MY LIFE AS A STEPMOM🖤✅|COMPLETED

8-EIGHT🖤

Hey!👋

ASMAU

"I wonder who's here this early," I mumbled to myself. I swiftly unlocked and opened the door to reveal a tall, fair-skinned woman who seemed to be in her early thirties, elegantly dressed in a black Abaya and a matching veil. "Hello, how may I help you?" I asked, warmly.

"I'm here for my family," she replied with a smile.

"Your family?" I repeated, puzzled by her words. I studied her closely; she didn't appear to be Nigerian; she seemed to be more Arab or perhaps a mixed heritage. Her striking beauty gave me a feeling that I was familiar with her face, though I couldn't place where I might have seen her before.

"May I come in, so we can discuss further?" she asked politely. After a moment of hesitation, I nodded and stepped aside to allow her to enter.

She walked into the house majestically, taking a seat on one of the sofas. I excused myself to the kitchen to instruct the maid to prepare some refreshments for our unexpected guest.

Returning to the living room, I couldn't help but speak, "I feel like you are lost, miss,"

She shook her head and replied, "You've got it all wrong. I'm exactly where I should be. But first where is Abubakar and the kids?" She asked, crossing her legs as the maid placed the refreshments on the table.

I furrowed my brows, puzzled by her question. "Why are you asking about them?"

"Well, I just want to see them. Did Abubakar mention anything about me?" She asked, curiously.

I shook my head. "No, he didn't mention anything about a visitor."

She chuckled softly. "I'm not just a visitor, Asmau."

I simply nodded, not understanding what she meant. Just then, Abubakar descended the stairs, looking as handsome as ever in his ash long-sleeve shirt and matching sweatpants.

"Who are you—" he began but was abruptly silenced when he sighted our guest.

"Iman, what the hell are you doing in my house? I thought I made it clear that you should never set foot here again!" His voice rose in anger as he pointed accusingly at her. It suddenly dawned on me; this was Iman, Abubakar's ex-wife and the mother of his children. Abubakar turned to me, his gaze questioning.

"Did she say anything to you?" he demanded.

Before I could respond, Iman rose from her seat, "With all due respect Abubakar, you can't prevent me from visiting my kids and checking on them. I have every right as their mother."

Abubakar seems frustrated, "You lost those rights the day you left, Iman. Your presence here will only bring pain to my kids. I warned you not to come here, but you refused."

Iman stood her ground. "I know you warned me to stay away from your home, but trust me, I'm not here to cause trouble. All I want is to see my children."

"Enough of this nonsense!" Abubakar yelled. I remained silent, observing the heated exchange.

"Perhaps we should calm down and—" Before I could finish my sentence, Safeeya and Noorie rushed down the stairs, interrupting the tension.

"Mummy, Mummy, look at what Ya Safeeya did to my toy," Noorie exclaimed, meanwhile Safeeya froze as she spotted Iman. "Ammi?" she whispered in shock.

"Yes Safeeya, my darling daughter," Iman replied, pulling Safeeya into a loving embrace. "I've missed you so much, my darling."