“You called me lazy. You made me feel like I was doing nothing, and now you want another baby.” Dele opened his mouth, but no words came out. “You can’t even care for the one you have,” Alice continued. “When last did you carry your daughter like a father? When last did you sit with her, play with her, be present?” Her laughter returned, softer now, but more painful.
“You want another baby, fine,” she said. “I’ll give you one on one condition.” Dele frowned. “What condition?” “You will pay for surrogacy.” “What?” Dele shouted, completely thrown off. “Yes, you heard me right,” Alice replied calmly. “Since being pregnant is being lazy to you, since taking care of myself and our unborn child was weakness, then you have two options.
” She leaned back slightly. “Either you pay me for surrogacy or you go and find someone else who will do it for free.” Dele sat there, stunned, speechless. But Alice wasn’t done. “You will also pay me for nanny services,” she added, “because I will take care of the baby, and for milk production, too, since I’ll be your baby’s milk factory.
” She paused, letting her words sink in. “Altogether, 30 million naira.” Silence. “If you’re serious,” she said finally, standing up, “do your research. When you’re ready, let your alert speak.” And with that, she walked away, leaving Dele alone with the truth. For the first time in his life, Dele saw it.
Clearly, everything a woman does freely out of love, cooking, cleaning, caring, sacrificing, enduring, all for what? Love, kindness, attention, companionship, things that cost nothing, yet he failed to give. He lowered his head, his chest tight with realization. If women charged for every service they render, how many men could truly afford it? And yet, they are loved less, taken for granted, expected to give endlessly without being poured into.
Dele sat there long after Alice had left. And in that moment, he knew. He had been the problem all along. From that day, things began to change, not overnight, not magically, but intentionally. Dele started working on himself. He read books on marriage. He went for counseling. He began to unlearn everything he thought he knew.
On Saturdays, he cleaned the house. He started dropping Khiama at daycare. He ordered food and sent it to Alice at work. He came home early, stayed present, played with his daughter in the living room, hoping quietly that Alice would see. He left her notes, simple ones, telling her where he was, what he was doing, not because she asked, but because he wanted to be accountable.
Alice noticed, but she didn’t rush back. She had learned her lesson, too. Love needed consistency, not words. Soon, Alice’s birthday approached. They spoke, but only when necessary, about Khiama, about responsibilities, nothing more. But Dele wanted her back, and deep down, Alice still desired a happy home for her child.
Determined, Dele went to see Busy. “I have been a bad husband,” he admitted. “But I have changed, and I want my wife back.” Busy looked at him for a moment, then smiled faintly. “Every man should learn to love his wife,” she said. “Women are already doing so much. Don’t wait until you lose her to realize her worth.” Together, they began planning.
On Alice’s birthday, she woke up expecting nothing, just like every other year. But this time was different. Her phone buzzed, a message from Dele, a long one filled with apologies, gratitude, acknowledgement. She read it slowly, her eyes softening. Then she checked his status. For the first time, Dele was showing her off.
“My beautiful wife and daughter, happy birthday to the strongest woman I know.” Tears filled her eyes. It was simple, but it meant everything. “Thank you, Dele,” she replied quietly. “I appreciate this.” Later that day, Busy insisted on taking her out. “Let me spoil you,” she said. Alice agreed, unaware of what was waiting.
Dressed in a beautiful white outfit, her hair perfectly styled, baby Khiama in her arms, she stepped out. When she arrived at the venue, she froze. Her pictures were everywhere. Happy birthday, Alice. The hall was filled with people, family, friends, colleagues. And there on the stage stood Dele. Tears filled her eyes instantly. Busy gently took Khiama from her as people surrounded Alice, hugging her, celebrating her.
She felt overwhelmed, like she was dreaming, but it was real. Dele stepped forward with a microphone. “I was a fool,” he began honestly, “a man who didn’t see what he had until he almost lost it.” The room grew quiet. “My wife taught me a lesson every man needs to learn,” he continued. “We don’t appreciate these women enough.
They do so much every single day, yet we treat it like it’s nothing.” He looked at Alice. “Alice, my beautiful wife, this is my way of saying I’m sorry.” He took a breath. “To every man listening, love your wife intentionally. Speak kindly to her. Appreciate her efforts, even the ones you don’t see. Be present. Be supportive. Don’t reduce her to duties.
She is your partner, not your servant. The same energy you used to win her, keep using it to keep her.” The room erupted in soft applause. Alice couldn’t hold it anymore. She rushed forward and embraced him tightly for a moment. Everything else faded. The celebration continued, laughter, joy, love.
Alice cut her cake, surrounded by people who cherished her. Later, Dele handed her a gift, a car with a small note, “Push gift.” Tears rolled freely down her cheeks as she hugged him again. That night [cheering] marked a new beginning, not perfection, but growth. Dele became present. He loved his wife intentionally. He chose his family every single day.
; [cheering] ; No more late nights. No more neglect. Only effort, only appreciation. And slowly, their home, once broken, became whole again. Ah. One quiet evening, they sat together watching a movie. Khiama played on the floor, giggling happily with her toys. Alice leaned slightly into Dele, peaceful, content.
And this time, love didn’t feel one-sided. It felt shared.
