If you've not read the previous parts, read them here- Part 1, Part 2, and Part 3.
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Ladi curled up in the corner of the couch, arms wrapped tightly around herself, the flickering television casting shadows across her face. The living room was quiet except for the gentle hum of the air conditioner. Chenu stood by the window, phone in hand, his thumb hovering over a contact: Dr. Hamzat_Oncologist.
“I have booked the initial tests,” he said without turning around. “We can start the advanced treatment phase next week. They said there’s an immunotherapy trial we might qualify for. I’ve sent over your records.”
Ladi didn’t respond.
“I’ve also spoken with our account officer at the bank. If we need to take a loan along the way, it will be available. Whatever it takes. I promise you won’t walk this road alone.”
More silence.
He finally turned, slowly, and moved closer. “Ladi, did you hear me?”
“Yes, I did.” Her voice was steady, but flat. “And I wish I didn’t.”
“What do you mean?”
She stretched and stood. “Chenu, you’re moving too fast. You’re making all these decisions like it’s just another project to manage.”
“It’s not a project,” he said, kneeling in front of her. “It’s your life, and you are my life!"
“I’m glad you remember it’s my life. It’s about my faith, too!” she croaked, her eyes became shiny as she willed herself not to cry. “You’re acting like medicine is our only hope. Like God isn’t still in this.”
“I never said that,” Chenu replied, wounded. “But faith doesn’t mean doing nothing. We can believe and still act. Faith with works”
She stood abruptly, pacing now. “You think I’m doing nothing? You think the hours I’ve spent in prayer, in tears, are easy? Do you think my faith is passive?”
“No, I don’t,” he said quietly, sitting on the chair she just vacated. “But I wonder if you are afraid that acting with faith means you’ve given up on a miracle.”
She jerked back as his words hit her like a slap. She rambled, “I watched my father profess to love my mum for the rest of his life. At the onset of her diagnosis, he was distant, then he walked away when she needed him the most!” she whispered. “He couldn’t handle it. He left because her body was failing. I don’t want to put you in that same situation.”
Chenu rose slowly. “Ladi. I’m not your father.”
“I know that,” she said quietly, her voice was barely a whisper. “I know you are not my father, but I’m still scared. I don’t want to rush into treatments, and my body will start to shut down. I want peace before I move.”
“Move where? Babe, please perish that thought immediately. You know I can’t just sit here and wait,” he said. “Not while something inside you is trying to destroy you. Ekum, let us fight this together.”
Their silence was thick- two hearts divided, not by love, but by how to protect that love.
*******************
Ladi sat rigidly at her desk, staring intently at the dashboard she was building, but seeing nothing. Chenu leaned in the doorway, arms crossed, the faint sound of news playing behind him from the living room.
“Please hear me out, my love. I spoke with the oncologist again,” he began, voice steady but low. “She’s willing to refer us to a specialist in Chicago. I’ve asked questions, and all plans are in place; I just need you to agree.”
She didn’t look up.
“I even found a clinical trial - early stages, but promising,” he added.
“Chenu,” she said, finally turning to him. Her face was calm, too calm. “Have you asked God about this?”
He blinked. “Ladi. This isn’t one of those things we can pray away. I’m not saying don’t pray. I believe we should pray as we work towards healing. Let’s not wait while the clock runs out.”
“You think I’m just sitting here doing nothing?” Her voice cracked.
“I think you’re hoping God will give you a different answer than the one we already have,” he replied gently. “But what if this is His answer- doctors, medicine, science? What if He’s waiting on us to move before He shows His might?”
She stood abruptly. “You don’t understand. I can’t just walk into a hospital and pretend it’s all fine. You didn’t see my mother beg my father to stay. He left the moment he saw her chart. He ran, Chenu. I’m not ready to go down the same road.”
“I’m not your father, Ladi.” His voice was firm now. “I’m here. I’ll be here tomorrow. I’ll still be here, even when you hate me for pushing. But I’m not watching you die while waiting for a sign.”
Tears welled in her eyes. She didn’t want to believe he was right, but the weight of her fear pressed harder than any diagnosis ever could. So what then?
Ladi read it twice, then looked up at Chenu, who stood like a solid wall by her side. He closed the gap between them and enveloped her in a hug, then whispered in her ears, “For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but one of power, love, and sound judgment.” She let out a gasp as she allowed him to hug her tightly. She sobbed into his shirt, holding on for her dear life.
Yet in all these things we are more than conquerors through Him who loved us. Romans 8:37
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