FRED
Sunlight pressed weakly through the curtains of the hotel room, the kind of light that most mornings bring after a long, noisy night — pale, forgiving, but heavy with reality.
I hadn't really slept. I'd drifted in and out of uneasy dreams, haunted by flashes of Tracy's face, her laugh, the way she'd looked at Eli — the ease between them. Every time I closed my eyes, the image returned, sharper, louder, crueler.
The sound of my phone vibrating pulled me out of the fog. I blinked at the screen.
Mom.
I cleared my throat before answering, trying to sound awake.
"Good morning, Mom."
Her voice came soft but firm, full of that familiar warmth.
"Fredrick, my son, where are you? I checked with your gateman and he said you didn't come home last night. Are you alright?"
I sighed, sitting up slowly. "I'm fine, Mom. I just... stayed over at the hotel. Had a late meeting and I was too tired to drive back."
"Hotel? Hmm." She paused, suspicion in her tone but love behind it. "You young men, always busy, always restless. Please take care of yourself. Eat something. I'll see you later today, yes?"
I rubbed my eyes, a faint smile forming. "Yes, Mom. I'll be home soon."
When the call ended, the silence came rushing back. I sat for a long moment, staring at the city beyond the window — cars crawling, sunlight glinting off rooftops. The world was moving, but inside, I felt still and heavy.
Behind me, Amaka stirred, sitting up against the pillows. She looked at me quietly, noticing the distance in my gaze, the way my shoulders had dropped.
"You've been somewhere else since we stepped into this room last night," she said gently. "What's wrong?"
I hesitated, eyes still on the window. "It's nothing. Just work, family... everything."
But my words felt empty. She could tell. The warmth between us from last night had cooled; something invisible had settled in the space between us.
Amaka nodded slowly, her voice light but careful. "You don't have to explain. I've seen that look before."
I turned to her, a little guilt shadowing my eyes. "I'm sorry. You didn't do anything wrong. I'm just... distracted."
She smiled — not bitterly, just with quiet understanding. "It's fine, Fred. We all have our days."
She rose from the bed, wrapping herself in the soft white robe by the dresser. Her movement was calm, practiced. She began to gather her things — her clutch, her perfume, her heels, her red dangerous dress— with the silent grace of someone who understood the rhythm of temporary goodbyes.
I watched her, feeling that strange mix of gratitude and regret. When she turned to leave, I stood and reached for my wallet from the nightstand. Without a word, I pulled out seven crisp hundred-dollar bills and placed them in her hand.
She looked at me, a little surprised.
"Thank you," she said softly, her smile gentle, not transactional. Then she leaned forward and pressed a light kiss against my cheek. "Next time, maybe you'll smile more."
I nodded, forcing one back. "I'll make it up to you."
Amaka chuckled lightly. "Don't worry, boss man. Lagos will always give you another night."
And with that, she slipped out of the room — leaving behind the scent of her perfume.
I sat on the edge of the bed again, elbows on my knees, head heavy. The silence was louder now. I stared at the floor, trying to shake the image of Tracy from my mind — the way she'd looked happy, untouched by my memory.
Minutes passed like hours.
I finally checked my watch. 12:27 p.m.
I exhaled sharply. I wasn't supposed to still be here.
Pushing myself up, I walked to the bathroom. The shower ran hot and loud, steam fogging the mirror as I washed the night from my skin. By the time I stepped out, I felt cleaner but not lighter.
Finally dressed in a simple shirt and dark trousers, checked my reflection once, and reached for my phone.
"James, get the car ready. We're leaving in fifteen. Call the boys — I want everyone downstairs."
Outside, the sounds of the city afternoon life drifted faintly through the window. I grabbed my wallet, put my shades on, grabbed my black suit from the wardrobe, then took one last look around the hotel room — the half-empty glasses, the rumpled bed, the quiet stillness that lingered. Then I picked up my keys, slipped on my watch, and walked out to meet the day.
I wasn't sure what waited for me back at the penthouse.
But one thing I knew — I couldn't run from my thoughts forever.
********
The black Range Rover eased to a stop inside my penthouse, its engine humming low against the afternoon heat. The air shimmered, heavy with sunlight and the faint hum of the city beyond the walls.
James stepped out first, scanning the compound with professional calm before moving swiftly to open the door for me.
I emerged slowly, dressed in my usual understated elegance — but the weight of the night still clung to me. My eyes were distant, my shoulders tense beneath the clean lines of my shirt. I adjusted my wristwatch, drew a steady breath, and started toward the entrance.
Musa, my gateman, greeted me with a warm grin.
"Welcome, oga. Hope say everything dey okay?"
I nodded faintly, my voice low. "Musa, abeg... no let anybody in today. I need quiet."
