The "family emergency" was the first major crack in the perfect facade of Lami’s relationship. It wasn't the lie itself that was so damaging, but the silence that followed. For two days, Baari was a ghost. He didn't answer her calls, and his replies to her texts were brief, single-line responses that were a far cry from the long, thoughtful messages she had grown accustomed to. Lami felt a return of the old, familiar ache of loneliness she had believed was a thing of the past. She was a woman in a relationship who felt utterly alone.

On Monday evening, just as she was about to give up and resign herself to a night of wallowing, her phone rang. It was Baari. She answered on the first ring, a rush of relief flooding her veins.

“I’m so sorry, my love,” he said, his voice laced with an exhaustion that sounded genuine. “It’s been a crazy few days. I’ve been at the hospital with my family. My uncle is still in the ICU, but he’s stable. It’s been so stressful. I haven’t been able to think about anything else.”

Lami’s heart went out to him. Her frustration and hurt evaporated, replaced by a surge of empathy. "I'm so sorry, Baari. I've been worried sick about you. I wish I could be there to help."

"Just hearing your voice helps," he said, and the words, so simple and so perfectly timed, made Lami feel like the centre of his world again. "I'm just so glad he's okay. It’s a good reminder of what’s truly important in life—family and the people we love."

He spent the next hour telling her about the details of the crisis—the frantic call, the rush to the hospital, the long hours spent waiting in the sterile, air-conditioned waiting room. His story was vivid and detailed, filled with the names of family members she had never heard of. He spoke with such conviction that Lami felt a pang of shame for ever doubting him. Kemi’s words seemed petty and cruel in the face of what he had just gone through.

The next day, she told Kemi about the call. Kemi listened without interrupting, a placid expression on her face. When Lami was finished, Kemi said, “So, you’re not going to question why you haven’t met any of these family members yet?”

“They’re in a different city,” Lami explained, the lie feeling thin even to her own ears. “They don’t live here.”

“And you believe that?” Kemi asked, her voice calm and steady. “Lami, I’m not saying he’s a bad person. I'm just asking you to open your eyes. A man who truly loves you wouldn’t have a whole separate life he hasn’t shared with you.”

Lami felt the familiar prick of irritation. "Kemi, can you just be happy for me? I'm finally with a man who loves me, and all you can see is a conspiracy. I'm tired of it."

Kemi didn't say anything, but her silence was more deafening than any argument. Lami felt a chasm opening between them, a divide forged by her desperation to protect her relationship from anyone who might see the truth she was so intent on ignoring.

The following week, Baari made it up to her in a big way. He showed up at her office with a bouquet of red roses and a lunchbox filled with her favourite meal, jollof rice and roasted chicken. He didn’t call ahead; he just showed up, a grand, public display of affection that made her colleagues' eyes widen with envy.

He said, “I missed you, and I wanted to see you for five minutes, even if it’s just to say hi.”

Lami’s heart soared. This was what she had been missing. This was a man who made her feel cherished, who went out of his way to show her she was a priority. It was a classic case of love-bombing, but Lami, with her history of feeling unwanted and invisible, saw it as proof of his undying love.

Her friends, however, were not impressed. Amara, with her cynical journalist’s eye, said, “Did he bring a cameraman with him? It sounds like he’s trying to put on a show for you and your co-workers.”

Lami dismissed the comment. She didn't want to hear it. She was living in the moment, and the moment was beautiful.

A few days later, Lami was having dinner at her mother's house. Her mother, who had been a quiet but steady supporter of her search for love, asked about Baari. Lami, bursting with pride, told her about the roses and the lunch surprise.

Her mother smiled, a soft, knowing look in her eyes. "He sounds like a good man, Lami. But remember what I told you. True love isn't about grand gestures. It's about a man who loves you even when you're at your worst. It's about a man who is a friend, a confidant, a partner, not a spectacle. It’s about a man who is there for you on the quiet, ordinary days, not just the dramatic ones.”

Lami felt a twinge of unease. Her mother’s words, so gentle and so filled with wisdom, hit a nerve. She realized that she had been so focused on the extraordinary moments with Baari that she had forgotten about the ordinary ones. The ones he had been absent for.

She went home that night and looked at her phone. She looked at their texts, their pictures, the little moments they had shared. She wanted to believe that the good outweighed the bad. That his love was real. She had a choice to make: to believe her mother and her friends, who had her best interests at heart, or to believe the man who made her feel like a princess, even if it was just for a fleeting moment. She chose the prince.

The next day, she decided to surprise him. She drove to his office, a small, unassuming building in a bustling part of the city. She bought a coffee and a pastry from a nearby cafe and walked into the lobby, a nervous smile on her face.

When she got to his floor, she walked up to the receptionist's desk. "Hi," she said, her voice a little too loud. "I'm here to see Baari. Baari Abiola."

The receptionist, a young woman with a polite smile, checked her computer. "I'm sorry, I don't have a Baari Abiola working here. Are you sure you have the right office?"

Lami’s smile froze on her face. "Yes," she said, her voice cracking. "He's an engineer here. He's the one who does the big projects."

The receptionist's smile never wavered. "I'm sorry, ma'am. We've never had an engineer with that name."

Lami felt a cold dread creep up her spine. The coffee cup in her hand felt like a brick. She stood there, frozen, her mind spinning, trying to find a logical explanation. Maybe he had a different last name? Maybe he had just started? But no, she had seen his work pictures, pictures he had sent her from this very office.

Just as she was about to ask another question, she heard a voice. A man's voice. A voice she knew. "Lami?"

She turned around. It was Baari, standing by the elevator, a look of shocked horror on his face. He was not in a suit and tie, but in a plain T-shirt and jeans. He wasn't carrying a briefcase, but a large gym bag.

Lami’s eyes went from him to the receptionist, then back to him. The look on his face told her everything she needed to know. The grand gesture, the "family emergency," the carefully constructed life he had shown her—it was all a lie. He was not the man she thought he was. He was not an engineer at all.

This was the end of the fairy tale.