The house stirred before Ham did.

But what really woke him was the unmistakable click of leather-soled shoes down the hallway. David. Coming straight to his door.

Ham squinted at the screen on his wall. CCTV confirmed it, there was David, marching with entitlement and zero respect for boundaries. Typical.

“He had better not knock,” Ham muttered.

But David didn’t. He paused, hesitated… then backed up. Seconds later, Ham’s phone buzzed.

David: 

“I was about to come into your room… then realized the missus might be there.”

Ham: 

“I saw you. The missus is not here. Come in.”

David entered with a crooked smile. “Still trouble in paradise, I see.”

Ham didn’t answer.

David held out a hand like he was awarding a trophy. “Congratulations, by the way.”

Ham raised a brow. “On what? Everyone’s acting like yesterday was some sort of fairy tale. We drew, David.”

“Could have been worse,” David shrugged. “You scored at the 89th. Big moment. At least we didn’t walk out losers.”

Ham sat up. “Arsenal’s up next. And we have to win that one.”

“That’s the spirit,” David said, but his eyes flicked toward the empty space beside Ham’s bed. “What about the missus? Any progress?”

“Do I look like a man at peace?”

David exhaled, sat briefly on the edge of a chair. “This… this is what worries me. You’re rattled, Ham. You’re distracted. And I hate it. You’re a once-in-a-generation player. I don’t want you spiralling because of relationship drama.”

Ham rolled his eyes. “I’m sorry I’m not performing well enough for your portfolio.”

“That’s not what I—”

“I don’t care what you like or don’t like,” Ham cut in. “You don’t get to be sad and be my manager.”

David stood. “You know what? Maybe you need therapy. Both of you. Talk to someone. Offload some of this madness before it ruins everything.”

Ham ignored him. “What was the point of this visit again?”

David straightened his jacket. “Checking on my most important client.”

“Check complete. You can go.”

David didn’t protest. He walked out, quietly, the door clicking behind him.

Ham sank deeper into the bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling. After a long pause, he reached for his phone and dialled Shem. His brother picked up on the third ring.

“Wow,” Shem said. “Look who finally calls. Can’t believe you still have my number.”

“Don’t be dramatic,” Ham muttered. “You know how it is here. Chaos.”

“I watched the match. That comeback? Mad. But your face after the goal… it said something else.”

Ham rubbed his forehead. “My head’s not in the game, Shem. Everything’s a mess. I don’t even know what I’m doing anymore.”

“You’re married,” Shem said flatly. “Start there. Make that work. You’ve liked Mutale since forever, remember that.”

“Yeah, but liking someone doesn’t solve everything.”

“That’s because you’ve built your life around football,” Shem replied. “That’s your god. And when football shakes, your whole world collapses. You need something that centers you.”

Ham stayed quiet.

“You need God, Ham. Jesus. Not religion, not church memories, Him. You’ve got to commit fully, because nothing in this world is steady. Not career, not money, not even love. Only God steadies a man. If you and Mutale both took this mess to Him, you’d find clarity. I can assure you.”

Ham let out a short laugh. “This is why I don’t call you. You’re the only missionary I know who carries an AK-47.”

Shem chuckled. “I’m not preaching, bro. I’m helping the only way I know. There’s no shortcut around peace.”

“Alright. Thanks. Malaika still with you?”

“She’s always with me. I need to marry her.”

In the background, a voice called out, “Yes, marry me!”

Ham laughed, genuinely, for the first time in days. “I’m glad you’re happy.”

“I want you to be too,” Shem said. “Japheth called you?”

“Yeah. But I didn’t pick.”

“Stop punishing him. He loves you. Let go of the past. Don’t carry it into your future. That weight, it’s choking you.”

Ham exhaled, then muttered, “You know what else is choking me? My mum. The woman calls me every week now. I don’t pick, but she doesn’t give up and yesterday she sent a message saying we need to see… that she needs my forgiveness. What is that? I don’t even have the peace of mind to think about her right now.”

Shem’s tone softened. “You’re carrying so much weight, Ham. Old hurt. Unfinished conversations. A lifetime of unforgiveness. You can’t keep going like that. You need peace, and that comes from letting go of the weight.”

