🦋 IMANI'S POV
Healing is a quiet thing. Nobody really tells you that. They talk about moving on, about being strong, about letting go, but nobody prepares you for the in-between. The part where you are no longer where you used to be, but you are not yet who you are trying to become.
For me, healing looked like waking up and not checking my phone first thing in the morning. Not hoping for a message. Not waiting for a call. Just waking up and sitting with myself.
It wasn't dramatic. There was no big moment where everything suddenly made sense. Just small changes that slowly started to matter. Tiny shifts I didn't notice until they had already begun.
The first time I laughed without thinking about Daniel, it didn't even register to me. It was Favour who noticed.
"See your teeth," he said, pointing at me across the table. "You don dey laugh again. Progress."
I rolled my eyes, trying to hide it, but I couldn't deny it. Because he was right.
"Abeg, eat your food," I muttered, pushing his plate closer to him.
He grinned, clearly satisfied with himself, and for a brief moment, the heaviness I had been carrying didn't feel as heavy.
The kitchen had slowly become my safe place. Not just somewhere I cooked, but somewhere I could think without overthinking. Somewhere my hands were busy enough to quiet my mind.
"I think you should start selling this properly," Abraham said one evening, watching me carefully pipe icing onto a cake.
I didn't look up immediately. "Who go buy?" I asked.
He let out a short laugh. "See this girl. You think say na everybody sabi cook for this country?"
Favour, who had been hovering around as usual, nodded in agreement. "True talk. People dey sell worse things sef."
I paused and glanced at both of them. "Wow. I feel so motivated right now."
They laughed, but Abraham didn't move away. When I looked at him again, his expression had changed.
"I'm serious, Imani," he said quietly. "You're good. You just don't believe it yet."
I thought about it a little and replied
"I don't even know where to start," I admitted.
"Start small," he replied. "Post it. Let people see."
That night, I thought about it more than I wanted to admit. Not because I believed him fully, but because a small part of me wanted to.
So I started.
Not with confidence. Not with a perfect plan. Just a decision.
I began posting pictures of my food. Short videos of me cooking. Nothing polished. Sometimes the lighting was bad. Sometimes I didn't like how my voice sounded. Sometimes I almost deleted everything before posting.
But I didn't stop.
At first, it felt like I was talking to myself. Like nobody was really seeing it. Then slowly, people started responding.
"Do you take orders?"
"How much for a small cake?"
"This looks so good."
The messages were simple, but they meant more than I expected.
The first time someone actually placed an order, I panicked.
"What if it's not good enough?" I asked, pacing around my room.
My friend, Olivia who had been watching me for a while, shook her head. "Imani, if it wasn't good, they wouldn't order."
I stopped moving and looked at her. "You sure?"
She raised an eyebrow. "You think I'm lying" ?
I let out a small laugh. "No."
"Then relax," she said. "You sabi."
Even with that, my hands still shook when I started. I checked everything twice, then three times. I overthought every step.
But when the customer sent me her review "This is really nice it's a job well done,"
That was the encouragement I needed to put in more efforts.
It wasn't about the money. It was the feeling.
For the first time in a long time, I felt like I was building something again.
Like I wasn't just surviving.
But life has a way of reminding you that it doesn't move according to your pace.
The call came on a hot afternoon. The kind of heat that makes everything feel slow and heavy. I was in the kitchen, stirring stew, trying not to think too much, when my phone rang.
I ignored it the first time.
It rang again.
"Mani, your phone!" Favour called from the sitting room.
"I dey see am na!" I replied, not moving.
It rang again.
Something about it made me stop this time. I wiped my hands and picked it up.
Mum.
My chest tightened immediately.
"Hello?"
Her voice was not steady. "Imani… where are you?"
"At home. What happened?"
There was a pause, and in that moment, I already knew something was wrong.
"It's Abraham."
My grip on the phone tightened. "What about him?"
"He had an accident."
Everything in me went still.
"What?"
"He's at the hospital."
I didn't ask anything else. I just moved.
The journey felt longer than it actually was. I can also see the worry on favour's face.My mind kept racing, jumping from one worst-case scenario to another. By the time I got there, my chest felt tight from holding too much fear.
Favour behind me
"What happened?" I asked immediately.
"He was coming back from work… a car hit him. Hit and run."
For a second, I couldn't process it.
"Where is he?"
Mum pointed inside.
Walking into that hospital room felt like stepping into something I wasn't ready for. Then I saw him.
Abraham.
Lying on the bed.
Bandaged.
Still.
My ever agile and loving brother just there lying still.
"Abraham…" My voice broke before I could stop it.
There was no response. Just the steady sound of machines beside him.
A doctor was talking somewhere behind me, but the words didn't register. All I could see was him.
I moved closer slowly, like I was afraid of what I might feel if I got too close.
"Abraham," I said again, softer this time.
Nothing.
I reached for his hand. It was cold, not lifeless, but unfamiliar.
Tears slipped down my face.
"Brother… why will this happen to you," I whispered. "is it a crime for our family to be happy?"
Silence.
And somehow, that silence felt louder than anything.
"Mummy don cry tire," Favour said quietly behind me.
I turned and saw her sitting in the corner. Quiet. Not crying. Just… sitting.
That kind of quiet was worse.
"Mummy…" I called, moving towards her.
She looked up and tried to smile, but it didn't reach her eyes.
"I'm here," I said, holding her hand.
She squeezed mine tightly.
"He will be fine," I said, even though I didn't know if it was true.
She nodded, but she didn't speak.
That night, nobody slept. We took turns sitting beside him, watching, waiting, hoping for something, anything.
At some point, I stepped outside for air. Favour followed.
"You dey okay?" he asked.
I let out a tired laugh. "You think say I dey okay?"
He shook his head. "Sorry."
We stood in silence for a while.
Then he said, "You don notice say life no dey give person break?"
I looked at him, and he continued, "One problem go just finish, another one don dey wait."
I swallowed hard. "I just dey try to stand again… and now this."
He nodded slowly. "But we go handle am."
It was simple, but there was something about the way he said it that made it feel real.
Days passed, and the hospital became part of our routine. My business didn't stop, but it slowed down. I tried to balance everything, but it wasn't easy.
"I'm tired," I admitted one evening.
My friend looked at me carefully. "I know."
"I feel like everything is happening at once. Family, this business… everything."
She nodded. "But you're still standing."
I didn't feel strong, but maybe strength doesn't always feel like strength.
One afternoon, Abraham finally moved.
It was small, almost unnoticeable, but I saw it.
"Abraham?" I said quickly, leaning forward.
His fingers twitched again.
"Mummy!" I called.
Everything after that became a blur. Doctors, nurses, movement.
But one thing was clear.
He was coming back.
And in that moment, I realized something.
Life didn't pause for my healing.
But it didn't break me either.
I was still here.
Still trying.
Still becoming.
And maybe… that was enough
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