Morning in Ajegunle always came softly, like a scared visitor knocking politely before entering. The first cock crowed long before the sun rose across the sky, and soon the neighborhood woke in slowly: the soft sweep of brooms , the sound of gates pushed open by early risers.
Before the cock crowed Helen sat at the edge of her small bed, looking at the floor covered with old and worn out rugs as if it had answers to questions in her heart. Sun light shown through the weak and dusty window. She was then interrupted by the sound of a cracking glass, she sighed
Behind her Philip tied his shoes, carefully so he does not wake the children sleeping in the other room. He hummed under his breath, the kind of song men sang when they pretended everything was okay.
"You didn't sleep?" he asked gently, his voice sounded deep like he just woke up.
Helen didn't answer immediately. She rubbed her palms against her night wear like she was trying to warm herself.
"I slept," she finally replied. "Just woke up early."
Philip was not convinced but he nodded because he did not want to ask anymore questions. Then he stood up after tying his shoes. He was tall, mean from work with shoulders that carried too many responsibilities, expectations and a quiet love for his wife.
He walked up to her and held her shoulder softly.
"Are you really sure you're okay?"
Helen kept looking at the floor. "I'm fine."
But they both knew she was not.
Things were no longer the way it used to be, and that made Philip reach for a woman who kept moving away from him. Everything was the problem: the small room, too many bills, the bad roof that dripped water every rainy season, and the life that demanded too much while struggling.
Philip knelt down beside her, trying to talk to her. "Helen, have I done something wrong"
"u did nothing," she said quickly.
Those words hit more than an accusation. If he was not the problem, then it must be something he could not fix.
She finally looked at him, and for a moment, she felt guilty. Phillip's worry softened, that tiny remorseful look was enough to make him feel that she still cared, even if she didn't.
"I'll try harder," he said quietly. "Things will be better."
Helen nodded, but her mind was somewhere else, hoping for a better life.
Philip took a deep breath and stood up. "Let me check the children. I don't want them to be late."
He walked into the next room. Helen still sat there, not moving, looking at a cubweb in the corner of the ceiling. It felt annoying, something unwanted yet still clinging to its place.
Her life felt like that web: stretched thin and easily broken.
Philip kissed Tolui's forehead, then Sade's, then Helen, but she did not move.
Outside, the street was already busy with women sweeping compounds, men pushing their motorcycles and the smell of akara frying in palm oil. Philip joined the staff bus at exactly 5:30 sharp. The journey to work was two hours across the Third Mainland Bridge, standing because all the seats were taken, holding the metal pole while the bus moved through traffic.
At work he was hard working, reliable, quiet, and the junior accountant who never missed a deadline. But in recent days at work, he was always lost in thought, about the current financial situation at home and his family, especially now his wife is always sad. He lost the courage to work.
During work break, while others go out to have lunch, he sat in his office alone. He dreamed of the day he would make a senior accountant, maybe even chief one day. Then the leaks would stop, and good fans at home. Then the children would attend a good school.
Helen, on the other hand, went to the market that morning with her basket of fruits and vegetables, still in thoughts. Her mind was full of thoughts she did not dare speak out. These were ungrateful, and unholy thoughts, but refused to allow her rest, to the extent that she barely noticed people greeting her, as she walked to the market.
The market was already full with the usual chaos, sellers shouting, bargaining voices, the scent of akara, and bundles of color from wrappers and fresh produce.
"Helen, good morning!" A market woman greeted her warmly.
"Good morning," Helen responded with a polite smile, as she arranged her vegetables, fresh tomatoes, fruits, and sat on her low stool. But she was still lost in thoughts. She kept looking at the main road, watching cars pass, especially the big ones, the kind with tinted windows that whispered wealth.
She didn't know why she was doing it . Or maybe she did.
She wanted a better life . A life where she didn't have to calculate every naira, where she didn't fear unexpected bills, where she didn't have to watch her husband return home tired and defeated.
"Helen!"
She blinked and turned. Her friend Lola approached with a wide smile.
"You're thinking again," Lola teased. "What is the matter today? Dreams of a big mansion and big cars?"
Helen smiled. "Maybe."
Lola shook her head. "Forget those things jare. Happiness is not in big houses."
Helen smiled faintly, but inside she disagreed.
Just then, a soft sound of a car was heard from the road. A fine black SUV parked beside the market. Heads turned immediately, cars like that didn't stop here without reason.
The dark tinted window rolled down.
Helen froze.
A wealthy looking man sat inside, dressed in white, wearing an expensive wristwatch. He looked at her in administration, observant, and assessing.
"You," he said gently. "What is your name?"
I'm"What… my," She swallowed. "Helen."
His lips curled slightly. "Beautiful name for a beautiful woman."
Lola's eyes widened. A few other sellers were staring at them.
"I want to buy everything on your table," he said.
Helen blinked. "Everything?"
"Yes. Pack it."
She hesitated before gathering the vegetables neatly. The man looked at her carefully, almost studying her movements.
When she gave him the bag, he brought out his wallet and took out new naira notes, which was more than the total cost.
"Keep the change," he said calmly.
Helen was in shock and confused.
Philip has never had that amount of money at once before.
Before she could speak, the man gave her his card.
"My name is Alex Raymond," he said. "You can call me if you need anything at all."
His voice sounded to her like a forbidden melody.
The car drove away, leaving behind a cloud of dust.
Lola drew closer quickly. "Helen…" She whispered. "Be careful. That man looks like trouble."
