The Minister's Journal

1

Bisola lay on the hospital bed looking at the first blank page. Various emotions rushed through her. She never knew Michael even had a journal. They had been married for five years and she believed they shared all between each other.

The thought of this betrayal caused fresh wave of sadness over her, she took deep breaths to calm the sobs that threatened to rack her entire frame. Her shaky hands flipped the pages and stopped at Thursday, October 8, 2003;

‘It is with great pain that I Michael, records the events of the day, more so even as I am saddened by the sudden disappearance of Sarah.'

“Pull out” She said breathlessly.

“Hmm” I was panting and could hardly get a word out of my mouth.

“Get out, I want to shower” she said clearly this time.

I was barely recovering from my climax. I rolled to the other side of the king sized bed and took one last long look at her dark skinned body; my eyes lingered at the sweat glistening around her curves.
“Sarah, it’s been eight months. You can’t keep doing this.”

“Doing what?” she muttered, rumpling the white bedspread as she got up from the bed.

“This.” I pointed the space between us “Coming when you want me and leaving when we’re… we’re done”

She paused by the glass bathroom door and raised an eyebrow in confusion,
“How else would you want it?”

I took a long look at her body; a complete sentence would never come out with her unclad skin in low light. “Here” I threw a white towel at her, “cover yourself, shower and let’s talk”.

She shook her head in unbelief and went into the bathroom. Her voice filtered through as she showered, she sang beautifully. I wondered why she chose to serve under the children arm of my ministry rather than the music department.

A few minutes later, she walked out of the bathroom, she scented of Eva and some other sweet scent. “What is the problem?” she asked looking straight at me.

“Sarah, why won’t you just say yes?” I was on the verge of frustration. “I love you and I want us to do this properly in my house, our home.” The thought of building a home with Sarah excited me immensely. 

She completely ignored my question, “Can you help me clip this…” she turned her back to me.

I sighed heavily after I had clasped her pink bra, is still stood behind her, “Sarah say something.” I was met with painful silence. I wrapped her from behind, her cold skin was comforting. “I truly love you.” I whispered into the back of her ears.

She sighed. “It’s just not possible, Mikky. I can’t” she heaved, “I cannot be a minister’s wife.”

“But you are already serving well under my ministry; everyone loves you, what is it?” 

“I just…”
My phone rang and interrupted her answer.

It was Fola, the head protocol of my ministry, “Apostle Michael, Sir, the car would be at your hotel in a few minutes” He said through the phone.

“Thank you, Fola.” I said and cut the call to face Sarah. “Let’s talk after my ministration, okay?”

She nodded.

It was a powerful ministration.

I saw Sarah leave the auditorium somewhere in the middle of the program;
She never came back.

Signed; Michael Adeshina.

* * *
The dam that held her tears gave way, Bisola groaned in pain. Her heart beat frantically as she was too broken to move. The information numbed her senses with untold pain. Michael had been with Sarah for eight solid years! She screamed internally. So it was eight years of being deceived by the very man she adored.

Bisola stared at the journal in her hands watched her tear fall on the pages “Dear God,” she moaned in agony, “Why?”

©Mirya Adams, 2019.