Purple heard her husband's voice, she slowly turned off the shower tap, the water had barely stopped running when Purple pressed her ear to the door, trying hard to eavesdrop. Her husband's voice came faintly through the half-open bathroom door. The tone was low, too careful, trying not to alert his wife.
Purple instinctively leaned closer, her hand still resting on the wet metal of the shower knob, droplets of water trailing down her back as she strained to hear.
"Mum, please let me call you back, I have a project to finish now.",
Purple waited for a second longer, but the line had already gone dead. Quietly, she stepped out of the bathroom. Wrapped in a white towel from her chest to just above her knees, she stood at the doorway of their bedroom, watching him.
Abiola turned from his phone, startled slightly by her sudden presence. He quickly set it down on the bedside table.
"That must be your mum," Purple said, her voice neutral, but Abiola hesitated.
"Yes… she just wanted to pass a message across."
Purple's expression didn't change, but her eyes narrowed faintly as she walked to the dresser.
She pulled out a Nivea Vitamin C lotion bottle from her skincare products stand, placed it on the table beside the mirror, and sat on the white painted stool slowly, still dripping, but thoughtful.
"Does the message involve your wife giving her a grandchild?" she asked quietly, not looking at him.
Abiola rubbed the back of his neck.
"Purple…"
"Don't deny it," she interrupted, her voice tight but not raised. "That's what it always comes down to, doesn't it?"
Abiola crossed the room slowly, his voice softening.
"Hey, sweetheart, don't be like that. She's just... concerned.
Purple let out a humorless chuckle.
"Concerned? oo yeah, She's been 'concerned' since our six-month anniversary."
This time, she looked at him and turned her head.
" It's been one year, Abiola. One year of our marriage, some months of hopeful waiting, of clinic appointments, of hormone pills that mess with my mood, my body, my sense of self. And all she wants is a grandchild, as if that's the only thing that makes me a wife."
He sat on the edge of the bed, facing her.
"It's not like that. You know, I don't see you that way."
"But you don't stop her either," Purple said, now meeting his eyes. "You always find a way to soften her blows. You never tell her to stop."
Abiola sighed. "Because I don't want to create tension between you two. She means well…"
"She means well?" Purple cut in. "And she's using my womb as leverage."
For a moment, silence settled between them, thick with unspoken pain. Purple stood, slowly applying her lotion, her face composed but her movements stiff. Abiola stood too, walking toward her.
"Listen to me," he said gently.
"We are going to have our child when the time is right. Not on anyone else's timeline. Not even my mother's. You're my wife. Not a baby-making machine. You hear me?"
Purple stared at him, her eyes glistening now, not with anger, but with tiredness.
"I hear you," she whispered.
He stepped closer and pulled her into a warm embrace, the towel still damp against his shirt. For a while, they just stood there, holding each other, their hearts beating through the noise of expectations, pressure, and love.
Abiola held her close, feeling the dampness of her towel and the slight tremble in her shoulders. Purple rested her head against his chest, her silence louder than words. The weight of unspoken fear and guilt pressed down on Purple like a heavy fog.
After a long pause, Abiola gently pulled back just enough to look into her eyes.
"Listen to me," he said, brushing a stray strand of wet hair from her face.
"This thing, this PCOS... It's not the end. It doesn't define you. It doesn't define us."
Purple lowered her eyes, her voice barely above a whisper.
"But what if it never goes away? What if I never get pregnant?"
Abiola cupped her face in his hands.
"Then we fight. We fight it together. You're not alone in this, Purple. You never have been. And PCOS isn't a life sentence, it's a challenge, yes, but one we can manage. The doctor said so, remember?"
She gave a small nod, still unsure, still wrapped in her doubts.
"I believe," he continued, his voice stronger now, filled with calm conviction, "that we will have children. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but it will happen; you have been placed on medications. And even if the road is longer than we planned, I'll walk every step with you."
Tears slipped from her eyes, and he caught them with his thumb.
"You're not broken," he whispered. "You're brave. Don't let this diagnosis make you feel that way. You're still the same amazing woman I married. And we're in this together, no matter how long it takes. You're enough for me, with or without a child."
She looked up at him, her heart heavy yet light all at once.
Purple broke down quietly, burying her face in his chest again. Not from despair this time, but from relief, the kind that comes when you're reminded you're loved exactly as you are.
They stayed like that for a long while, two hearts beating in quiet understanding. Eventually, she pulled back and smiled faintly through the tears.
"I'm sorry. I just… sometimes I feel like I'm failing."
Abiola kissed her forehead. "You're not failing. You're fighting. And that's strength."
She nodded slowly, finally letting herself believe it, at least for tonight.
And in that simple, vulnerable moment, they weren't just a husband and wife caught in the shadows of expectation. They were partners, warriors, and believers, holding on to each other and the quiet hope of the family they'd someday build.
Abiola peeked at her cheek, but then, he looked down to see his wife's towel had dropped down to the soft pink rug.
"Bad girl", Abiola called her. Grabbing her big flesh ass, with his two hands he spanked her softly, again and again.
"This man leave me alone", Purple faked
"Did the towel drop by itself?" Abiola said to her as he kissed her deeply. Detaching his tongue from hers, he said again.
"Just give daddy doggy, let my head calm down."
Purple laughed and seductively, she knelt and bent on top of the white bedspread on the very soft bed. Abiola was lost looking at his beautiful wife; his facial expression was already speaking other words.
While watching the well shaved honeypot, he gently touched his hard dick and just then, his phone rang, and he turned to reach for it. Purple, hissed in anger and lay back.