Temi stepped back from executive life and devoted more time to Korede, who was adjusting to the new information about his biological father. Their counselor reminded the adults that some children ask many questions immediately and others return to the subject only after months. Korede asked whether Tobi would take him away from his home. Temi reassured him that no one was planning that. He asked whether Deji was still his daddy. She said yes, because Deji had loved and raised him, and that love would never disappear. He asked whether it was possible to have two people connected to him in different ways. She told him it was.
Tobi met him regularly under the agreed arrangement. At first their conversations were about model airplanes and football. Later Korede asked what Tobi had been like as a boy. He told him about growing up in a crowded compound, learning to repair a bicycle, and once breaking a neighbor's window with a football. Korede laughed, delighted to learn that an adult could admit wrongdoing without being destroyed by it. Tobi found the laugh so precious that he didn't tell anyone about it for days. Some experiences, he was learning, didn't need to be turned into proof.
Nkiru did not hurry to become part of those visits. She met Korede briefly at a carefully planned gathering several months later, after the counselor and Temi agreed he was comfortable. She introduced herself simply as Nkiru, someone important to Tobi. Korede asked whether she liked mangoes. She said yes. He told her his grandmother cut them into stars. Nkiru smiled and said she would like to learn the trick. They spoke for five minutes, and then he ran to show Tobi a drawing. It was a beginning small enough to protect everyone from expectations.
One night, long after the corporate scandal had disappeared from everyday headlines, Tobi asked Nkiru whether she thought their marriage could survive. She had been waiting for the question. They sat on the balcony of their new apartment, a modest place chosen because they could afford it without relying on compensation they might never receive again. The air carried the smell of rain and traffic. Nkiru rested her hands on the railing. "I don't know," she said. "Sometimes I can imagine us growing old together. Other times I remember that I lived beside you for years without knowing something central to your life."
Tobi accepted the answer. "What do you need from me?" She considered it. "No more private deals made in the name of protecting me. No more stories that change depending on what I already know. And no asking me to forgive you on a schedule because you're tired of feeling guilty." He nodded. "I can do that." "You can try," she said. "Then I'll see what your trying looks like over time." He reached for her hand slowly enough that she could refuse. After a moment, she let him hold it.