My mouth failed to move, my lips felt chapped and suddenly I felt dizzy. I fell back, losing my balance and would have fallen to the ground if not for Ayyub's support. I have always loved surprises but I don't know to react to Ayyub’s surprise this time.

"Z...Zainab." I stammered staring my almost replica who was standing at the door.

"Yaya." She called back.

Minutes and seconds flew pass in silence. The sound of my phone dropping was deafening. We stood staring at each other like the strangers that we now are to each other and then suddenly we were joined in an embrace, without deciding whose fault it was and no apologies for the harsh words exchanged years ago. She scented of lilacs – mama's favorite flowers – and it was as though Mama was hugging me. The scent wafted around, enveloping me; whispering of forgiveness. And just the way it was eons ago, I was home again.

"Ze...Zee." I blubbered, disentangling myself from our embrace. I held her face in my palms and my fingers traced the lines of aging that lined the skin of her face. We could easily have been identical twins, except that she was slimmer and a pair of dimples graced both of her cheeks. The tears that had welled up in my eyes freed themselves and flowed down my cheeks.

"I missed you, Yaya." She said in a low whisper.

Ayyub's touch disrupted the moment as he guided me to the sofa and then he excused us.

The next hour was full of tears, laughter and hugs. We didn't leave the mini-parlour until Ayyub declared that it was time for lunch and my drugs. Zainab left after lunch promising to come back in a week, she hadn't told her husband that she wouldn't be back that day and she lived in the next town – so close yet so far.

The only blight on our happiness was our brother, Farouk. Apparently, after selling all that our parents owned had spent every penny on gambling and girls until he had lost every penny. He and his gang of friends had later being incarcerated for series of armed robbery and killings during their operation. He was still serving his sentence of life imprisonment at a prison in Birnin Kebbi.

Ayyub had found Zainab's address and invited her to our home. For the rest of the day, I floated around the house, high on happiness.

Ayyub and I had gotten married a week ago at the ‘Home of Hope’ with his children present. His children had been full of smiles and laughter, lavishing me with gifts and hugs especially Fathia who simply wouldn't seat in one place. Even Ayyub's first child, Zakir who was the most reserved of his siblings had cracked a smile and gave me a hug.

Life was perfect again, perhaps it will not be for long but I was content with whatever time it was that I was destined to be happy. I used to think I was content with my previous life but the joy of the past week made me realise that one of the greatest joys in this world is having people to call your own. Someone beloved to you and someone to call you mama, just as Ayyub's children did.

All of a sudden, from being a loner I had dozens of people calling to ask how I was. Beatrice who was now a constant recipient of my letters and calls had even sent me a wedding gift. Slowly, we were rekindling our friendship.

No feeling surpassed knowing that you were loved; it could be familial, romantic, Godly or even love between friends. Just been able to sleep knowing that someone cared about you and that you are no longer alone was enough for me.

***

"What's wrong? Why do you weep?" Ayyub asked when he found me leaning on the walls of the bedroom. It was barely morning, a bit past fajr time.

Instead of speaking, I simply lost control and eight years worth of tears rolled down cheeks. My limbs failed me and I fell to my knees, Ayyub rushed forward and I heard someone shuffling behind him. He tried to lift me up but I shook my head vigorously and held onto his forearm as though it was my lifeline.

It was as though for the past eight years someone had been digging a well inside of me, with the land in me hard and dry. Without any sign of water and then suddenly, the driller broke through a layer of stone covering the water. The water gushed out of my soul, down my face without control. Eight years of being fine, eight years of being okay and not mourning fell away and now the pain of my loss was crushing every bit of me.

"Usman." My son’s name left my lips along with a guttural sound. It was the only word I was able to breathe out and yet somehow he understood. He tried to drag me into his embrace but I struggled, not wanting to be consoled. Wanting to wallow in the pain of my loss, but my struggle was only brief as I sagged into his embrace a few seconds later.

"Let it out. Let it all out." He murmured rocking me gently. "He awaits you in a place better than this world. You only have to strive to meet him in this better place. They all await you. Trust in your Lord. All of your children are waiting for the warmth of your embrace."

We sat that way for hours. Or was it minutes? I truly do not know. My heart felt lighter and unburdened of the heavy weight that was once tied to it. I let the tears flow, not holding back. And as I wiped my tears, my back became straighter as though my Lord had just lifted the burden of my loss from me.

My Usman. He was a child that every parent would have hoped to have –merely fifteen when his father set me on the road for my walk of shame and my boy walked with me.

I was unable to secure a job anywhere with my certificate in Accounting – I was 35 years with no work experience. It was not as if there were readily available jobs anywhere and the rumors of me being divorced for cheating on my husband with his friend didn't help matters.

Throughout Usman's second to the last and his last year in secondary school he came home with bruised knuckles and other bruises on his body. Although he never told me the reason for his fights, I knew he was defending the honour of his disgraced mother, fighting those who dared to call his mother a whore to his face.

My boy grew up every day, becoming more handsome and to my chagrin an exact copy of my ex-husband. At sixteen he was already above six foot and during some months when his father refused to send us any money, he would go there to collect it from him. Despite my husband's bribes of expensive gifts, Usman refused to leave my side and live with his father.

None of Isah's wives – even Azizah and another whom he married after divorcing me were able to give him a child, whether male or female.

Usman studied with so much obsession that he was in his second year in the university at the age of seventeen.

"I will make money quickly so I can take care of you." 'You will never have to depend on father to live." "I will prove to the world that you are innocent." Were all that he ever said.

His promises filled my heart with warmth even though I knew only Allah could prove my innocence. The curse of Allah was already on the liar among the both of us.

Usman also apprenticed at a local barbing salon and he was overjoyed the day he came home with the first money he made on his own.

He bought me a flowing gown of plain ash colour with flowery patterns of red, peach and white. I had worn more expensive and more intricately designed gowns but it was the most loved garment I had ever held.

He massaged my feet with coconut oil that night and rubbed my shoulders, he said – to ease the ache there that came from bending over the machine I had been using to sew. We chatted way past midnight and when it was time to go to bed, Usman insisted on sleeping with me. I was surprised at his request and could not remember the last time he slept with me but we both went to bed that night with my head rested on his chest, listening to the drumming of his heartbeat.

I woke up the next morning still with my head on his chest, only this time the drumming sound of his heartbeat was replaced by silence. I tried to shake him awake to no avail. Perhaps it was my scream that alerted the neighbours but within an hour Isah was at the door of the room. His gaze accusing and filled with so much hatred directed at me, but I was oblivious to him.

The entire hours that followed were a blur but somehow my Usman was washed and buried. Even my neighbours who never spoke a word to me came to console me, but I felt nothing. Absolutely nothing. That was the day I cut ties with sorrow and crushed it beneath my feet.

So when they all left. I filled the bathtub with warm water and added fresh roses to it. I also added the last of the coconut oil from which Usman had massaged my feet the night before and when I was done bathing, I ironed the gown my son bought for me. It fitted perfectly when I wore it. I pushed my feet into my best heels and wore my set of golden accessories. I sprayed on the whole bottle of Usman's favourite perfume and walked out into the night. I just kept walking and walking until I could walk no more.

After three days I woke up to find myself at a hospital in another town. I had been mugged and beaten, with all my jewelries collected then dumped by the roadside in another town. It was Zhulfah who had saved me then given me shelter at the ‘Home of Hope’, which was where I met Ayyub when he came to provide financial assitance at the shelter.