Saved By Grace- Ep 18

Episode 18- A Man Hopelessly In Love

SOTERIA’S POV

Two months. Sixty days of waking up to a world where my father’s voice is only an echo in my dreams.

If you had told me last month, while I was lying on that bed in Akila’s house feeling like a hollowed-out shell, that I would be standing here today with a heart that actually feels steady, I would have looked at you like you were speaking a foreign language.

Grief is a strange, shapeless thing. It doesn’t leave you, but it changes.

It stops being a monster that wants to swallow you whole and starts becoming a quiet companion that reminds you how deeply you loved.

Leaving Akila’s house back then was the hardest and best thing I ever did.

Those three days were the transition from death to a slow, painful awakening.

But the real work started when I got back to our compound.

The house was still full of his things— his hats, his uniform hanging in the closet, the smell of his favorite cologne lingering in the hallways.

At first, I thought the memories would drown me.

But instead of running away from the pain this time, I ran toward the only Person who could actually handle it.

I began to seek God with a hunger that scared me.

It wasn’t the “Sunday morning, wear a nice hat” kind of faith I grew up with.

It was desperate.

It was a “Lord, if You don’t hold my hand, I will disappear” kind of seeking.

I started spending hours in my room, not just crying, but talking.

I would open the Bible and stay there until the words stopped being ink on paper and started being life in my spirit.

I watched sermons until my phone grew hot in my hands, listening to men and women of God talk about the peace that passes understanding.

I wanted that peace. I needed it like I needed oxygen.

The more I studied, the more I felt a shift. It was like a new layer of skin was growing over my raw wounds.

I felt stronger, not because the pain was gone, but because I finally knew where to take it.

I started praying alone at first, then I found the courage to go into Mummy’s room.

“Mummy, can I pray with you?” I asked her one evening, about three weeks ago.

She was sitting by the window, staring at the garden where Daddy used to sit.

She looked at me, her eyes tired but soft. “Yes, Unwana. Please.”

I sat on the edge of her bed and took her hand.

We didn’t say much at first, we just sat in the silence until I started to speak.

I prayed for her heart. I prayed for the loneliness that settles in the middle of the night.

I prayed for the strength to carry the name he left behind.

By the time we said amen, we were both crying, but they weren’t the bitter tears from the first week. They were healing.

Pastor Olive told me during one of our calls,

“Soteria, don’t let the fire on the altar of your house go out. Hold night prayers. Invite the Presence of God into every room.”

I was nervous the first time I suggested it to the boys.

I thought Effiom would roll his eyes or say he was too busy with the burial logistics.

But when I gathered them in the lounge and said I wanted us to pray together before bed, the room went quiet.

“I think we need it,” Effiom said, surprising me. He sat down on the sofa and pulled out a small notebook.

“I’ve been trying to read the Word on my own, but it’s hard when my mind is racing about the funeral.”

So, we started.

Every night at 9:00 PM, the Idorenyin house becomes a sanctuary.

We sing, we read a chapter of the Bible, and we pray.

We pray for the trip to Akwa Ibom, for the strength of our mother, and for each other.

It has bonded us in a way that thirty plus years of normal life never did.

We are grieving healthier because we are doing it at the feet of Jesus.

We talk about Daddy more freely now. We laugh at his old jokes during the prayers, thanking God for the time we had with him.

“Do you remember how he used to clear his throat before he gave a lecture?” Asuquo laughed the other night after we finished reading from Romans.

“He would stand there, adjusting his belt, and you just knew you were in for thirty minutes of military philosophy.”

“And the way he would look at Soteria like she was the only person in the room,” Ubong added, smiling at me.

“He really loved you, Wana.”

I smiled back, feeling a warmth in my chest that had nothing to do with the air conditioning.

“He did.”

---

But now, the suitcase is open on my bed, and the reality of the move is here.

We are leaving for the village tomorrow. The burial is finally happening.

It’s been two months of preparation, of meetings, of military protocols, and now it’s time to lay the Major General to rest in our ancestral compound.

