The restaurant was packed. The air was thick with chatter, music, and the smoky scent of roasting meat. Becky trailed behind Koech as he threaded his way through the crowd toward a small table in the corner. He pulled out a chair for her, motioned her to sit before settling across from her.
From where she sat, Becky could take in the whole hall. Men, women and even children filled the space. Yet, to her surprise they didn't serve only food, some tables held beer and other alcoholic drinks.
There were couples like them seated here and there—some talking and laughing loudly, others leaning close, quiet in their own worlds.
"I come here sometimes," Koech said. "They serve the best nyama choma in this town. Do you enjoy it?"
Becky stared at him warily, "Yes, I do," she replied.
A neatly dressed waitress in a short black skirt and white blouse cautiously approached to take their order.
"Choma iko tayari?" Koech asked.
"Yeah," she said. "What would you like to take it with?"
"Ugali, of course."
"Ugali will be ready shortly," the waitress said. "Something to drink as you wait?"
He turned to Becky, who hesitated, seemingly unsure.
"I'll take White Cap," Koech said, then added, "and she'll have a soda."
"Cold?" the waitress waited for confirmation.
"No—warm."
"And you, madam?"
"Warm Coke," Becky said softly.
She bestowed them a charming smile and walked away.
A moment later, she returned with a tray carrying their drinks. She placed them carefully on the table and opened. "Karibu," she said stepping back and moving on to the next table.
So he drinks, Becky observed, vexed, as she watched him lift the bottle and take a slow sip. A quiet unease stirred within her. She had never associated with anybody who drinks. Yet she had ventured this far—willing, and unable to stand up and leave.
Was she breaking bad now—mingling with people who, as her mother would say, did not walk the path of righteousness. The thought unsettled her more than she cared to admit.
Her mind drifted back to the women who had once testified against her, their voices firm and their faces solemn as they claimed they had seen her in a bar. At the time, she had stood her ground—wounded but resolute—insisting on her innocence. Yet if any of those who had heard the testimony saw her now, seated in this crowded restaurant, humouring a man with a beer bottle in his front, they would surely nod in quiet satisfaction. In their hearts, they would conclude that Pabonya's witnesses had known exactly what they were talking about.
Koech looked at her. The long moment that had passed between them without a word hinted at her discomfort. Her expression had suddenly turned serious, stern. Before he could figure what had disrupted her composure, the waitress returned with a large silver plate.
Becky's attention shifted to the food. The succulent meat glistened, its aroma teasing her senses. A side plate had kachumbari.
A different waitress, also very beautiful, followed. She carried a plastic kettle and a small basin. Her grinning gaze met Becky's and she read the unspoken signal—an invitation to wash her hands. The water was warm.
Koech washed his hands too. When he was done, he focused on the meal. He didn't want to force conversation.
Becky ate quietly wondering whether Koech came here only for the meat, or also for the undeniably beautiful women who served it.
As they ate slowly and in silence, the music changed. The DJ switched to Bongo Flava, and Becky was suddenly carried back to her high school days. Especially when her favourite Tanzanian artist—Nandy—came on, and for the first time that afternoon, she forgot her troubling thoughts. The weight in her chest loosened. Her lips moved before she even realised she was singing along.
"Ayi ni wewe,
Ubavu wangu mwenyewe!
Ukifa nizikwe na wewe,
Nikifa uzikwe na mie…"
Koech watched in disbelief as she pronounced every word with effortless accuracy, her voice soft but sure, her eyes shining with a joy he hadn't seen in her since they walked in.
He laughed under his breath, shook his head as if to say no way, then pushed his chair back.
Without a word, Koech rose from his seat and walked toward the dance floor, joining a group of men and women who were already moving to the beat. Becky watched him with a smile—wide, genuine—her heart warming at the sight of him letting go.
And for a moment… she didn't feel like a woman running from her past.
She felt like a girl again.
Then he danced back toward her, still moving to the beat, and stretched out his hand.
Becky stared at it, stunned. He was inviting her to join him on the dance floor.
"Come," he said, smiling. "Let's have fun."
A flare of panic shot through her. "No! I can't."
"It's okay," he insisted gently. "Just enjoy the moment."
Not wanting to embarrass him with rejection, and for fear of creating a small spectacle, she rose—reluctant, and followed him to the dance floor.
At first, her body felt stiff and uncertain, as though every eye in the room had suddenly turned toward her. But Koech's hand was steady in hers, warm and reassuring. He guided her into the rhythm, and slowly, the music began to carry her.
