Chapter Twelve

Temilade was in her shop, humming softly as she prepared to cut Bisola's wedding dresses.

She carefully spread the fabric on the cutting table, her mind already visualizing the perfect

fit and details that would make the dresses stand out. Just as she was about to begin, the

shop door creaked open, and a familiar face stepped in.

It was one of her regular customers, a middle-aged woman who had come to collect her

order.

"Ah, welcome, madam! Let me bring your dress," Temilade said warmly, setting aside her

tools. She handed the dress over, and the customer scrutinized every seam and stitch,

nodding in approval.

"You always do well, Temilade. Thank you," the woman said, smiling as she handed over her

payment.

As the customer left, Temilade sighed with satisfaction, ready to dive back into her work. But

before she could, the door opened again, this time revealing her friend Opeyemi.

"Temilade! See me o, I finally made it here!" Opeyemi exclaimed, holding up a neatly folded

fabric.

Temilade laughed, waving her over. "You this woman, you're just bringing your aso ebi now?

You're lucky I'm in a good mood."

Opeyemi dropped the fabric on the table, settling into the chair opposite her friend. "Don't

mind me. Business has been hectic, and these children won't let me breathe."

Temilade shook her head and picked up her measuring tape. "Stand up joor. Let me take

your measurements again. It's been a while, and you look like you've added weight."

Opeyemi gasped in mock offense, holding her sides. "Added weight? You mean I'm now

fat?"

"Not fat," Temilade teased, laughing. "Just… fuller. Motherhood is treating you well, sha."

Reluctantly, Opeyemi stood, holding her arms out as Temilade worked. "It's not motherhood;

it's stress. You know I've been carrying this family since David lost his job. Sometimes I

wonder if my body is trying to store energy for all the running around I do."

Temilade paused, glancing up at her friend. "How's he doing? Has there been any

progress?"

Opeyemi sighed, shaking her head. "Nothing yet. He leaves the house every morning to

'look for something,' but most times, he comes back empty-handed. It's been months now."

Temilade frowned. "That must be hard. How are you managing everything?"

Opeyemi gave a small, tired smile. "I don't have a choice, Temi. This is marriage. Sometimes

you carry the load, and other times, your partner carries it for you. I've just decided to focus

on my business and keep praying. He's not lazy; it's just bad luck."

Temilade nodded, her heart heavy for her friend. "You're a strong woman, Opeyemi. Not

everyone can handle this the way you're doing."

"Thanks," Opeyemi said, sitting back down after Temilade finished measuring her. "But let

me not lie, it's not easy. Sometimes, I want to scream. Other times, I feel like giving up. But

then I look at my children, and I remember why I'm doing this. They didn't ask to be here.

And David… he's trying, Temi. He doesn't just sit around. He's just unlucky."

"You're a good wife," Temilade said, cutting into the fabric with steady hands. "Not everyone

would have this patience."

Opeyemi shrugged. "It's not just patience. It's faith. I believe things will get better. Maybe not

today or tomorrow, but someday. And when that day comes, I want to look back and say I

did my best."

Temilade smiled, touched by her friend's resolve. "You're inspiring, you know that? I just

hope David appreciates you."

Opeyemi chuckled. "He does in his own way. He helps with the kids when he's around, and

he doesn't complain when I spend hours at the shop. That's enough for me, for now."

They continued chatting as Temilade worked, laughing over old memories and exchanging

gossip about Bisola's upcoming wedding. By the time Opeyemi left, Temilade felt a renewed

admiration for her friend's strength and determination.

As she packed up for the day, she couldn't help but think about how different everyone's

lives were. Some, like Bisola, were stepping into luxury and love, while others, like Opeyemi,

were holding onto hope in the face of challenges. Life, Temilade thought, was truly a mix of

everything—joy, struggle, and resilience.

And as for herself? She smiled, picking up the scissors again. She'd keep cutting her way

through it all.

After carefully cutting the dress, Temilade leaned back on her chair, stretching her arms to

relieve the tension in her shoulders. She glanced at the pieces of fabric she had just cut and

smiled. The hard part was over; stitching could wait.

She toyed with the idea of cutting Opeyemi's dress next, but quickly dismissed it. "Even if it's

the day before the wedding, I'll still sew it," she thought. Her own outfit? That could wait too.she knew she could whip something up in no time when the moment came.

As she sat there, her thoughts drifted to Opeyemi. Her friend had looked visibly tired, her

dark complexion accentuating the signs of stress. Temilade couldn't help but wonder how

men managed to pay all the bills and still keep it together. "Maybe women are really meant

to enjoy," she mused.

But then again, she thought of herself. She also worked tirelessly, yet her fair complexion

masked most of her exhaustion. Opeyemi's stress showed because of her dark skin, or so

Temilade reasoned. Perhaps motherhood added to it. Raising two young children, aged four

and two, wasn't a joke.

Still, there were plenty of mothers who managed to look stunning despite the challenges.

Maybe they had housemaids or relatives to ease the workload, or perhaps their situations

were less demanding. Temilade sighed. Life was truly a mixed bag for everyone.

Standing up, she walked over to the mirror and examined herself. Her face was still glowing,

but she could see faint traces of fatigue around her eyes. She made a mental note to book a

pedicure and take some time to rest before the wedding day. "I must look my best," she said

to herself.

As she adjusted her hair in the mirror, her mind wandered back to the man she'd seen in the

car some days ago. His image was still vivid in her mind—his strong features, confident

demeanor, and the way he had looked at her briefly before driving off.

Temilade smiled to herself, shaking her head. "What's wrong with me?" she muttered. She

didn't even know his name, yet here she was, daydreaming about him. "Maybe fate will let

us meet again," she thought wistfully. She wondered what his voice would sound like. Would

it be deep and commanding or soft and soothing?

Her heart fluttered slightly at the thought, but she quickly brushed it off. "Focus, Temilade,"

she said, turning back to her worktable. But even as she picked up her scissors, her

thoughts lingered on the mysterious man.

"Maybe someday," she whispered to herself, a small smile playing on her lips.