The whole state is waiting for us. The military jets are ready.

The weight of it is heavy, but for the first time, I don’t feel like I’m going to break under it.

My birthday is also looming in the distance

It’s weeks away. It will be the first birthday without his phone call at 12:00 AM.

It will be the first time I don’t hear him call me his Light.

It hurts, but I’m trying to focus on the Light that never goes out.

Akila has been a pillar through all of this.

He’s coming with us on the military flight, and just knowing he’s going to be there makes the journey seem less daunting.

We’ve grown so close this past month. He doesn’t just check on the logistics anymore; he checks on my soul.

We talk about the Word, about life, and sometimes we just sit in a silence that feels safe.

He has seen me at my worst and he hasn’t blinked.

He’s become a shoulder I didn’t know I could rely on, a steady hand that reminds me I’m not alone in this fight.

I walked into the kitchen earlier to find Mummy and Auntie Alice talking in Efik about the food for the village.

“We must make sure the protocol officers are well fed,” Auntie was saying, her voice busy and sharp.

“And the traditional rulers. There will be many of them there oo.”

“Auntie, God will sort everything out,” I said, walking in and giving her a hug.

“We’ve prayed about it. Let’s not stress ourselves into a fever.”

Mummy looked at me and smiled, a real, beautiful smile that reached her eyes.

“Look at my baby. The one who used to complain about every little thing is now the one giving us peace.”

“It’s not me, Mummy,” I whispered, leaning my head on her shoulder.

“It’s the One I’m learning to follow.”

As I zip up the bag containing my black lace and the heavy bibles I’m carrying for the trip, I take one last look at the room.

This house used to feel like a prison of memories.

Now, it feels like a place where a new version of me was born. I am going to Akwa Ibom to bury my father, yes.

But I am also going there as a woman who has found a Father who will never leave her.

The village gates are waiting, the military honors are prepared, and the road ahead is long.

But as I stand here, I realize that the storm didn’t destroy me.

It only pushed me deeper into the arms of the One who walks on water.

I am Soteria Unwana Idorenyin, and I am ready to go home.

AkilaHyel POV

The engine of my car hummed a steady, rhythmic tune, but the noise inside my head was much louder.

I was driving toward the Idorenyin compound, the same route I had taken a hundred times this month, yet today, the steering wheel felt different in my hands.

Every kilometer closer felt like a step deeper into a territory I hadn’t prepared to conquer.

I told myself I was going there to brief Effiom on the final security cordons for the burial in Akwa Ibom.

I told myself I needed to verify the transport manifest for the military delegation.

I told myself a lot of lies, but my heart, which was currently drumming against my ribs like a frantic soldier in a trench, knew the truth.

I just wanted to see her.

For the past month, I have watched a miracle unfold in slow motion.

I have spent my career studying trajectories. The path of a bullet, the movement of an insurgent cell, the logistics of a brigade.

But nothing prepared me for the trajectory of Soteria’s soul.

After that night in my kitchen, when the ice finally broke and we sat on the cold tiles together, something shifted.

The spoiled brat I used to snap at, the girl I thought was just another spoiled socialite looking for attention, had vanished.

In her place was Light.

She had become a sanctuary for her brothers.

I watched her sit with Asuquo, who had been struggling with the weight of being the new head of the family, and she would just listen.

She didn’t offer empty platitudes. She offered a quiet, fierce strength that I knew came straight from her time on her knees.

Even Naya and Amara seemed to revolve around her now.

It was as if her grief had been refined into a fuel that powered everyone else.

I watched her lead our small Bible studies, and I saw the way her brothers looked at her with a mix of awe and a new kind of respect.

Her light wasn’t just a metaphor; it was a terror to the darkness that had tried to swallow that house.

But the problem was me.

I am a man of discipline.

I don’t believe in “accidental” emotions.

I’ve spent years guarding my heart, especially after my father died and after things ended with Almeera.

I told myself that the pull I felt toward Soteria was just proximity.

