Just as the pastor said, “You may now kiss the bride,” a small boy ran into the church shouting, “Mummy, why are you marrying another man when Daddy is outside?”

 

The microphone was still on the pastor’s chest, so everybody heard it loud and clear. At first, some people thought the child was joking, but when the boy pushed his way to the front, pointing with his small finger toward the entrance, the whole congregation scattered into noise.

Chidinma’s veil was still covering half of her face, her hands shaking as she held the bouquet. She turned sharply, her eyes widening as if she had seen a ghost. Before anybody could catch her, she dropped flat on the floor. The women in her aso-ebi screamed. Nonso, the groom, just stood like stone, staring at the boy as if the ground had betrayed him.

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The child couldn’t be more than seven years old, slim, dark-skinned, with the kind of innocent face that didn’t look capable of lying. He clutched the hem of Chidinma’s gown, tears already running down his cheeks. “Mummy, I said Daddy is outside. He said I should come and call you.”

Everywhere went silent for a moment. Even the band in the corner that had been preparing to play love songs dropped their instruments. All eyes turned to the wide church doors. Slowly, a figure began to appear.

The man was tall, his shirt slightly torn, his face looking worn out like someone who had walked from a very far place. He paused at the door, squinting into the bright lights of the hall. One of the elders in the front pew gasped, held his head, and shouted, “Chike!”

 

Whispers spread like wildfire. “Is it not the same Chike that died three years ago?” “But they buried him na.” “Ah! I said it that that burial was suspicious.” “Then what is this one doing here?”

Nonso’s best man held his arm, but the groom pulled away. His lips trembled, his eyes darting between the fainted bride, the crying boy, and the strange man at the door. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t speak.

 

Two women rushed to fan Chidinma, her chest heaving, her veil shifting off her face. She opened her eyes halfway, saw the man standing there, and screamed from deep inside her throat before fainting again.

The boy broke free from the ushers trying to hold him and ran straight to the man at the door. He hugged his leg tightly, crying, “Daddy, come and carry Mummy. She fell down.”

 

The church turned into confusion. Some people rushed outside to confirm if truly it was Chike, the man who everyone believed had died in a motor accident. Others pickled their bags and shoes, running as if evil had entered the building.

The pastor dropped the microphone and stepped back, shaking his head. “Blood of Jesus,” he muttered under his breath.

 

But Chike didn’t flinch. He took two slow steps forward, his eyes locked on Chidinma, who was still lying unconscious at the altar. His voice came out cracked but clear.

“I told you before, I will never leave you. Why are you marrying another man?”

The words hung in the air like thunder that refused to fade.

 

Nonso finally found his voice, his face twisting with disbelief. “Who are you?” he shouted, pointing a shaking hand at the man. “Who are you and why are you doing this on my wedding day?”

The man raised his head, his eyes red and tired, and replied in a tone that sent chills across the hall.

“My name is Chike… and I am her husband.”