"Noor, are you OK? ".

I feigned deaf but then remembered that would make him press further. Ya Allah. Let him do and sleep, I'm trying to evade his annoyance. I'd lied yesterday about feeling better, he found out and was mad at me. I yawned loudly and turned to face my handsome husband.

"How are you feeling now?" He looked apprehensive, I'm pregnant with our fourth child and there are slight complications. I pouted and held out my left hand, beckoning him to me.

"I'm feeling a little bit stronger, but I'll be fine insha Allah."  He wrapped his left hand around mine and pulled me up-to a sitting position, I used that opportunity to swipe at his full beard, reminding me of how we met.

Mu'adh and I met after Jumaah prayers one hot Friday afternoon, I'd moved to Abuja after my divorce and mostly because Jinke and his mother didn't make staying in Lagos easy for me.

I had changed jobs and everything else, I can't still help but thank Allah for making me hit Mu'adh' fender in my haste to reverse out of the mosque's parking lot. He got down from his car and ever the calm man, looked at the damage. By this time, all my rush had fled me. Wallah.

I had looked at him and huffed softly, a cover up for the fear I was feeling inside. I hoped he wouldn't ask me to pay for the damage. The car was a freaking Rolls Royce, he looked at the damage again and at my face, sighed softly and walked back into the car. I had heaved a huge sigh of relief and walked back to the car where Zarah was waiting patiently for me.

A few minutes later, Zarah and I were choosing Ice cream flavors when I saw a party of six come into the ice cream parlor. Embarrassment tinged my cheeks and I tried to hurry my goddaughter up. I really tried but I guess you can't help a three year old choose ice cream flavors, it's simply disastrous.

Mu'adh was in charge of getting his entire party's order and was standing beside me. I remember ordering myself to 'lower my gaze'.

He had paid for Zarah's ice cream and the rest they say, is history. A few months later, I  was getting married to him after Jumaah prayers in a small ceremony in my father's backyard.

Everyday, I thank Allah for giving me Mu'adh , and our three children, well soon to be four Insha Allah.
"........Ajike, are you even listening to me?." His mix of British and Fulani accent makes my breath hitch. Busted!! I have been away in remembrance land. I kissed a side of his cheek before cheekily answering " You are enough to look at, you just take my breath away." 

There were some scrathy sounds at the door, Mu'adh looked at me and growled lowly, our little private time is over.

"Daddy!!!"

A shrill voice sounded in frustration, Khayrat is one impatient three year old, she must have tried the knob and found it locked. She calls Mu'adh daddy when she's frustrated and calls him Abba at different times. Such impatience.

I smirked at Mu'adh, " You better open the door for your daughter or her noise will wake the rest." He smiles cheekily at me "The door is locked and only I can open it from my bedside, she has five minutes before she goes to call Fawad ".

A pitter of steps sounded and I heard Fawad's low voice persuading his headstrong sister, "Let's go downstairs mad help make breakfast for Ummi "
Mu'adh sighed softly and resumed stroking my very swollen belly. I laid my dark hands over his very fair ones, the contrast was amazing. Ya Salam

If anyone told me that I would no longer love Jinke instead fiercely love this Fulani heart breaker in whose arms I'm in, I'd have called the person a liar to their face. I'd have called the person an enemy of progress and  a destiny thief.

During my Iddah period, it was hell as people kept asking, nosily poking into my life, I couldn't walk down the street, I was the woman who couldn't fight for her marriage. After I became an example during a sisters lecture, I moved to Abuja, changed my workplace and helped babysit Zarah and Nusaiba's other children.

Here, no-one judged, because they didn't know and five months later, I got a clean bill of health. No more Gonorrhea, no more STD. I was overjoyed.
Meeting Mu'adh was the height of that year, he sought my father's permission to court me, his parents love me like their own, his three sisters love me so much.

Fawad was conceived a few months into our marriage, it was like being Kulthum's mother over again, I was scared, I detached myself from my baby, stopped eating and endangered my Fawad.
It took counseling, prayer and careful loving by Mu'adh to help me go to the delivery room all by myself, and Alhamdulillahi, Fawad was born.

Our quiet time was again broken by Khayrat who slammed her hand on the door loudly. Mu'adh sighed softly against my head, shifted from me and unlocked the door from a button by his side of the bed.

"Abba, Hamma Fawad said to tell you breakfast is ready. And Aunty Sala has her hands full with Fatima ".

Our third child Fatima, named after my mother, is a year and a half old and a mix of Fawad's calm persuasive behavior and Khayrat's crazy impulsive behavior.

I moved to the bathroom where I did my business and as I combed my hair out, I remember once when Jinke's mother said my full hair was responsible for the miscarriages. I cut my hair short at the time but I didn't even get pregnant again.

Mu'adh and I walked down the stairs together, Khayrat in his arms, I've not been in the kitchen in nearly two days, I've been completely stressed out due to the baby.

The most loveliest sight greeted me, Fawad had an apron around his small frame and was putting table mats on the kitchen island for breakfast.
Mu'adh ran his fingers through Fawad's full curls, making me mentally record a barber shop visit for Fawad. All my children have a mix of Mu'adh's hereditary long curls and my short full hair. Making their hair long and full, soo Masha Allah.

Fawad is my ever reasonable son, intelligent, obedient five year old. Cool tempered, not easily excited, studious and mama's boy.

"Ammi, please sit."

Mu'adh helped me sit in the only backed chair in the room and settled Fatima on his lap. Breakfast began with a Bismilllah and Khayrat began telling us of whom she liked or didn't like in her class. It's a waste of time telling Khayrat who to like or not, because she's so independent, I fear her courage sometimes.

A kick came from my stomach, and I thought back to the time knew I was carrying our fourth child, I had just had a malaria fever and decided to go for a checkup, the baby became what i checked that day and I've not remained the same, this is one of the most stressful pregnancies I've ever had, even with Khayrat whom I thought was stressing, it wasn't like this.

May Allah make it easy for me.

I looked around the kitchen table again and my heart lurched happily in my chest. Allah has finally given me a happily ever after.

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Dear All,

How are you all, I decided to update today because I'd put you all on hold for so long and I'd had the chapter on my phone for a few days. I just couldn't wait til Friday, it seemed so far away. 😭😭😭😭

This chapter is dedicated to my Momma, who for the first time read my work and said 'I'm proud of you'. It was the biggest thing ever said to me at that moment. I Love You Momma ❤💙💜💜💝💝💙💙

Thank you to all of you who everyday, inspire me without any of you knowing. 😭🙇😉😉

Special thanks to the #Wattpadbanters girls, everyone at #ProjectNigeria #WeareAfricans #CANW. Thank you all for your little inputs. 💝💜💙💜💙🙈

Special thanks to everyone who helped make this book possible, Ummi, Chizzy, Dr Omole, @Richiewrites,  Timi and Oseahumen.

Finally, this book is in a series and until I'm done with Second Chances, I will not be updating the second book in the series. I'll inform you all at that time.

I love you all. Thank you for staying thus far. Tapping on that completed button is the best thing I've done today. 😍😍😐

       Yours Truly
      Omoope1999