We were two people who had shared a trauma. It was “trauma bonding,” as the psychologists would say.

I convinced myself that I was just being a good friend to Effiom by looking after his sister.

I told myself I was being a mentor.

Then came that Tuesday evening, two weeks ago.

We were sitting in the upstairs lounge. The curtains were drawn, and the room was warm.

Soteria was reading from the Book of Psalms.

I wasn’t even listening to the words at first; I was just watching her.

The way the lamp light caught the bridge of her nose.

The way she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear with a grace that seemed entirely unconscious.

She laughed at something Ubong said. A real, genuine laugh that reached her eyes. And my heart didn’t just beat; it skipped a whole sequence.

I felt a physical jolt, like I’d stepped on a live wire.

I sat there, paralyzed, suddenly aware of the way she moved, the way her voice had matured into a rich, soothing alto, and the way she smelled like vanilla and something clean, like rain on dry earth.

She looked up, caught me staring, and smiled.

It wasn’t the “hollow” smile from the first week of mourning.

It was bright.

It was her.

“Akila, look at this,” she said, leaning toward me.

She reached out and grabbed my hand to pull me closer to the Bible on her lap, pointing at a verse she’d underlined.

The moment her skin touched mine, the air left the room.

I couldn’t breathe. My lungs felt like they had turned to stone, and my pulse was a deafening roar in my ears.

She didn’t notice. She was just shining her light, pointing at the Word, talking about God’s faithfulness.

But in that small space between us, she was unknowingly setting fire to every defense I had ever built.

I realized then, with a terrifying clarity, that I wasn’t just “looking after” her.

I was falling. Deeply, dangerously, and completely.

But I can’t say it. Not now.

She is still grieving.

Her father hasn’t even been put in the ground yet.

The last thing she needs is for me to complicate her world with my feelings.

I don’t want her to love me because I was the only one there when she was breaking.

I want her to love me when she is standing tall again, when the sun is shining, and she can see clearly.

I refused to let my heart be a predator of her pain.

So, I kept my face like flint.

I kept my voice professional.

But today, as I pulled up to the gate of the Idorenyin compound, the professional mask was slipping.

I parked the car and took a moment to just breathe, trying to lower my heart rate.

Focus, Akila,

I told myself.

Security cordons. Manifests. Route clearance. That’s why you’re here.

---

I stepped out and walked into the house. The atmosphere was frantic with suitcases everywhere, relatives running around with lists, the heavy air of an impending journey to the village.

I saw Effiom in the hallway and gave him a brief nod, but my eyes were already searching.

“Akila!”

She was coming down the stairs.

She looked tired, her eyes showing the strain of a month of mourning, but when she saw me, her face lit up.

She didn’t walk; she practically ran the last three steps and threw her arms around me.

The hug was unexpected.

It was tight, full of a desperate kind of gratitude.

My heart went into an absolute overdrive, thudding so hard I was sure she could feel it through my chest.

The scent of her. That vanilla and rain, wrapped around me, and for a second, I forgot where I was.

I forgot about the Army. I forgot about the burial. I just wanted to stay in that moment forever.

“Thank you for coming over,” she whispered into my shoulder, her grip tightening for a second before she pulled back.

“I know you’re busy at the base. I was just telling Effiom I hoped you’d stop by.”

I could barely talk.

My throat felt like it was filled with sand.

I looked down at her, seeing the way she looked at me with such pure, uncomplicated trust.

It was beautiful, and it was a torture.

“I... I had to give Effiom the final updates for the clearance,” I managed to say, my voice sounding a bit more gruff than I intended.

I reached out, almost reflexively, and squeezed her shoulder, holding her there for a second longer than a “friend” should.

“You’re doing well, Soteria,” I said softly.

“I am,” she replied, nodding firmly.

“Because I’m not doing it alone.”

She smiled, and it hit me again. That skip in my heart.

I wanted to tell her. I wanted to say that I’d follow her to Akwa Ibom and to the ends of the earth.

I wanted to tell her that her light had reached the darkest parts of my own soul. But I held it back.

