Chapter 1: Cracks Beneath the Surface
INT. OFFICE – DAY
The faint hum of a distant printer mingled with the rhythmic clacking of computer keys. Mr. Clement sat at his desk, his tie slightly loosened, eyes darting between the screen and his ringing phone. The caller ID flashed, “Adebimpe,” his wife. He sighed, brushing a hand through his hair, before picking up.
“Wow, she’s calling…” he murmured, steeling himself. “Hello?”
“Dear! Dear! Hmm,” Adebimpe’s voice crackled through the line, a note of anger unmistakable.
“I’m sorry,” Mr. Clement stammered, shuffling papers, “I’m leaving the office right away.”
“Are you still at the office?” she snapped.
He stood abruptly, reaching for his car keys. “I’ll pick you up immediately. I’m so sorry.”
“If you know you’re not ready for this meeting, you can call to cancel,” she said, voice clipped.
“No, no,” he said hurriedly, “I’m almost driving out now.”
The phone call ended, leaving him with the sting of her final words: “You’re always busy. Always busy.”
INT. CAR – MOMENTS LATER
The engine roared to life as he pulled out of the parking lot, weaving through traffic. The somber rhythm of the radio played faintly in the background.
As Mr. Clement drove, Adebimpe’s voice narrated the truth of her heart.
“Let me tell you how it all started,” she began. “I am Adebimpe Clement, married to Obafemi Clement. My husband is a celebrated marriage counselor, a man whose advice has salvaged countless homes. But ours? Our marriage is crumbling.”
Her tone softened, burdened by sorrow. “People admire me for being his wife, yet I’m dying inside. I love my husband, but every day feels heavier than the last.”
INT. BEDROOM – NIGHT
Later that evening, Adebimpe knelt by her bed. Tears streamed down her face as she clasped her hands tightly in prayer.
“Lord, I am tired,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “This marriage is not the picture I saw at all. There is no peace here. I need your help, Lord. You promised peace that passes all understanding. I beg for it to fill this home, to fill my husband’s heart, to mend what is broken.”
Her words faltered, but her resolve did not. She wiped her tears, picking up her phone
INT. PASTOR’S HOUSE – LATER
The pastor’s wife answered the phone on the second ring.
“Hello, Mrs. Clement,” came the warm, familiar voice. “Are you crying?”
Adebimpe sniffled. “Ma, I need to see you and Daddy urgently.”
“Of course,” the pastor’s wife said without hesitation. “Come over. We’re here for you.”
That night, they opened their home and their hearts to her pain. After hearing her story, the pastor’s wife clasped Adebimpe’s hand and spoke with conviction.
“This is no ordinary issue, my dear. This is an attack on your home,” she said solemnly. “But we will stand in prayer and seek God’s guidance.”
Chapter 2: Confronting the Storm
INT. PASTOR’S OFFICE – DAY
The pastor’s wife had arranged a meeting. The couple arrived together, tension evident in the set of Adebimpe’s jaw and the forced calm of Obafemi’s demeanor.
“Good evening, ma,” Mr. Clement greeted politely, stepping inside.
“Good evening, sir,” the pastor’s wife replied warmly. “Please, have a seat.”
After an exchange of pleasantries, the conversation turned serious.
“Mr. Clement,” the pastor’s wife began, “your work as a counselor is remarkable. But sometimes, the very healers need healing themselves.”
Obafemi nodded, his brow furrowed. “I try my best, ma.”
Adebimpe shifted uncomfortably. “Do you?” she murmured under her breath.
Obafemi glanced at her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
It was as if a dam had broken. Adebimpe’s voice trembled, her words spilling out in a torrent of pain.
“You preach about priorities, yet you give your nights to work, not your family. Our children went to their grandmother’s three days ago—did you even notice?”
Obafemi’s face paled. “What?”
“You sleep on the couch every night while I lie awake in bed, alone! When was the last time you touched me, Ifemi? When was the last time you asked about my day?” Her voice cracked. “I am invisible in my own marriage.”
INT. PASTOR’S OFFICE – LATER
Silence hung in the room, heavy and oppressive. The pastor’s wife interjected softly.
“Mr. Clement, your wife’s words carry truth. You know the principles of a strong marriage, yet they’ve not been applied here.”
Obafemi rubbed his temples. “I didn’t realize…”
“That’s the problem,” Adebimpe said, her voice calmer but still raw. “You don’t realize. You pour into others, but I am empty.”
The pastor’s wife placed a gentle hand on Adebimpe’s shoulder. “Healing begins with acknowledgment. Mr. Clement, are you ready to rebuild this home?”
He looked at his wife, her pain etched deeply in her eyes. For the first time, he saw the cracks he had ignored. Tears welled up as he nodded.
“Yes,” he said hoarsely. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”
EPILOGUE
That night, they went home Adebimpe’s heart swelled with cautious hope. Perhaps this was the beginning of their own story of redemption. A story that no counselor could write but one only they could live.
THE END
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