The call came in the middle of the morning.
Dayo was sitting in the living room, scrolling through messages he hadn't fully read, when his phone lit up with his mother's name. He answered on the second ring.
"Dayo."
"Good morning, Mom."
"It has been one week."
He knew what she meant immediately without any hint. His mother had the kind of patience that looked like acceptance but was actually just discipline. She could wait for as long as she decided waiting was appropriate, and then she would stop waiting.
"I know," he said.
"You know your father and I have not asked. We gave you space. Jeffrey and Janet have been patient. But Dayo, a whole week has passed. My grandchild is in this city, and I have not seen her face. I have not held her. I have not heard her voice."
Dayo pressed his fingers against his temple. "Mom—"