They swayed together, step for step, with a grace that surprised her. Becky wondered, breathless, whether she still possessed her usual self. Something she had buried for years had been awakened—something light, something carefree.
Then he drew her towards a secluded corner. And when he had made certain that there were no prying eyes, he cupped her face in his hands, leaned forward and kissed the mouth that had been taunting him for long.
Becky, unbelieving yet thrilled, did not try to stop him. She just stood in the shadows because it was exciting.
They moved to the counter, and Koech paid for what they had consumed.
Outside the restaurant, a row of boda boda operators waited for customers. One rider spotted them immediately and revved his engine before the others could react. He rolled closer.
"Boss! Ruka hapo tuchomoke," he said confidently, as if he already knew where they were headed.
Becky mounted the motorcycle first.
"Buda, tuelekee wapi?" the rider asked Koech.
For a moment, Koech hesitated. He hadn't decided. Part of him wanted to take her back to his apartment, to spend the night with her. He glanced at Becky, silently seeking direction.
"Jumbo first, then Kapsuser," Becky answered, as though she sensed the debate in his mind. Spending the night with him would have been wonderful—but sleeping with a man on a first date felt like a line she wasn't ready to cross.
Koech, too, wondered what she would think of him if he suggested they go to his place.
They reached Jumbo, and the boda boda slowed to a stop. This was where Becky's rented room was.
Koech walked her to the gate.
"Have a good night," he said, kissing her lightly on the left cheek.
"Good night to you too," she replied, smiling.
They parted ways. Becky had the distinct feeling that Koech was falling deeply in love with her—though he had never said it outright. More than once, he had made carefully ambiguous remarks. The thought thrilled her. How wonderful it felt to be on the verge of love again.
And yet, Tesot still lingered in her mind. She knew she still loved him. But Koech was becoming impossible to ignore.
The gate was already locked, and she had to call the watchman. He opened without delay. As she walked to her room, she noticed that all the other houses in the compound were dark. Everyone was asleep. She had never come home this late before. Even the watchman must have noticed the change.
Inside her bedsitter, she switched on the light. Everything was exactly as she had left it.
Her body felt sticky with sweat. She needed a bath. She undressed, wrapped a towel around herself, filled a basin with water, and carried it to the bathroom outside.
Later, as she slipped into bed, loneliness settled over her. Her thoughts drifted back to the evening—the laughter, the music, the dancing with Koech. This amazing man was slowly turning her miserable life around.
She realized how much she had missed since separating from her husband. How deeply she longed to fall in love again. To have someone to hold on nights like this.
Becky plucked the last shirt from the clothesline, the sun warm on her back. Inside her room, she dropped the laundry on the bed and began folding. As she lifted a blouse, her eyes landed on a packet of sanitary pads peeking from the drawer. Her breath hitched. Her periods—three days late. A cold knot twisted in her stomach. No. It can't be. Maybe it was just stress—or the change in environment? She tried to shake off the worry. But a week later, as she stood staring blankly at the same packet, dread settled deep. Still nothing.
She had to know for sure. Heart pounding, Becky visited a small clinic in town. Minutes felt like hours until the nurse returned with the results—positive. Pregnant.
A storm of emotions erupted inside her. Joy flickered briefly, but was quickly drowned by a wave of guilt. She sank into restlessness, her thoughts racing. How could she celebrate this when she was still a married woman? The hope of reuniting with Tesot had kept her going, but now it felt like a fading dream. He would never accept another man's child. She buried her face in her hands. How had it come to this?
Becky returned to her room, a quiet resolve settling in her heart. She had accepted her fate. Perhaps this child would fill the hollow left by Kiplimo, whose absence still ached like an old wound. But fear lurked in the shadows of her thoughts. What if things fell apart with Koech? What if he rejected the child—or worse, tried to claim it? No. She wouldn't risk it. He would never know. This pregnancy would remain her secret, her burden, her strength.
When Koech called, she ignored him. Dozens of missed calls. Unread messages. He grew restless. What was wrong with Becky? She had vanished—no longer at her apartment, unreachable even through mutual friends. He searched, but she had already disappeared into a new life, one she intended to guard fiercely.
Then one day at Narok, onboard a matatu en route to Nairobi, Becky met him.
She was going to see her sick father now admitted to a hospital in Nairobi.
All the seats in the matatu were taken, except the one beside Becky. The conductor's voice sliced through the afternoon heat—
"Mtu moja! Mtu moja! Mtu moja, tunaenda!"
