. Then at her stomach. Then at her eyes. “You singing that song… for 2 minutes I forgot you hate me. I forgot David might be the father. I forgot the lab and the 5M. I just heard my mother’s voice again. Through you.”
He turned to leave. Stopped at the door. Didn’t turn around.
“Sing it again tonight,” he said softly. “If you want. Baby B’s vitals were most stable when you sang. Doctor will say it’s coincidence. I say… sing anyway.”
Then he was gone. Door closed softly. No lock beep this time.
Ada stood in the nursery, stunned. The man who locked her up just asked her to sing. Not ordered. Asked.
Downstairs, Daniel went back to his study. Poured whiskey. Didn’t drink it.
He pulled out his phone. Old photo. Last photo of his mother. Young. Tired. Smiling in a Surulere nurse uniform.
He hadn’t looked at it in 20 years.
On the back, her handwriting: `For Daniel. Sing when you’re scared. Mummy loves you.`
Daniel touched the words with his thumb. Then locked the phone.
On CCTV, Ada was back on the floor between the cribs. Singing again. Softer this time.
_“Sleep, my child, sleep, my love…”_
Daniel closed his eyes and let himself listen. Just listen. No plans. No control. For 3 minutes and 12 seconds.
For the first time since age 6, Daniel Okafor wasn’t CEO. He was just a boy hearing his mother’s voice.
And upstairs, Ada had no idea she’d just cracked the one wall Daniel never let anyone touch.
- Writer
