WEEKLY CALLS
487 Words
CHAPTER 11
Every Sunday at 9:00 PM, my phone rings.
Unknown number.
Always him.
“Hello?”
“Assumpta.”
Just my name. Low. Tired.
Like he’d been holding it in all week.
“How is he?”
“He’s good,” I say. “Ate today. Nurse Eliza said he laughed at a cartoon.”
“Good.”
Silence.
Not the awkward kind. Just quiet.
The sound of Lagos and London breathing at the same time.
“You?” he asks.
“I’m fine.”
“Liar.”
I huff. “I am.”
“You sound tired.”
“I am tired.”
“Then rest.”
“Stephen—”
“Rest, Assumpta.”
Click.
It was like that for the first month. Short. Five minutes. No more.
But in week three, things changed.
I answered and heard another voice in the background. Female. Sharp.
“Stephen, the board meeting starts in ten—”
“Not now, Sandra.”
His assistant.
“Sorry,” I said quickly. “I can call back—”
“No,” he said, firm. “Sunday is our time.”
Our time.
He hung up before I could respond.
Week five, there was a kid’s voice before he picked up.
“Uncle Stephen! The driver said—”
A muffle, then: “Assumpta.”
“Was that—”
“My nephew. Tunde. He’s ten.”
“You have a nephew?”
“Don’t sound so surprised.”
“I didn’t know you had family.”
A long pause. “I don’t. Not really. Just him.”
Click.
Week six, he brought up someone new.
“Dr. Adebayo called me.”
My stomach dropped. “Who?”
“The oncologist. From Lagos. He consults at Royal London now.”
“Oh.”
“He said Chidi’s responding better than expected.”
I exhaled. “That’s good.”
“Good news, Assumpta.”
“Yeah.”
Click.
He never asked about Amanda.
I never offered.
But one night he said, “If she contacts you, tell me.”
“She won’t.”
“Good.”
By week eight the calls felt... normal.
Like something I waited for.
“2 months left on the contract,” he said one Sunday.
“I know.”
“Don’t forget.”
“I won’t.”
A pause.
“...do you want to?”
“Want to what?”
“Forget.”
I didn’t answer.
“Assumpta?”
“Hm?”
“Rest.”
Click.
Sandra emails me now sometimes. Hospital forms. Updates.
Tunde sent a voice note once by mistake. “Tell the sick boy I said hi.”
Dr. Adebayo checks Chidi’s files and copies Stephen on everything.
Five people.
Me. Chidi. Nurse Eliza.
And now Sandra, Tunde, and Dr. Adebayo orbiting around us.
Stephen never says much.
But every Sunday, 9 PM, the phone rings.
And every Sunday, I answer.
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