It’s 10 pm and she’s still coming back from work late, too tired to complain about the workload, too resigned to do much about it but continue the cycle tomorrow. 

She takes off her jacket and toes off her shoes making a beeline to the bathroom; she spends twenty minutes scrubbing off the sound of customer complaints on her skin, rinsing off the diplomacy reserved for her boss taking off the stress of being an adult and comported. She walks out with a towel across her chest replacing it with a light wrapper my mom gave to me during one of her visits. She then walks up to me in my makeshift office leaving a tender kiss on my cheek and asking the same question “How did your day go baby?” 

I shrug, reminding her “It’s better now you’re home” like I’ve been doing for the past decade or so. 

She reminds me to get off work too, that we’ve both got to eat and watch some movie before bed. Weekends are bright and slow, she spends time in her small garden in the backyard, knees deep in the soil, shorter than it had been the past few years, never let me do anything but watch; apparently, I have no plant-friendly bones in my body and I hate the sun. Some days I bake cupcakes, fruit bread or some new recipe our daughter sent me. She eats less this time reminding me of the need to cut down on sugar “We’re not getting any younger” she starts “Something must kill a woman” I reply shoving the piece of cake she had been eyeing in her mouth. Sometimes our friends visit with new gossip, we watch the neighbours' kids, and other times we go on short walks around the estate enjoying the evening sun and holding hands. 

On quiet nights we make love, and we admire each wrinkle age has brought to us, the saggy boobs and softer tummy leaving behind the summer body goals to our youths. I leave kissing down the scar that refused to leave; evidence of her birthing our baby. She trails her fingers along my skin “so beautiful, so beautiful” she says every time and I have started believing it. She pinches, my wide hips and I squeezed her butt. We giggle at each other like there’s some sort of inside joke we shared. She fondles my breasts as she mutters “ nwunye m, Obi nwuye ya” kissing me senseless. 

And just like that we continue living the same day but just as new every day and the same joy keeps me whole again. 

******

Obi nwuye ya- The wife that holds my heart

nwunye m- my wife