A man in a red cap ducked through the door, paid the fare, and slid into the seat next to her. Becky barely glanced up—until she noticed the screen of his phone, held casually in his hand. On it was a photo. A familiar face stared back at her. Handsome. Smiling. Her breath caught.
Her heart skipped.
No… not him.
The baby in her womb kicked as if sensing its father's presence. She shifted uneasily, trying to stay calm, praying he wouldn't look her way. But fate had other plans.
He turned toward her, about to greet the stranger at his side. She quickly faced the window. He paused, shrugged, and looked back at his phone. Becky stole a glance—too late. Their eyes met.
A jolt of recognition lit his face.
"Becky?" he breathed. "Is this really you? Where on earth have you been hiding?"
She swallowed, trying to compose herself. "It's me. I haven't been hiding."
"Yes, you have," he said, his voice quiet but urgent. "Not a word since you left. Do you know what that did to me?"
She stayed silent, staring ahead.
"I've been looking for you everywhere. I've called, texted… nothing. I even went to your school, asked your friends. You just… disappeared."
Still, she said nothing. Her eyes held a storm, locked on the passing trees.
"What happened, Becky? Why are you like this? You've changed."
"Nothing's wrong," she muttered.
Koech narrowed his eyes. "Then what's that look on your face?"
"What look?"
"That exasperated, wounded look."
She finally turned to him. "You made me do it."
"Do what?" he demanded, voice rising.
"Conceive."
The word fell heavy in the space between them.
His mouth dropped open, hand covering it instinctively. "Oh my God."
She nodded slowly. "Six months."
"I… I don't believe it."
She sighed. "I didn't want to tell you. But now you know."
"Why would you hide such news from me?"
"Because I'm someone's wife, Koech. And now… pregnant with another man's child. That's not something to be proud of."
He was stunned.
"It was a mistake," she whispered. "What happened between us—it ends there."
"For how long will you keep waiting for a man who's abandoned you?"
"For as long as it takes. If you want to help me, stay away. Forget I exist."
Koech clenched his fists. "He doesn't care about you, Becky. He hasn't reached out. Isn't that pathetic? Why cling to him?"
She turned to him again, her eyes softening. He looked sincere. His words stung—but they were true. He had always treated her kindly. Guilt and confusion warred inside her.
"I'm sorry," she said at last. "But we're not divorced yet. I still believe he'll come back. I don't know how to raise children with different fathers. I just…" Her voice broke. She began to cry.
Koech reached for her hand gently. "Becky, please. It's okay. I get it. We didn't plan this—it just happened. Life is messy. But you don't have to go through this alone."
"So what do I do now?" she asked, her voice trembling.
"You move on," he said softly. "Change is coming. There's hope. We'll get through this. And one day, we'll even laugh again. Dance again."
Her tears slowed. She didn't speak, but something in her eyes had softened.
Koech finally arrived at his destination. The matatu had stopped in Mai Mahiu. He had to part ways with Becky. The few minutes they had spent together in the car had revealed more than he expected. First, he had made her pregnant. Second, Becky still harbored a deep longing to reunite with her ex-husband.
"I'm alighting here," Koech said as he stood. "Call me when you return. We need to talk about this."
Meanwhile, Becky continued her journey to see her sick father. Seeing Koech again unsettled her. He was as handsome as ever, and that kind heart of his had not changed. As much as she had tried to avoid him, fate kept pushing him back into her life. Now he knows everything, she thought. She regretted telling him. He wanted them to discuss how to handle the situation—but she did not want that conversation. She did not want to be persuaded into another relationship. She feared losing this baby, and she felt entitled to the ownership of this child—hers and hers alone.
"Fine," she said quietly.
A few days later
True to her word, Becky called Koech. They met at a quiet restaurant in town.
"How's your father?" he asked.
"Still sick. The doctors recommended surgery."
"I'm sorry. I hope he gets better soon."
"I do too," she replied, stirring her juice absently.
A heavy silence settled.
"I've been thinking about what you told me," Koech said. "And I meant what I said—I'm here for you."
She looked at him, eyes sad but resolute. "I've thought about it too. But we can't be together. Let me handle this alone."
Koech frowned. "Why?"
"You know what I've been through. I can't let it happen again."
He was baffled. "I don't understand you, Becky. You wanted this—you wanted me."
"I was confused," she said. "Hurt. Vulnerable."
His voice tightened. "So the baby's just yours now? I mean nothing to it?"