But Helen wasn't seeing any "trouble." She was thinking of the life he lived, the life she secretly desired.
And the seed planted that day began to grow.
For the rest of the day, even while attending to customers, Helen could not stop thinking about Alex, she kept having flashbacks of his car, his clothes, the expensive wristwatch, his voice and most especially how handsome he is. She kept looking at the business card that was given to her, and more thoughts came to her mind: thought of what he wanted and why he came for her.
Soon, Lola was tired of watching her lose herself.
"Come," she dragged a small wooden stool closer. "Sit down before you die."
Helen sighed and obeyed, sitting slowly. Lola folded her arms. "Now talk."
"About what?"
Do not act like you don't know what I am talking about," Lola said sharply. "That man did not look at anyone else. He looked at you. And that money he gave you… Helen, do you think men like him give out money for nothing?"
Helen frowned. "Maybe he is just trying to help."
"Help?" Lola scoffed. "Rich men don't help without reason."
Helen did not respond. She gazed at the road where he drove out from.
Lola leaned closer, voice low. "Listen to me well. If a wealthy man is looking for a woman to 'help,' he is not looking for tomatoes."
Helen's stomach twisted. She knew Lola was right. But she also knew something else, a truth she was ashamed to admit even to herself, and with the fact that she was starting to like him.
It was not love. It was the feeling of being noticed as a woman, not as a wife or a mother, and not as a market woman sweating under the sun.
A woman someone sees beautiful
A woman someone thought worth stopping for.
She had not felt like that for a long time, since her first years with Philip, when everything still felt young and promising.
"Are you even listening to me?" Lola snapped.
"Yes," Helen whispered, even though she wasn't.
Lola shook her head. "Hmm. Your eyes are far. I just hope your heart does not follow."
Helen forced a smile. "Nothing will happen."
But even as she said it, she was rubbing the business card with her fingers.
Nothing will happen.
A lie she wanted to believe
Afternoon heat was heavy across the market, making the air hot . Business slowed as the heat of the Sun was high. Many traders sat under umbrellas or fanned themselves with folded newspapers.
Helen packed her things and prepared to go home. She had never sold so much and earned much more than she believed. The thought got her worried.
As she tied her headscarf, she noticed a movement behind her. When she turned, she saw Madam Chioma, the oldest vegetable seller in the market, watching her.
The woman's eyes were sharp, too sharp.
"Helen," she called softly.
"Yes, Mama?"
The old woman pointed at her pocket. "What you hide there will either build your home or burn it."
Helen froze.
She did not tell anyone about the card, not even her friend Lola.
"How did you know ?"
Madam Chioma shrugged, her gold bangles jingling. "I am old, not blind. A lion does not smile at a goat unless it is hungry."
Helen opened her mouth, and closed it, then smiled. "Mama, nothing is happening"
"I did not say something is happening," the old woman interrupted. "I am telling you what will happen… if you are not careful."
The seriousness in her tone made Helen swallow hard.
Madam Chioma touched her arm gently. "You have a good husband. Poor? Yes. Struggling? Yes. But he loves you. Don't let the devil enter through the door, poverty left open."
Helen lowered her gaze. "Thank you, Mama."
She meant it. But then, she could not throw the card away.
The old woman watched her for a long time before walking away slowly, and tired.
By the time Helen reached home, the sun had reduced into late afternoon. She pushed open the small wooden gate and walked into their compound.
Philip was already back.
He was sitting outside, shirt undone at the collar, trying to fix the broken leg of their daughter's chair. Sweat clung to his forehead, and a thin film of dust covered his work clothes.
He looked up when he heard her.
"Welcome," he said with a tired but hopeful smile. "How was the market today?"
"Fine," she replied. She could not tell him about the encounter.
Philip held up the chair. "I have finally fixed it."
She nodded politely.
He stared at her for a moment. "You're quiet today."
"I'm just tired," she said quickly.
He did not ask any more questions.
Their son Tolu ran outside barefoot, his laughter filled the compound as he played hide and seek with the other children. Their daughter, little Sade, followed behind holding a doll Philip had once carved from leftover wood.
Helen watched them. A normal family scene.
So why did she feel so distant?
Dinner was quiet. Philip talked about work, about a man at the factory who got promoted, about the price of diesel rising again. Helen nodded occasionally.
She did not mention the business card.
She did not mention the money.
She did not mention the thoughts in her mind.
Later, after everyone had gone to bed, Helen went outside into the quiet night. The moon was bright, giving the compound a clear vision. Crickets chirped in the grass.
She reached into her wrapper and brought out the card.
Alexander Raymond
Businessman & Philanthropist
A phone number followed.
Her heart beat loudly.
She read the card over and over again. As if she was expecting it to reveal something new.
Finally, after a long hesitation, she put the card under a small rock beside the mango tree, hidden, but not thrown away.
She looked up at the moon as if it could judge her.
"I have not done anything wrong," she whispered to herself.
Nothing wrong.
But the seed had already been planted, and seeds, no matter how small, will surely grow.
Later that night, Philip shifted in his sleep, rolling closer to her. He put his arm gently across her waist. His breathing was soft, warm against her shoulder.
Helen looked at the ceiling, she did not move his arm away. But she did not move closer either.
She simply lay there, without moving, caught between two worlds, the life she already had, and the life she secretly wanted.
The moonlight through the window lightened up the room, and outside, under the mango tree, a hidden business card waited like a whisper in the dark.