Episode 8 — The First Fracture
The distance between Rwanda and Lagos had never felt as wide as it did that week. Not in kilometers but in silence.
Purity noticed it first in the pauses. Valerie still picked his calls. She still replied to messages. She still said goodnight.
But something in her tone had changed.
She no longer lingered. She no longer teased him for overexplaining tech analogies. She no longer asked, “Have you eaten?” in that soft way that felt like home.
Now it was: Okay.
Now it was: I’m tired.
Now it was: Talk tomorrow.
He lay awake most nights after their calls ended, staring at the ceiling fan in the guesthouse, replaying her voice in his head.
He had expected fear. He had not expected distance.
—
On Wednesday evening, after media rehearsal at church, Valerie sat alone in the darkened auditorium while the cleaners moved quietly in the background.
The stage lights were off. Only the emergency exit signs glowed faint red. She liked the emptiness. It did not demand anything from her.
Her phone buzzed.
Purity: Are you home?
She stared at the screen for a moment before replying.
Valerie: Still at church.
Purity: Call?
She inhaled slowly and texted back.
Valerie: Okay.
Barely five seconds later, the call connected. He smiled immediately, like he had been waiting. Her chest tightened involuntarily.
“Hi, mama.”
“Hi.”
“How was rehearsal?”
“Good.”
“Just good?”
She leaned back against the chair. “Yes, Purity. Good.”
He noticed the tone.
“Are you avoiding me?”
Her jaw tightened. “Why would I avoid you?”
“Because you sound like you are.”
She laughed shortly. “You’re reading too much meaning into things.”
“Baby girl.”
“What?” she sounded irritated.
“Talk to me.”
She closed her eyes briefly. “What do you want me to say?”
“Tell me what’s happening inside you.”
She hesitated. Then something in her snapped. “You really want to know?”
“Yes.”
She sat upright. “Fine.”
Her voice trembled slightly, but she didn’t stop.
“You drop something like ‘God is calling me to be a pastor’ and then expect me to just continue like nothing happened?”
“I didn’t expect that.” he calmly stated
“Then what did you expect?”
“That we would process it together.”
She laughed bitterly. “Process?”
“Yes.”
“You’re calm about it.”
“I’m not calm.” he sounded stressed.
“You sound calm.” she stated, ignoring how tired she felt he was.
He ran a hand over his face. “Babe, I’m trying to be steady.”
“Well, it’s making me feel unstable.”
She stood up abruptly and began pacing the empty aisle.
“I watched my mother process,” she said, voice tightening. “I watched her pray and smile in public and cry in private.”
He listened carefully.
“I watched church members take pieces of her husband until there was nothing left for us.”
Her throat burned.
“And now I’m supposed to smile because my boyfriend feels called?”
“I didn’t say smile.”
“You’re acting like this is noble.”
“It is obedience.”
Her head snapped toward the phone. “There it is.”
“What?” he asked, genuinely confused.
“That word.”
“Obedience?”
“Yes.”
She huffed. “You make it sound like if I struggle with this, I’m anti-God.”
“That’s not what I’m saying.”
“It feels like it.”
He inhaled sharply. “I would never weaponize God against you.”
“But you are.”
His chest tightened. “How?”
“By standing so firmly on what you think He’s saying that there’s no space for my fear.” she admitted
“That’s not true.” his voice came out in whispers.
“Isn’t it?” Her voice cracked. “Where do I fit in this?”
He was quiet for a moment. “You fit beside me.”
“That’s easy to say from Rwanda.”
He swallowed. “That’s unfair.”
“Is it?”
She stopped pacing.
“I just started breathing in this relationship,” she whispered. “I just started believing I could build something that wouldn’t disappear.”
“It’s not disappearing.”
“It feels like it.” she sounded drained. Really drained.
Her honesty hit him hard.
“I’m still here,” he said softly.
“Physically? No.”
He winced. “I mean emotionally.”
“Emotionally you’re already halfway in a pulpit.”
That stung. “Mama.”
“What?”
“Don’t reduce this to ambition.”
“I’m not.”
“Then don’t talk like I’m chasing a title.”
“I’m talking like I’m scared.”
Her voice broke fully then. Silence filled the line. He closed his eyes.
“I don’t want to fight you,” he said quietly.
“I don’t want to fight either.” she croaked.
“Then stop pushing me away.” he pleaded
“I’m protecting myself.”
“From me?” he was getting upset now.
“From what you might become.”
That sentence lingered. It felt veryyyy Heavy.
“I am not your father,” he said again, but softer this time.
“I know,” she whispered. “But trauma doesn’t ask for logic.”
He let that settle.
The auditorium felt too big around her.
The guesthouse room felt too small around him.
“Okay,” he said slowly. “Let’s do this differently.”