Ham exhaled slowly. “You’ve said enough for one morning.”

“I’ll be praying for you.”

When the call ended, Ham stared at the screen for a moment. Then he typed a short message to Mutale: 

Is my wife awake?

MUTALE

The sun poured in, pale and too polite for the kind of storm brewing inside the house.

The kitchen, with its cold white counters and chrome finishes, smelled faintly of yesterday’s meal. The scent was subtle like Mutale herself, standing barefoot in a soft brown robe, pouring boiling water into a teacup with practiced silence.

David walked in without knocking, a habit that matched his face. Trim, pressed, confident. Like a man used to being obeyed before he ever had to ask.

“Morning,” he said, casual, too casual.

Mutale didn’t turn, instead she picked another cup and poured some tea. “Good morning, David.”

Her voice was even. She stirred honey into her tea.

He walked to the fridge, opened it pointlessly, and shut it again. Then he leaned on the marble island like he owned it.

“You’re up early,” he said.

“I don’t sleep much these days.”

“You should try.”

Mutale ignored him..

He exhaled. “Look, I’ll get to it. I don’t mean to overstep… I just, Ham is under a lot of pressure. This marriage, whatever it is right now, it’s becoming a serious weight on him. I’ve been watching him spiral since you landed.”

Mutale finally turned, then handed him a cup of tea.

She met his eyes with a calm that wasn’t cold, but wasn’t soft either.

“Thank you for your concern.”

David tilted his head, collecting the tea and putting some sugar. “Thank you for the tea.”

“You are welcome. Now make your point clearer.”

David sipped the tea, then dropped the cup. “I’m his manager. His future is my responsibility. I care about what he puts in his body, who he signs deals with, and yes, who he shares his bed with.”

Mutale smiled faintly. “I’ve noticed.”

David pushed away from the counter, taking a step closer.

“You know he’s not ready for this,” he said, lower now. “He’s twenty-six. Still in the prime of becoming something bigger than anything we’ve ever seen. Do you really want to be the reason he crashes?”

There it was, the accusation veiled as reason.

Mutale sipped her tea. Then she set the cup down with quiet elegance and looked up at him.

“I’m not the reason he spirals, David. Whatever you think is happening, Ham is unraveling because life is finally catching up with him. I didn’t come here to break him. I came here because he asked me to be his wife.”

David opened his mouth. Mutale lifted a hand.

“I know what I look like to you. Just another girl from nowhere, dragging her problems into your client’s glittering life. But I knew Ham before the money, before the fame, before any of this.” Her voice held steady. “And whether he knows it or not, a part of him wants to go back there.”

David’s jaw shifted slightly, but he said nothing.

“I’m not interested in being an obstacle,” she continued. “But I won’t be erased either. So please, the next time you feel the need to protect Ham’s future, don’t do it by treating me like his mistake.”

The silence hummed between them.

Then David, to his credit, nodded once. Slowly.

“Well,” he said. “You make a hell of a cup of tea. Shame you’re not on payroll.”

Mutale smiled. “If I were, I’d fire you.”

David chuckled. “Fair enough.”

He turned to leave, but paused at the door.

“Look. I don’t hate you, Mutale. I just… I’ve seen careers ruined by complicated love stories.”

She picked up her cup again.

“Then maybe,” she said, “you should stop interfering in other people’s chapters.”

David gave a half-smile, half-grimace. “Just keep him sharp. That’s all I ask.”

Mutale didn’t answer.

She didn’t have to.

As he walked away, she lingered in the bright kitchen, tea warming her hands, the ache of her troubled marriage battling with the sweet memories of Ham before that night of no return.

The quiet settled again after David’s footsteps faded from the hall. Mutale remained seated at the marble island, both hands curled around her tea as though it were a shield. The steam had thinned, but she hadn’t moved. Her gaze was fixed somewhere on the far side of the window.

Ham came in, barefoot and slow. No swagger, just a man who hadn’t slept properly in weeks. He said nothing at first, only opened the fridge out of instinct.

