The comments were soft, but they never stopped.
Years passed.
The excitement faded.
Chief Balogun grew older and busier. Their conversations grew shorter. Bolanle’s role became less partner and more ornament.
Then came the deeper ache—the one she had spent years refusing to feel.
Sometimes, late at night, she thought of her daughters.
Had Yetunde grown taller?
Did Kemi still fight everyone?
Did Titi still sleep with the carved doll?
She pushed those thoughts away whenever she could.
There was no going back.
But time has a way of humbling people.
As Chief Balogun aged, his children from previous marriages began appearing more often. They were polite, but distant. In their eyes, Bolanle was not family. She was simply the woman their father had taken from a village many years earlier.
One day she overheard one of his sons say, “She has no legal claim to anything.”
The words hit her like cold water.
Soon lawyers began visiting. Shares were restructured. Property was discussed behind closed doors.
Then Chief Balogun suffered a severe stroke.
Doctors came. Family gathered. Decisions were made.
No one asked Bolanle’s opinion.
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