Across the world in Lagos Nigeria, the garden at the back of the Duru's million dollar mansion shimmered under the late afternoon sun, a soft breeze stirring the petals of the freshly planted hibiscus bushes. The twins; Marvin and Maurice waddled across the manicured lawn, their matching lemon-yellow outfits already stained from cake and fruit juice. Laughter filled the air as they chased each other, toppling over and squealing with delight.
Ada sat back on the patio couch, sipping a glass of juice, her heels finally off after hours of hosting. Ken stood nearby, his arms folded, a quiet smile playing at his lips as he watched the twins play.
"You pulled off another grand one," Ken said, giving his sister a sidelong glance. "The kids will look back at these parties one day and think they were born into royalty."
Ada chuckled. "They deserve it. After all the heartbreak... these two are our sunshine."
Ken nodded slowly. He didn't say much, but his eyes betrayed the depth of that sentiment. The twins were a miracle. A turning point.
Ada's phone buzzed on the glass table. She picked it up, tapped a few times, and tilted the screen toward Ken.
"There's this lady that's been going viral on social media lately," she said. "She calls herself Elle Naya, based in Dallas. I first saw her on TikTok, now I follow her on YouTube too. Her videos are powerful… piercing, even."
Ken's brows lifted slightly, curious. "Elle Naya?"
"Yeah," Ada replied, scrolling. "She talks a lot about surrogacy, emotional healing, giving birth to twins, abandonment, and all that. One of her most viral speeches is titled The One Who Was Cast Away. Whew. I couldn't stop crying."
She paused, her tone lowering. "Some people in the comments said her real name is Lina. And get this… she's Nigerian."
Ken straightened slowly, his eyes narrowing. "Lina? From Dallas?"
Ada turned to him, noticing the sudden change in his expression. "Yeah. You know someone?"
He didn't answer right away, just stared at the screen she held up, as if trying to see beyond the thumbnail image of a modestly dressed woman, her voice frozen mid-sentence.
"Send me the link," he said finally. "I'll check it out when I'm free."
Ada searched his face. She recognized that look; thoughtful, guarded. "Ken..."
He waved it off gently, smiling. "No, no. I'm just intrigued. That's all."
A moment of silence passed between them before one of the twins squealed and tripped near the flower bed.
Ada stood and scooped the child up, brushing grass off her knees. "They're growing fast. I've been thinking about enrolling them in a creche."
Ken turned toward her, surprised. "At one? Isn't that too soon?"
"Nope," Ada said confidently. "The earlier they start, the sooner they begin to develop language, social skills, and structure. It's not just daycare, you know. These places are intentional now."
Ken still looked unsure. "I don't know, Ada. I worry about the environment. What if they don't get the right care, the attention?"
"I'm not throwing them into just any place," she assured him, settling the toddler back onto the grass. "I'll look for one with strong reviews, high ratings, and a good staff-to-child ratio. We can visit together, meet the caregivers. I promise you, they'll be fine."
He nodded slowly, watching as the twins resumed their play, oblivious to the weight of decisions being made around them.
But his mind was far from creches and garden parties now. It was spinning, caught in a memory long buried of a girl named Lina. And the possibility that the woman shaking the internet across the ocean might just be her.
And if it was… what then?
***
The birthday guests had left, the garden had been cleared, and the soft hum of the cleaner's vacuum drifted faintly from the hallway. The twins, now exhausted from the day's excitement, were asleep in their cribs under the gentle watch of the nanny. Ada had retreated to her wing to shower, and the house had quieted down to a rare lull.
Ken found Mara in her private lounge, lounging on a velvet chaise in a silk robe, scrolling through her phone with a glass of wine in hand. A few glossy party photos already circulated online, one of her fussing over Maurice with exaggerated concern—posing, smiling, perfect for the tabloid page.
Ken stepped in without knocking, his eyes sharp and resolute. He didn't sit.
She looked up briefly. "Well, if it isn't the proud father of the year," she said dryly. "I must say, we pulled it off beautifully. Did you see the press coverage already?"
Ken remained silent.
She sipped her wine. "Not even a thank you? I dressed like a devoted mother today."
He finally spoke, voice low and steady. "Why go through the surrogacy process if you weren't ready to be a real mother, Mara?"
Her gaze slowly lifted from her glass, wariness settling on her features.
"Why rip off another woman's children if you can't at least love them?" he added, each word laced with restrained fury.
Mara's expression twisted. "Rip off? That's a stretch, Ken. We agreed to this. You wanted heirs, I made it happen. I'm not the one who complained much about childlessness remember?"
Ken flinched at the callousness. "That's exactly the problem. You act like they're accessories. You show up when cameras are flashing, when there's an audience to applaud your maternal performance, but the minute the lights go off, you vanish."
"I have a business to run," she snapped. "We're not all lounging in boardrooms playing boss. My brand doesn't build itself."
"Your brand isn't the one crying at night, Mara," Ken fired back. "Your brand doesn't reach for your arms or ask for bedtime stories. They do. Marvin and Maurice do. And you're not there."
"Oh please," she scoffed, rising to her feet. "So now I'm a villain because I don't sing lullabies and change diapers? That's why we have a nanny. And Ada! God, she practically lives here."
"And thank God she does!" Ken barked. "Because if it were left to you, they'd be growing up in a gold cage without love. Without warmth."
Mara rolled her eyes, crossing the room to pour another glass. "Spare me the lecture. If Ada is so great at being 'motherly,' maybe you should have married her instead."
Ken's jaw tightened. He stepped closer. "Don't insult her. She's doing your job and doing it with love. You just show up in couture for the headlines."
Her face hardened. "You want a wife who bakes cookies and kneels at bedtime? Go marry a village girl, Ken. I am not that woman."
"And you never should've been a mother," he said quietly, the disappointment now weighing heavier than the anger. "You saw those boys as a project. A statement. Another line in your legacy portfolio."
She blinked, clearly stung.
"But they're not props, Mara. They're children. They feel. They will grow. And one day they'll realize their mother chose everything else but them."
Silence fell between them, thick with unsaid truths.
Ken turned to leave, his voice now almost a whisper. "You still have a chance. You can still show up for them. If not for me… then for them. But this pretense won't last forever."
And with that, he walked out, leaving Mara rooted in place, glass in hand, her face unreadable, torn between pride and something that resembled regret.