The rain began before sunset and did not stop. By nine, water ran along the gutters outside the clinic in fast brown streams. Thunder rolled over the roof while Grace Williams prepared instruments and tried not to notice how often Mrs. Eze checked the time.
Amara had been in labour for twelve hours. She was exhausted enough to hate everyone.
"If you tell me to breathe one more time," she told Grace, "I will bite you."
Grace wiped sweat from her forehead. "Save your strength."
"For biting you."
Even Mrs. Eze almost smiled.
Shortly after midnight, the baby entered the world screaming.
A boy.
Amara began to cry before Grace placed him against her chest.
"My baby," she whispered.
The child quieted against her skin. Grace watched the young mother's face change as though a new expression had been invented for her alone.
"He's strong," she said.
Amara kissed the top of his head again and again.
"Michael has to see him."
At the name, Mrs. Eze looked up sharply.
"You need to rest first."
"Just give me my phone."
"Later."
Amara frowned. "No. Now."
Mrs. Eze removed the phone from the bedside table before Amara could reach it.
Grace noticed.
"Madam Eze?"
The older woman smiled. "She is exhausted. We don't need her upsetting herself." Amara held out her hand. "Give me my phone."
"Rest."
"It is my phone."
Grace hesitated.
Mrs. Eze gave her a look.
Leave.
Grace did not like it.
But she left.
Across Lagos, Victoria lay in a private hospital suite with surgical dressings taped to a body that had never been opened. A paid doctor had explained an emergency Caesarean section, complications, the need for privacy. Everything had been rehearsed.
David sat beside the bed, pale with worry and happiness.
"You scared me," he said.
Victoria forced a tired smile. "I'm sorry."
"Do not apologise for having surgery."
Her throat tightened.
Outside the suite, footsteps approached.
The door opened.
Mrs. Eze entered carrying the baby. David stood so quickly his chair scraped the floor.
For a moment he simply stared.
"My God."
Victoria's heart began to pound.
The baby was smaller than she expected. Realer. His tiny fist opened against the blanket as Mrs. Eze placed him in her arms. Victoria looked down into a face that had cost more than money.
He smelled of milk, powder and something warm that belonged only to newborns.
His eyes remained closed.
David knelt beside the bed.
"He's perfect," he whispered.
Victoria began to cry.
David thought the tears were joy.
Perhaps some of them were.
He touched the baby's cheek with one finger.
"Daniel," he said.
They had chosen the name months earlier.
Victoria looked at him. "Daniel."
Daniel Adebayo.
The son Chief Bamidele Adebayo required.
The boy David already loved.
The lie that now had a heartbeat.
"Can I hold him?" David asked.
Victoria almost said no.
Not because she wanted the child for herself. Because handing him over made the deception expand beyond her body.
Then she placed the baby in David's arms. His face broke open with wonder.
"Hello," he whispered. "I'm your dad."
Victoria closed her eyes.
David sat beside her for nearly an hour with Daniel against his chest. He spoke to the baby about football, school fees and the fact that Grandfather would probably try to turn him into a managing director before he could walk.
"You can be anything," David whispered. "Just don't become boring."
Victoria watched him and felt the full shape of what she had done. The lie had not saved an inheritance in that moment. It had given an innocent man a son he already loved. When Mrs. Eze returned to leave, Victoria caught her sleeve.
"The mother?" she asked.
Mrs. Eze's eyes narrowed. "You said you did not want to know."
Victoria released her.
That answer would live with her longer than any detail Mrs. Eze might have given. In another part of the city, Amara woke to an empty cot.
For a few seconds she was too disoriented to understand what was wrong.
Then memory returned.
The baby.
Her son.
She turned her head.
The cot beside the bed was empty.
"Grace?"
No answer.
Amara pushed herself upright despite the pain tearing through her abdomen.
"My baby?"
She called louder.
By the time Mrs. Eze entered, Amara was trying to climb out of bed.
"Where is he?"
"Lie down."
"Where is my son?"
Mrs. Eze's face softened into a performance of sorrow.
"There was a complication."
Amara stopped moving.
"What complication?"
"He did not survive."
The words hung in the room.
Amara stared at her.
Then shook her head.
"No."
"I'm sorry."
"No. I held him. He was breathing."
"Babies can deteriorate quickly."
Amara's eyes moved to the empty cot.
Then to Mrs. Eze.
Something in her fear sharpened.
"Show me his body."
Mrs. Eze said nothing.
Amara's voice changed.
"Show me my baby."