MONIFE

The knock I didn't expect

MONIFE

Chapter EIGHT

I had just finished feeding Ayomide when the knock came.

It was soft. Careful. Almost apologetic.

Grace was in the kitchen, humming and rinsing plates. The midday sun spilled gently into the living room, and the scent of baby lotion still clung to my blouse.

I wasn’t expecting anyone.

So I opened the door casually only to freeze the moment I saw him.

Dayo.

I didn’t say his name. I didn’t even blink.

But my grip on the doorknob tightened.

He stood there like someone who had practiced this moment a thousand times. In jeans and a plain shirt, with his hands tucked behind him like a guilty schoolboy. Same brown skin. Same nervous twitch in his left eyebrow when he was unsure.

I hadn’t seen him since that day.

That day that shattered me.

Now here he was… standing in front of my healing.

“Hi,” he said.

I stared at him.

He cleared his throat. “I…I heard you’re here. My mum told me. I wanted to… check on you. On the baby.”

I said nothing. The silence between us stretched like a taut thread.

He fidgeted. “Can I…can I see him?”

“No,” I said, my voice low.

He blinked. “Monife, please…”

“You don’t get to walk in here and act like a father,” I said, slowly, painfully. “You were quiet when your voice mattered the most.”

“I was scared.”

I almost laughed. “So was I. And I still showed up.”

* * * *

Grace appeared behind me, sensing the tension. She looked between us but said nothing just nodded slightly toward the baby in the cot, as if asking silently ‘Should I take him inside?’

I gave her a small nod. She gently lifted Ayomide and disappeared into the room.

Now it was just me and Dayo.

Two people standing in a doorway filled with everything unspoken.

“I’ve changed,” he said. “I know it means nothing now, but… I think about that day every time I close my eyes. I think about you. The pain I caused. The silence. I was wrong. So wrong.”

I folded my arms. “You think that’s what I want to hear? A half-apology from someone who vanished when I was bleeding into bedsheets and birthing a life neither of us planned for?”

He lowered his head.

“I just want to try,” he whispered. “Not to erase the past. But to ask if there’s any space for me in his future.”

Something stirred in me. Not forgiveness…not yet.

But a door cracked open.

Maybe it wasn’t for him.

Maybe it was for Ayomide.

Because no matter how much I hated what happened, I knew my son would one day ask questions. About his name. His nose. His blood. His father.

I didn’t owe Dayo anything.

But maybe Ayomide did.

“I don’t know,” I said finally. “I don’t have answers for you. Not now.”

He nodded slowly. “Can I come back?”

My voice was firmer this time. “Not until I say so.”

He accepted it. Stepped back. Looked at me with eyes full of regret.

And then he left.

I closed the door, heart pounding. Grace walked back into the living room with Ayomide in her arms. She didn’t ask what happened.

She just handed me my baby.

I held him close, kissed the top of his tiny head, and whispered, “No matter who knocks again… I’m your mother. And I’ve got you.”

To Be Continued…