Miriam didn’t believe in love triangles.

At least, not for women who led opening prayers at Bible study and coordinated the welfare unit in church.

Yet here she was, two days to her introduction ceremony and her phone would not stop vibrating.

Daniel was calling again.

She let it ring.

On the other side of her room, neatly folded on the bed, was the lace her mother had bought from Onitsha for Sunday’s family introduction. A soft champagne gold. The kind of fabric that carried expectations in its threads.

The kind that said: This is the man you’re marrying.

Tunde.

Responsible. Intentional. Prayerful. The man who arrived thirty minutes early for everything from choir rehearsals to courtship classes. The man who prayed before every phone call with her. The man who said, “I will not touch you until our wedding night,” and meant it in a way that made her feel safe… and sometimes strangely unseen.

Her phone buzzed again.

Daniel: I’m outside your office.

Her heart slammed against her ribs.

Daniel didn’t attend her church. In fact, he found church culture suffocating. But he respected her faith or at least, he tried to. They had met during her NYSC year, back when she still believed that God’s will always felt peaceful.

Back when love didn’t feel like an examination you could fail.

She had loved Daniel first.

Before the night he told her he wasn’t sure marriage was something he wanted “anytime soon.”

Before the Sunday her pastor preached on unequally yoked relationships and her spirit felt like it was sitting in the front row of the message.

Before Daniel started saying things like, “Why does everything have to be so spiritual with you?”

They had broken up quietly. No shouting. Just silence that stretched into weeks, then months.

And then came Tunde.

Introduced by her zonal pastor’s wife after a midweek service. Tunde had the kind of faith that looked stable. Predictable. His prayers were not poetic, but they were consistent. He fasted on Wednesdays without announcing it. He asked her about her purpose more than her hobbies.

He didn’t make her laugh the way Daniel did but he made her believe her life would not fall apart.

Her phone rang again.

This time, she picked up.

“Why are you here?” she whispered.

“I heard you’re getting married on Sunday.”

Her throat tightened. “It’s an introduction.”

“Same difference.”

She closed her eyes. “Daniel…”

“Can we talk? Please. Just five minutes.”

They sat in his car like strangers who knew too much about each other.

“You look happy,” he said finally.

“I am,” she replied, a little too quickly.

Daniel nodded, then exhaled. “I made a mistake.”

Miriam said nothing.

“I thought I had time to figure myself out. I thought love would wait until I was ready.” He laughed softly. “But you didn’t wait. And now I hear you’re marrying someone else because he can pray longer than me.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Then tell me the truth. Do you love him?”

The question hung between them like an altar call she didn’t want to answer.

“I respect him,” she said.

Daniel’s jaw tightened. “That’s not what I asked.”

“Tunde is a good man.”

“So am I.”

“You didn’t want marriage.”

“I was afraid,” he corrected. “I’m not anymore.”

Her chest ached.

“Too late,” she whispered.

Daniel reached into the back seat and brought out a small box. Not a ring she noticed that immediately but a Bible. The one she had given him on his birthday two years ago.

“I started reading it again,” he said. “Because I didn’t understand how you could walk away from me so easily unless you believed God really had something better planned.”

Miriam stared at him.

“I’ve been attending church,” he continued. “Not yours. But somewhere close to my house. I spoke to the pastor last week about… everything.”

Her mind spun.

“Why are you telling me this now?”

“Because I still love you. And I can’t watch you marry someone you don’t love just because it looks right on paper.”

That night, she couldn’t pray.

Every time she knelt, her thoughts split in two.

Tunde’s voice: Marriage is a ministry. It’s not just about feelings.

Daniel’s voice: Do you love him?

Her mother walked into her room around midnight.

“You’re still awake?”

Miriam nodded.

“Mummy,” she said slowly, “is it wrong to marry someone because he’s… good for you?”

Her mother sat beside her.

“Love is not always fire,” she replied gently. “Sometimes it is peace.”

“But what if peace feels like silence?”

Her mother studied her. “Are you afraid… or are you unsure?”

Miriam didn’t know the difference anymore.

Saturday evening, Tunde came over with his elder brother to finalize logistics for Sunday.

They prayed before discussing anything.

As he prayed—thanking God for direction, for confirmation, for a future built on obedience—Miriam felt something crack inside her.

After the “Amen,” she spoke.

“Tunde… can we talk?”

He smiled. “Of course.”

Outside, under the mango tree, the air felt heavier than usual.

“I need to ask you something,” she began. “If God told you I wasn’t your wife… would you let me go?”

Tunde didn’t answer immediately.

“Yes,” he said finally. “Because obedience is better than sacrifice.”

Her eyes filled with tears.

“And if He told me you weren’t my husband?”

He held her gaze.

“Then I would trust that God loves me enough not to give me what isn’t mine.”

—

Sunday morning came too quickly.

The lace was still on the bed.

Her phone buzzed again.

Daniel.

Then another message—from Tunde.

Tunde: Good morning. I prayed for you today. Whatever happens, choose God’s will over your comfort.

Miriam sat on the floor.

For the first time in weeks, she prayed without rehearsing her words.

“God… I don’t want to get this wrong.”

Because one man felt safe.

And the other felt like home.

And she had until 2 pm when both families would be seated in her father’s living room to decide which one God had actually sent.