ESTHER
There was something about putting on makeup that made Esther feel invincible. Like slipping into a superpower. The rhythmic dab-dab-dab of the foundation sponge, the sharp swoop of her eyeliner; it was her armour. She was excited to be getting out of the house, away from Kunle, whose continued presence (absence, really) was beginning to grate on her nerves in a new way.
And the nerve of him, trying to have sex with her last night.
And silly her, she’d given in. Of course, she had. Even though she’d barely participated, even though she couldn’t remember if she’d felt anything beyond fatigue. She’d ticked the box in her head like a chore on a to-do list:
Sex with husband – check.
She’d turned over in bed when he climbed off her and promptly fell asleep, not waking till Dara called for her.
She found that some days she could not look Kunle in the eyes. Not because she was hiding anything, but because she was scared of what he might find in hers. The simmering resentment. The self-doubt. The fear that maybe, just maybe, she had made a mistake.
And then that morning, he’d kissed them both goodbye, the sudden doting father, swooping Dara into his arms, blowing raspberries into his neck like he actually enjoyed being a dad.
It softened her. Made her think maybe there’s still hope. Maybe this was just a rough patch.
“You look good,” he said at the door. “Are you sure it’s only mums that you’re going to see?”
She hadn’t even blinked. “I’m sure there’ll be other dads there,” she’d deadpanned as she walked out the door.
Now, stepping into the hall, she scanned the room, eyes sweeping for both her friends and the best spot to set up her tripod. The air smelled faintly of baby lotion, lukewarm coffee, and crushed Cheerios. Familiar.
Cleo spotted her first, throwing up an excited wave.
Of course. Cleo was always so… Cleo. Vibrant. Energetic. Chatty. And Esther, God help her, was jealous. How did Cleo smile so much with two kids? Meanwhile, she was barely surviving with one.
Not that she didn’t love Dara. Of course she did. He was sweet, especially when not fussing. But still, his arrival had detonated something in her life. Her marriage. Her identity. Her spark.
Before Dara, she and Kunle were the power couple; witty, sexy, social. They’d been together six years before tying the knot and moving to Canada. They were the kind of couple who had sex on weekdays and laughed at the same jokes
Now… now it felt like their lives had collapsed like a poorly built Jenga tower.
Dara hadn’t been exactly planned, but neither had he been a surprise. They were stable, had decent jobs, and a mortgage. It felt like the right time, and Kunle had been thrilled. A son! He was going to be the kind of father who listened to Afrobeats and played football with his son.
Esther almost laughed every time she remembered that version of him. Maybe she should have seen it coming. Maybe he’d never been ready. Or maybe no man ever truly was. Maybe some men needed to be taught how to show up.
But she couldn’t tell anyone that. Not even Kunle. Especially not him. She was supposed to be grateful she had a man who paid the bills without complaining.
“Looking beautiful as usual, darling,” Cleo said as Esther joined them.
“Where do you find the time?” Penny chimed in, eyes wide. “Ugh, I barely manage to shower these days.”
Esther smiled, warm and wide, glowing a little.
“Thanks, ladies, ”she said.
“How’s Dara today? Still teething?” That was Tara, gently rubbing one of her twins’ backs.
Esther resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Of course, Tara would pivot to the babies. Couldn’t they, for once, pretend to be women first? Not just mothers?
“He’s fine now, thanks,” Esther replied. “He’s napping, so I’m just going to set up real quick.”
“Sorry?” Tara looked up, brows slightly drawn.
Esther noticed the bags under her eyes.
“Oh, you know. Content never sleeps,” she gestured to her tripod with a small laugh.
“Sorry, did you…Are you planning to shoot content here right now?” Tara again.
Esther’s smile twitched. Why did she always feel like Tara didn’t quite like her?
“Don’t worry, I’ll keep your faces out of it,” she said quickly, layering sweetness over discomfort.
The other mums were quiet, their expressions unreadable. Even Cleo didn’t say anything. Why was Tara always the rule-keeper?
“I hope that’s okay, guys. It’s just a brief overhead shot, I promise.” Esther didn’t bother to wait for their responses.
She’d be damned if she didn’t take advantage of today. People loved real-life shots, not just home setups and curated morning routines. They wanted life in motion.
Esther turned toward the corner of the room, scanning for the softest light. A spot near the window filtered warm sun across the pale blue matting, gentle enough to flatter skin, bright enough to make everything look alive. She wheeled Dara’s stroller over, quietly grateful that he was still asleep. His snores rose and fell as she set the tripod down extending the legs with a practiced flick.
One of the things she loved about content creating was the illusion of control: Lighting. Angles. Captions. The ability to tell a story where she was composed, put together, glowing. Where she was not the woman who’d had sex out of obligation the night before.
She checked her reflection in the phone screen; just to be sure she didn’t have a milk stain or drool on her shirt. Her concealer was still in place. Lip gloss still glossy. She pushed her shoulders back, lowered her chin slightly, and hit record.
Hey guys,” she began, her voice lifting into its curated softness, “just wanted to check in real quick. I’m here at our mum meet-up; baby’s napping, and I’m taking a moment to breathe.”
She paused.
“Can we just talk about how important community is? Being a new mum, I have seen firsthand the power of community, you know. Just having your own people who understand you and who don’t judge you.”
She switched camera angles, trying to catch a slow pan of the room, just enough movement to show she was in a space, without capturing faces.
Behind her, the quiet hum of conversation filled the room; babies cooing, mums chatting, someone laughing too loudly about toddler tantrums. It was the kind of audio texture that made videos feel warm, real.
Halfway through her second take, Dara stirred.
“No, no, no, please,” she whispered under her breath, glancing over at the stroller as it gave a tiny jerk. She turned her body, shielding the camera from view as she reached in and patted his chest gently. His eyes fluttered, then closed again.
She exhaled and resumed recording.
“So, let’s talk community. Who are your people? Do you have people you can rely on to walk this path with you? Motherhood isn’t a journey to go alone, mamas. There’s no medal for Best Mum, hahaha.”
Esther stopped recording, watching the playback in silence. Her voice sounded bright (maybe, too bright?), the frame looked soft and almost-natural. On screen, she looked like a woman who had it together.
She swallowed.
Then, without thinking, she hit record again and this time, let the camera roll while she sat back, sighed, and muttered,
She leaned back, sighing. “Is it fraud or manifesting what you want?” she said quietly. “I’m out here talking about how community matters, and yet I feel so lonely. If loneliness had a poster child, it would be me. So where do we draw the line between creating content and just… pretending?”
She blinked, hesitated, then stopped the recording.
She wouldn’t post that part (of course not!) But it felt good to say it out loud, even if no one ever heard it.