I gripped the folders in my hand like a shield.

“Let’s go find your brother,” I said, forced into a composure I didn’t feel.

“We have a long journey tomorrow.”

As we walked toward the study, I felt her hand brush against mine.

She was happy, content in the presence of someone she trusted.

I was a mess, a man in a silent battle with himself, deciding then and there that I would stay her anchor, her protector, and her “Captain” until the time was right.

I wouldn’t confess. Not yet. But as I watched her lead the way, her light guiding us both through the cluttered hallway, I knew that whenever the time came, I was already hers.

---

The morning of the departure was wrapped in a mist that felt too heavy for a typical Abuja dawn.

It was the kind of cold that seeped into your bones, not because of the temperature, but because of the solemnity of the mission.

Today was the day Major General Idorenyin was leaving the city he had served for decades.

He wasn’t leaving at the head of a convoy or in the back of a staff car; he was leaving in a casket, draped in the colors of the nation, to be flown home one last time.

I pulled into the compound at 05:00am. The lights were already blazing in every window.

There was no sleep in this house. Naya had stayed over to help Soteria and the rest of the women pack, so the house felt like a hive of quiet, desperate activity.

I saw the Hiace bus parked near the gate, ready to take the extended family, the aunts and uncles who had traveled from all over to be part of the final rites.

I stood by my car for a moment, adjusted my uniform, and took a deep breath.

This wasn’t a standard deployment, but I had to treat it like one. If I let my emotions leak, I wouldn’t be able to do my job.

And today, my job was to be the bridge between the military protocol and the family’s grief.

Inside, the living room was a sea of luggage and black attire.

Asuquo was there, looking exhausted, holding his wife’s hand while she bounced their baby girl on her hip.

The little one was the only source of light in the room, oblivious to the fact that she was going to her grandfather’s burial. Ubong and Effiom were moving around, speaking in low tones to the elders.

Then I saw the matriarch.

Mummy Idorenyin was sitting in her usual chair, her face pale but her dignity unshaken.

When she saw me, she gestured for me to come closer.

I walked over, my boots clicking softly on the marble, and bowed my head in respect.

To my surprise, she stood up, walked away from the circle of aunties, and signaled for me to follow her toward the quiet corner near the tall windows.

“Akila,” she said, her voice a fragile but steady thread.

“Yes, Ma.”

She reached out and took my hands.

Her palms were dry and warm, and she looked into my eyes with a depth of perception that made me feel like she could see every secret thought I had about her daughter.

“I want to thank you,” she whispered.

“I have seen how you have stood by my sons. I have seen how you have been a God-sent friend to this family during the darkest month of our lives. You didn’t just show up as an officer; you showed up as a son.”

I felt a lump form in my throat. “It is an honor, Ma.”

She closed her eyes and began to pray. Her voice was low, a rhythmic murmur of blessings.

She prayed that God would cover me, that the heavens would remain open over my head, and that as I protected her children, the Almighty would protect my going out and my coming in.

She thanked God for my life, for my strength, and for the peace I brought into their home.

“Amen,” I whispered when she finished. I couldn’t say much else.

My heart was full. I just squeezed her hands and thanked her, feeling a strange sense of belonging that terrified and comforted me at the same time.

Soteria walked into the room then.

She was extra quiet.

She didn’t have the “manager” energy she had possessed the week before.

It was as if the reality of the flight. The finality of leaving this house to go to the village was finally sinking its teeth into her.

She looked at me, and her eyes were wide, filled with a silent, haunting question.

She was dressed in a simple, elegant black set, her hair covered, looking every bit like the daughter of a legend.

We began the movement to the airport.

I drove the lead vehicle with the core family- Mummy, Soteria, Effiom, Asuquo, and his family.

The Hiace bus followed closely behind. The drive was silent.

Even the baby was quiet.

Every time I glanced in the rearview mirror, I saw Soteria staring out the window, her hand resting on the seat as if she were trying to catch her breath.

---

When we arrived at the presidential wing of the Nnamdi Azikiwe International Airport, the atmosphere shifted.