"Okay sir," Musa said, concern flickering in his tone as he stepped aside.
Inside, the penthouse was a sanctuary of modern calm — wide glass panels, cool marble floors, art on the walls that caught the soft afternoon light. The faint scent of vanilla, cinnamon, and sandalwood diffusers floated through the air.
In the living room, my mother sat on the long cream sofa, her laptop balanced on her lap. She was dressed in a flowing Adire gown, vibrant in pink and purple, her reading glasses perched lightly on her nose. A glass of fresh juice and a small plate of cookies rested beside her on a trey.
She looked up when she heard my footsteps — and her face brightened instantly.
"Ah! My son," she said, her smile tender. "You're back. I was about to call you again."
I tried to smile back, but my expression faltered. The composure I'd carried all morning cracked just a little.
She studied me for a second, then closed her laptop gently, stood, and walked toward me.
The soft swish of her gown filled the quiet space as she reached me and wrapped her arms around me in a long, knowing hug.
"What's wrong, baby?" she murmured, holding me close. "What's this sadness over your face?"
For a moment, I didn't speak. I just stood there, breathing in the familiar scent of her perfume — something floral, comforting, safe that reminded me of Amaka's.
When she pulled back slightly to look at me, her eyes searching mine, I finally sighed.
"It's nothing, Mom," I said softly. "Just... life."
But she knew better.
"Fredrick, don't lie to your mother," she said, her voice calm but firm. "I can see it. Talk to me."
I hesitated, jaw tight, eyes glistening with the weight of unspoken words. Then, slowly, I exhaled — and the wall began to crumble.
"Mom..." I started, my voice quiet. "Do you remember the girl I told you about? Tracy — the one I met back in uni, the one I've been searching for all these years without knowing her name? Imagine, I just got to know her name last night..."
My mother nodded gently. "Of course I do. The one you said had a special place in your heart."
I nodded, staring at the floor. "I saw her last night."
Her brows lifted slightly. "You did? My goodness — after all these years?"
I gave a small, humorless laugh. "Yeah. But it wasn't what I thought it would be. She was there... in the club. Wrapped in another man's arms."
My voice broke slightly at the edges, raw and unguarded now.
"She didn't even recognize me, Mom. Not a flicker. I looked right at her, shook hands with her — and she just smiled like I was nobody. I've been searching for her, thinking maybe someday fate would bring us back together, thinking maybe she still remembered me the way I remember her."
I swallowed hard, my words trembling now. "But she didn't. She's moved on. Quickly. Cleanly. Like I never meant anything. And that... that hurt, Mom. It really does."
My mother's eyes softened with sympathy. She reached out and took my hand, her thumb brushing over my knuckles.
"Oh, my dear boy," she said softly. "You loved her deeply."
"I did, I still do..." I whispered. "And I guess part of me thought maybe — if I ever saw her again — things would make sense. But seeing her happy with someone else..." I paused, shaking my head. "It made me feel stupid. Like I've been holding on to a dream she let go of long ago."
For a moment, there was silence between us. We just stared at each other's faces.
She squeezed my hand gently.
"Fredrick" she said, her voice calm but filled with wisdom, "sometimes life takes the people we love in directions we don't expect. You can't blame her for moving on, she doesn't even know your name to start with, even if she did look for you, how would she have described you without a name? Just as you can't blame your heart for remembering. The love you had — or still think you have— is real to you, and that's enough. But don't let it chain you. You deserve peace too."
I looked up at her, eyes heavy but grateful.
"I know, Mom. I just... I thought I was over her."
She smiled softly, brushing my cheek with her hand. "The heart doesn't always heal in straight lines. But it does heal. Obviously she doesn't remember, but maybe she didn't mean to forget. I mean, look at you... one who knew you few years ago will not recognize the man you've become. So clean, more handsome and fulfilled. I too would not have remembered."
"I don't know what to do mom... all I know is that I want her back."
She held me tightly and said, "I know, but don't push too hard. Give it some thoughts, then maybe set up a friendly meeting with her and talk. From there, you will know what to do next okay?"
I nodded slowly, pulling her into another hug — this time tighter, longer. She held me until the weight in my chest began to ease, even if just a little.
When I finally stepped back, she smiled again. "Go freshen up, my son. I made some rice and stew earlier. Eat something. Then rest. You'll feel better after."
I smiled faintly. "Thanks, Mom."
She nodded, still watching me carefully. "And Baby?"
"Yes, Mom?"
"Next time you see her — if you ever do — pour your heart to her, let her understand why it took you so long to find her."
I gave a small nod, her words sinking deep. "I will."
Then I turned and started toward the hallway, my steps slow, the air in the room lighter than before — but my heart still wrestling quietly inside me.