Things are different now.

The date, February 19, 2022, was etched in stone. It was a day my life took a different route—the marriage route. I couldn't wait to embark on a new chapter of my life with Ben. Ben was tall, dark and handsome. I know that's a bit cliche but his dark ebony skin glistened in the sunlight and the contours of his face were in perfect proportion to one another. When he smiles, the sun hides in shame. He was everything I had hoped and wished. I was so in love with him that I embraced the idea of relocating to Lagos, despite my reservations about the city's congested streets, high cost of living, and constant traffic. Love brightened my world. I felt invincible, unafraid of the challenges that lay ahead, with his tall frame to protect me and broad chest to lean on.

Our new house was a cozy haven. The sitting room was furnished with two and three settee ensembles that invite you to unwind and sink into relaxation. Photo frames on the wall told stories of cherished moments, and a TV added a touch of entertainment to the ambiance. The corners of the house were adorned with flower vases. It was the ideal setting for spending time together and bonding.

However, the reality of the new life soon unfolded. No one had prepared me for the profound loneliness that accompanied his busy schedule. Ben would leave for work at 5 a.m. every day. I found myself yearning for companionship, from the quiet moments of morning coffee to the stillness of an empty apartment in the evening. My husband's arrival at 10 p.m. marked the end of a day spent alone. The constant hum of traffic and the vibrant energy of Lagos stood in stark contrast to the silence that surrounded my home.

With no friends in the new city, I spent countless days alone. I'd walk from the bedroom to the sitting room looking for something to pass the time until he arrived. My quiet apartment became my companion. The absence of meaningful conversation created a void that seemed insurmountable.No amount of books read or television programs watched could fill it.

Every night, I'll sit on the settee and dial his number while waiting for his arrival.

"Hey, babe, any hopes of coming home early tonight?"

At the other end of the phone I will hear him sigh, "I'm sorry babe, I'll be home late again tonight. This project is very demanding, and then there is the traffic, but I promise, it won't be like this forever."

The response was always the same, but I never stopped calling in the hopes that one day it would be different.

Night after night, the routine continued. Yet, in the midst of this solitude, the seeds of change were quietly planted.

After three months of yearning for a connection beyond the quiet walls, my world shifted. The news of a baby on the way brought both excitement and anticipation. As the months passed, so did my loneliness, replaced by the gentle kicks and flutters of new life growing within me.

After the baby was born, the demands of caring for the baby kept me on my toes. Diaper change and hourly feeding kept me occupied. Every day, the hours flew by, and the evenings found me exhausted but content. The cries and laughter of the baby filled my home with newfound warmth. My thoughts all day were mostly about her. As weeks rolled into months with new milestones achieved, I looked forward to the pitter-patter of tiny feet echoing through the once-empty hallways.

One evening, as I rocked my baby in my hands, a tender smile curled on my face as I reminisced about the not-so-distant past. The room, once a silent sanctuary, now resonated with the soft coos and occasional baby gurgles that filled my heart with joy.

My phone rang, pulling me back to the present. I answered, and it was Ben on the line.

"Hello Babe! I'm sorry, I'm running late again. I'll be home by 10 p.m. I hope you are not lonely. I promise things will be different very soon." He apologized.

I smiled and gazed at the little one with her small head nestled against my chest. I gently traced my fingers along the baby's tiny fingers, marveling at the newfound source of happiness. "Zanita's arrival is the solution to the solitude I once knew," I replied. "Things are different now."