The military presence was heavy.

Two C-130 transport planes were already idling on the tarmac, one of them designated to carry the General’s remains and the ceremonial guard. Ibom Air had provided a separate flight for the colleagues and extended mourners, but the family’s private jet was parked nearby, sleek and silver against the gray morning sky.

I helped them out of the car, coordinating with the porters and the security detail. I knew I had to leave soon.

I had to join the military flight; I was part of the official escort. I had duties to perform the moment we touched down in Uyo.

“I have to go now,” I said, standing near the entrance of the lounge.

“The C-130 is preparing for taxi. I’ll see you all at Victor Attah International.”

Soteria stepped forward, her hand reaching out to catch my sleeve.

Her eyes were shimmering with unshed tears.

“Akila, wait.”

I stopped, my heart doing that familiar, painful skip.

“Yes?”

“Can’t you just join us?” she whispered, her voice trembling.

“There’s enough space in the PJ. Please. I don’t... I don’t want you to be on a separate plane. Stay with us.”

She was begging.

It wasn’t about logistics; it was about the fact that I had become her safety net.

I looked at her, and for a second, my resolve almost crumbled.

I wanted to say yes. I wanted to sit across from her for that hour-long flight and hold her hand while the clouds passed beneath us.

“I can’t, Soteria,” I said, my voice soft but firm. “I’m on official duty. Effiom put me in charge of the honors arrival protocol. I have to be on the ground to receive the casket with the guard of honor before your plane lands. There are things I have to sort out so that everything is perfect for your father.”

She looked up at me, a single tear finally escaping and rolling down her cheek.

“I’m scared, Akila. Once we land... it’s real. It’s too real.”

I couldn’t help it.

I stepped closer, blocking the view of the busy lounge, and pulled her into a hug.

I wrapped my arms around her, let her bury her face in my chest for a few seconds. I wanted to hold her forever.

I wanted to kiss her forehead, to kiss the tears off her cheeks, to tell her that I would carry her through the entire state of Akwa Ibom if I had to.

The thought of kissing her hit me like a physical blow.

It was so vivid, so intense, that I pulled away almost immediately, my heart racing.

What are you doing, Akila? Not here. Not now.

I masked my face instantly, sliding back into the cold, professional persona of Captain Hyel.

I couldn’t let her see the fire she was starting in me.

“Listen to me,” I said, holding her by the shoulders.

“Naya and Amara are right there. They are going on the Private Jet with you. They won’t leave your side. Effiom, Ubong and Asuquo are there too. You are not alone. And the moment I finish the handover on the tarmac in Uyo, I will come looking for you. I promise.”

She wiped her eyes and nodded, trying to find her strength again.

“You promise?”

“I promise. Now go. They’re calling for boarding.”

I watched her walk toward the jet, her small frame flanked by Naya and Amara.

She looked back once, and I gave her a sharp, encouraging nod before turning on my heel.

I walked toward the military base side of the airport, my boots hitting the ground with a rhythmic thud that matched the pounding in my head.

I had to get my head in the game.

I was a soldier. I was a Captain in the Nigerian Army.

I was about to fly a hero home.

But as I climbed into the belly of the C-130, surrounded by the smell of aviation fuel and the somber faces of the guard of honor, all I could feel was the ghost of her touch on my sleeve.

I was falling for her in the middle of a funeral, and as the engines roared to life, I realized that no matter how much I tried to mask my face, my heart had already deserted its post.

I was no longer just an officer on duty; I was a man hopelessly in love with a girl who was about to say her final goodbye.

And I knew, with a certainty that frightened me, that the hardest part of this journey wasn’t going to be the burial.

It was going to be keeping myself from reaching for her when the world finally fell apart at the graveside.

My Akila is falling and he is falling hard🥹🥹😂😂😂

This chapter was written with a lot of sweetness to reduce the bitter taste the past few chapters have left in your mouths.

Let’s run up the numbers so I can be encouraged to post more 🥹🙏