He squinted into the shelves, then stilled. A familiar scent crept out with the cold air.

He reached up, pulled down a container, peeled back the lid.

“No way,” he murmured. “Is this…?”

Mutale didn’t look at him. “It’s leftover. From yesterday.”

He held the container with something like reverence. “You made Nshima and dry fish stew… in this house?”

“Why not?” she said, voice low.

He gave a small, disbelieving laugh. “I mean… you brought the ancestors into my refrigerator.”

She said nothing.

He went to the microwave, popped the lid again, and slid it in. “You’re full of surprises.”

“I didn’t make it for you.”

“That makes it taste better,” he said, grinning.

A beat passed in silence as the microwave hummed.

When it dinged, he moved with exaggerated ceremony: pulled it out, served it onto a plate, fetched a spoon. Took one bite. Then froze, his eyes closing, like he’d touched something ancient.

“My God,” he said quietly.

Mutale glanced up, just a flicker.

“No,” he went on, mouth full. “No, you don’t get it. This is healing food. Like, it’s-realigning-my-chakras food. Like I just felt my dead grandmother smile.”

Mutale pressed her lips together, not quite smiling. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re a witch,” he replied, shoveling another bite. “Because this is bewitching.”

She finally looked at him fully. “David thinks I’m a mistake.”

He stopped chewing.

“He said I’m bad for you. That this marriage was a wrong turn for your career.”

Ham set the spoon down slowly. Wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “He talks too much.”

“But is he wrong?” she asked. “Are we wrong?”

His jaw tightened, then relaxed again. He spoke more gently. “Maybe… we’re just trying too hard to be right. Maybe we should try being happy instead.”

“By pretending nothing’s wrong?”

“No. Just by… breathing a little.”

She tilted her head. “And Zainab?”

Ham exhaled. “She’s not my girlfriend.”

“She called you last night,” she said. “I saw the name before you left my room.”

“I know,” he said. “And I’m handling it.”

“That’s the thing, Ham. Why does she need handling in the first place?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he stood, circled the counter, then came to stand beside her.

“She’s part of the chaos I’m walking away from,” he said. “You… you’re different. You’re the calm.”

He reached for her hand. She didn’t move away.

“I don’t want us to forget who we are to each other. Mutale, I desire you more than any woman I have ever been with.”

She looked down at his hand holding hers. Then up into his eyes.

“This marriage can’t just be about sex, Ham.”

“Of course not,” he said. “But is it bad that I want you?”

He reached for her waist gently, tugging her a little closer.

“These shorts…” he whispered. “You wear them around me like I’m not supposed to lose my mind.”

“Ham,”

“No, really,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. “You don’t even try. No makeup. No filters. No tricks. Just you. Do you know how rare that is? How hot that is?”

She almost smiled. Almost.

Then her tone shifted.

“I need you to pray with me.”

He blinked. “What?”

“I need you to be my partner in prayer. Not just in bed.”

Ham stepped back slightly, scratching his head. “There it is again. The shift. We go from soft to sanctified in five seconds.”

“I’m not joking,” she said. “I’m a Christian. I believe in being equally yoked. I can’t do this thing where one person is praying and the other is rolling their eyes.”

He sighed and looked at the plate. “Why does it always get heavy?”

“Because I don’t want a marriage that is built on just romance when it’s sweet and tension when it’s not,” she said. “I want something that lasts. Something that doesn’t rot at the roots because it is rooted in Christ.”

He picked up the plate again, quiet.

“Can I take this to my room?”

She hesitated. “Yes.”

“I’ll eat, take a long shower, then head to training. Arsenal’s coming up next. I need to clear my head.”

She nodded.

He turned again, pausing in the doorway.

“I don’t have all the answers,” he said. “But I want to try. With you. So either be my peace… or give me space, because what I can’t do right now is survive a storm, or you shoving God down my throat.”

And with that, he disappeared down the hall, barefoot, plate in hand, leaving the scent of fish stew and everything unspoken behind.

——————————————————————————————————————————

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Now, let’s talk about this duo (Ham and Mutale). What are your thoughts and emotions towards them? Over to you.