"You'll never take this child away from me."
He laughed bitterly. "Who said anything about taking it? So it is all about fear? You're afraid I'll take the kid like Tesot? Becky, I was ready to be a father."
She stared at him, defensive, eyes moist.
"If this is how you want it," he said, standing. "Then fine. Keep the baby. I hope it gives you everything you've lost. Just like Kiplimo. I wanted to be part of its life—but if you truly think it's better without me, I won't fight you."
He turned to leave.
"Hey—wait!" Becky called out, rising to her feet. But he didn't turn. He was already halfway out the door, swallowed by the afternoon crowd.
She stood still, trembling. For the first time in months, her carefully guarded wall had cracked. And now, she wasn't sure if she wanted it to fall—or be rebuilt stronger than ever.
The following year, Becky gave birth to a beautiful girl. The resemblance to her father was striking — anyone who knew Koech would recognise her instantly. Yet there was something of Becky in her too, softening the features.
Becky adored the little angel. She reminded her of how her life had shifted the moment she met Koech. Eventually, the urge to tell him became irresistible. She didn't need to search her phone book; his number was etched into her memory.
"Hello, Becky!" His warm voice filled her ear.
"Hello. How are you?"
"I'm fine. It's been so long since I heard from you."
"Yeah," she answered shortly, not matching his cheer.
"Are you alright?"
"I'm okay. Are you ready for some good news?"
"Yes, I am."
"You've become a father."
"Seriously?"
"A baby girl. And she looks exactly like you."
He could hear the happiness in her voice, and it pleased him — partly because she was happy again, partly because she had told him. Maybe her fear had finally gone.
"That's great, Becky. Really great. It makes me feel good. I hope it makes you feel good too."
"It does. Wouldn't you come and see her? You'll love her."
When he did, Koech was stunned. Becky was right — the girl was beautiful, with his eyes, his nose, his ears. She didn't cry when Becky placed her in his arms; instead she stared up at him, studying his face.
"Oh yes… look at you. You're so beautiful."
"You like her?"
"Oh, Becky… I love her."
"She's your daughter."
"I know. But you won't let me have her."
"What do you mean?"
"Have you forgotten what you said?"
"Oh… that?" She hesitated. "Well, I've thought a lot about it. She's as much your daughter as she is mine."
"So, you'll let me into your life?"
"Her life, not mine. I'm still married, remember?"
"Of course I remember."
"Do you know what that means?"
"Enlighten me."
"It means nothing can happen between us."
Koech laughed.
"What's so funny?" Becky snapped.
"You're confused. You say you've changed your mind, yet here you are pretending nothing's happening. This child is proof that something has happened — and still is."
"And it stops there. I won't cut you off completely. You can come see her anytime, but I won't divorce Tesot."
Koech studied her.
"Becky, you don't know what you want. You want to move, but you keep yourself standing still. You want to love and be loved, but you push away those who can give it. And it's because of your past. Tesot moved on when you left. Stop living in that loss."
"I never left! He threw me away like tissue paper. But he'll come back. I'll wait as long as it takes."
"You must accept the status of tissue paper — because that's what you are. At least to him. And you still think there's a place for you in his heart? You don't exist to him anymore. He took another wife, had more children — children, Becky, not just one. And his responsibility is with them now."
He didn't realise how much his words, though true, were cutting her.
The road back to his place seemed longer than usual. The cool Kericho air, scented with eucalyptus, did little to calm the storm brewing inside him.
Becky's words replayed in his mind — "Her life, not mine… I am still married."
It stung, not because he didn't already know, but because she spoke them like a wall being built between them, brick by brick, while he stood on the outside holding a key that fit nowhere.
He thought of the baby — their baby — her curious eyes fixed on him as though she already knew him, as though she could see something in him worth trusting. That look had shaken him in a way he hadn't expected.
He wanted to be there for her, to watch her grow, to hear her first words, to be the steady presence she could rely on. But Becky's resolve was iron. She would give him the title of father but not the closeness of a partner.
Part of him admired her determination; another part resented it. She still clung to Tesot like a ghost she refused to bury. How could she not see the truth? Tesot had moved on — not just physically, but emotionally, spiritually.
Yet Koech knew pressing harder now would only push her further away. So he made himself a quiet vow: he would stay close enough for his daughter to know him, even if it meant swallowing the ache of being kept at arm's length by the woman he once thought could be his future.
And as the wind swept through the tea fields, Koech realised that loving Becky would never be simple. But walking away? That would be impossible.