HIS LAST SECRET

HIS LAST SECRET Chapter 11: The Soft Life

Chapter 11: The Soft Life

It’s been 2 years since Tarkwa Bay.

2 years since 2:47 AM.

2 years since I thought I was dying.

And I’m not.

I’m living.

The book, *The Truth and The Glow*, just hit its 5th reprint.

Lumina Press called last month.

"Jimmy, we’re going international. UK and US rights sold."

I cried on the call.

Not the broken kind of crying.

The "little girl me would be so proud" kind.

Stary Spa is no longer just a blog.

It’s a community.

200k readers.

A book club in 3 cities.

A podcast.

Girls DM me every day:

"Chapter 6 got me out."

"Chapter 10 made me forgive myself."

"Thank you for being honest."

I don’t reply to all of them.

I can’t.

But I read them.

Every single one.

And I save the ones that make my chest tight in a folder called "Why I Keep Writing."

Work is good.

Senior Writer turned Content Lead.

My boss still asks "What changed?" sometimes.

I still say "Growth."

But now I mean it.

And Tunde.

Tunde.

We’ve been dating for 14 months.

Not fast.

Not messy.

Just... soft.

The first time he came to my apartment he brought groceries.

Not flowers.

Groceries.

"Figured you were busy writing," he said.

He made jollof while I edited Chapter 3 of book 2.

We ate on the floor.

No TV.

Just talking.

That’s been us.

He doesn’t ask me to be small.

He doesn’t get jealous of the book.

He comes to events and sits in the back and claps the loudest.

He met my therapist once.

Not because he had to.

Because he wanted to understand me better.

"Jimmy," he told me 3 months ago,

"I’m not here to save you.

You saved yourself.

I’m just here to love the woman who did."

I didn’t cry.

I just leaned my head on his shoulder.

Because safe feels like that.

Like breathing.

We don’t post each other.

We don’t have to.

The people who need to know, know.

The people who don’t, don’t matter.

Last month he asked me to meet his mom.

In Ibadan.

I was terrified.

What if she asks about the book?

What if she Googles me?

She did.

And then she hugged me.

"My son told me about you," she said.

"He said you’re the bravest woman he knows."

I cried in her bathroom.

Happy tears.

Healing tears.

---

Book 2 is almost done.

It’s called *After The Glow*.

It’s not about heartbreak.

It’s about what comes after.

Joy.

Boundaries.

Bad dates that are funny instead of tragic.

Learning to trust again.

Learning to be soft without being naive.

Tolu read the first 5 chapters and said,

"Jimmy, this one is gonna help people too.

But this time, it’ll help them stay."

I like that.

---

I still go to therapy.

Every other Tuesday.

Dr. Amina and I don’t talk about D anymore.

We talk about me.

About why I used to shrink.

About why I used to think love had to hurt.

About how to let good things in without waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Last session she asked me,

"If 2:47 AM Jimmy could see you now, what would she say?"

I thought about it.

Then I said,

"She’d say 'Thank you for not giving up on me.'"

---

My girls and I started a tradition.

Every 6 months we go back to Tarkwa Bay.

Not at 2:47 AM.

At 6 PM.

Sunset.

We bring food. Music. Blankets.

We talk.

We laugh.

We remember.

Last time we went, Kemi brought her new girlfriend.

Zara brought her dog.

I brought Tunde.

We sat in a circle.

And I told them,

"I used to think this place was where I broke.

But it’s where I started."

They clapped.

Tunde squeezed my hand.

The ocean was loud but my mind was quiet.

---

D still hasn’t written again.

Good.

I saw on a mutual’s story that he’s engaged.

To someone new.

I felt nothing.

No sting.

No comparison.

Just... "I hope she’s okay."

That’s growth.

That’s peace.

---

Yesterday something wild happened.

I was at Roving Heights doing a surprise book signing.

No announcement.

Just me and a table and 30 copies.

A girl, maybe 19, came up.

Shaking.

She put the book down and said,

"Miss Jimmy?

I was going to kill myself last year.

I had the pills in my hand.

Then I saw your t****k reading Chapter 5.

And I put them down.

And I called my sister.

And I’m here now."

She was crying.

I was crying.

The whole store was quiet.

I hugged her.

For a long time.

And I whispered,

"You did that.

You chose you.

I’m just glad my words were there when you did."

She bought 3 copies.

"For my friends," she said.

When she left, Tolu looked at me and said,

"This is why we do it."

---

So what is the soft life?

It’s not money.

Though the royalties help.

It’s not fame.

Though the messages are nice.

The soft life is:

Waking up and the first thought is "I’m safe."

Drinking tea without checking your phone.

Saying no and not explaining.

Saying yes and meaning it.

Writing without bleeding.

Loving without fear.

Forgiving yourself for the years you didn’t know better.

The soft life is knowing that the worst thing that ever happened to you

became the reason someone else survived.

The soft life is 2:47 AM now being the time you wake up to pee

and go right back to sleep.

The soft life is this.

Me.

In my apartment.

Laptop open.

Book 2 on the screen.

Tunde in the kitchen making tea.

My phone buzzing with messages from girls I’ll never meet

but who feel like sisters.

The war is over.

The book is published.

The heart is healed.

The life is soft.

And the best chapters?

They’re still being written.

Not because I’m looking for pain to write about.

But because I finally have joy to share.

THE END.

P.S.

To every girl reading this at 2:47 AM:

Put the phone down.

Drink water.

You’re not alone.

And you’re not done yet.

Love,

Jimmy