She sniffed. “How?”
“Tell me the worst thing you’re afraid of.”
She hesitated.
“Say it,” he encouraged gently.
She closed her eyes.
“I’m afraid that one day I’ll be sitting in a church service, watching you preach to hundreds, and I’ll realize I don’t know you anymore.”
His breath caught.
“I’m afraid,” she continued, voice trembling, “that everyone will need you more than I do.”
“That will never be true.” he whispered
“You don’t know that.”
“I choose you.” he reassured her.
“You say that now.” her voice breaking.
“I will keep choosing you.”
Her tears fell silently. “Purity…”
“What happened to calling me baby?” He asked silently. He was on the verge of tears.
“I.. I…. Look, now's not the time for that” she sounded upset. She continued.
“If this becomes your life… will I have to become someone I’m not?”
He frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t want to perform pastor’s wife.”
He was quiet.
“I don’t want to smile when I’m tired.”
“I wouldn’t expect that.”
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“I don’t want to be accessible to everyone.”
“You won’t have to be.”
“I don’t want my marriage to be public property.”
“It won’t be.” he sounded super confident.
She exhaled shakily. “You say everything like it’s simple.”
“It’s not simple.”
“Then why do you sound so certain?”
“Because I know who I am.”
“And who are you?”
He answered without hesitation.
“A man who refuses to neglect his home. A man that loves God and will be led by him”
The conviction in his voice made her pause. But her fear was louder.
“Intentions change under pressure,” she whispered.
“And I need you to trust that I won’t.”
Trust.
There it was. The word she avoided.
She sat down slowly in the front row, staring at the empty stage.
“Maybe I’m not ready for this,” she murmured.
“For what?”
“For loving someone with that kind of calling.”
His chest tightened painfully.
“Are you saying you want to leave?”
The question hung like fragile glass. She didn’t answer immediately.
“I don’t know,” she admitted.
He inhaled sharply.
“Valerie.” he couldn't bring himself to call her baby. He was hurting badly.
“I’m not breaking up with you,” she said quickly. “I just… I don’t know how to stand in this.”
He closed his eyes.
“I need you,” he said softly.
The vulnerability in his tone startled her.
“You think this is easy for me?” he continued. “You think I’m excited about carrying something that could cost me you?”
Her breathing slowed.
“I prayed for clarity,” he said quietly. “I didn’t pray to lose you.”
Her heart clenched.
“I’m scared too,” he admitted.
She had never heard him say that.
“Of what?” she whispered.
“Of failing. Of hurting you. Of stepping into something bigger than me.”
“I don’t want to fight you,” he repeated.
She pressed her lips together.
“I don’t want to lose you,” she whispered.
“Then don’t run.”
She shook her head slightly. “I’m not running.”
“You’re retreating.” he told her, already upset and tired.
The truth of that hurt. She sniffed and angrily wiped the tears that followed. His heart melted and he softened his tone.
“Come here,” he said instinctively, then smiled sadly. “If I were there, I’d just hold your hands and let you say everything.”
Her chest ached at the image.
“You’re not here,” she said quietly.
“I know, baby. I know.”
The distance pressed in again. They both kept quiet for a while. Trying to process everything.
“Okay,” she said finally. “Let’s not decide anything tonight.”
“Okay.”
“I need time to pray without feeling like I’m being pushed.”
“You’re not being pushed.”
“Then give me space to process.”
He nodded slowly.
“Okay.”
They sat in silence a moment longer.
“Mama..?”
“Yes.”
“I love you.”
She closed her eyes. This time she didn’t hesitate.
“I love you too.”
The words felt different now. Heavier. More fragile.
After they hung up, Valerie remained seated in the empty church auditorium. The stage loomed before her. She imagined Purity there. Mic in hand. Voice steady. Crowd listening. Her chest tightened.
“God,” she whispered into the quiet room, “why him?”
The exit sign hummed softly. No answer.
In Rwanda, Purity knelt beside his bed.
“Father,” he said quietly, “if this is from You, confirm it. And if it will destroy what You started between us… show me.”
He stayed there long after the lights were out. Neither of them slept well that night.
And somewhere beneath their fear and their love, something was forming.
Pressure. Not yet a break. But the first fracture had appeared. And fractures, if not handled carefully, could become fault lines. The question now was simple. Would they let fear define them— Or would they fight for something neither fully understood yet?
Hiiii Varity lovers😍. Whooshhhh. This episode was intense. Really intense. What do you think both of them should do now?
Also, our posting days will now be Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays.
This means that a new episode drops on Monday. Brace yourselves cause it's about to be a rollercoaster of emotions.
Maybe they could talk to someone? Like a counsellor?
Just started reading this story and I’m already crying
I see so much of myself with Valerie and her walls