Basildon Bliss
"Shopping centre manager Adaeze catches a thick Rwandan woman crying in the toilets—and what starts as comfort becomes something much more healing for both of them."
She found Patience in the ladies' room, sobbing.
"Are you okay?"
Stupid question. The thick Rwandan woman was clearly not okay. Mascara running, shoulders shaking, divorce papers clutched in her hands.
"He left me. After fifteen years. For someone younger. Thinner."
Adaeze sat beside her. "He's a fool."
"He said I'd let myself go."
"He's blind and a fool."
Coffee in Adaeze's office became dinner at a nearby restaurant.
Patience talked. Cried. Laughed. Gradually unwound.
"You're very kind," she said. "Most people wouldn't bother."
"I've been where you are. Someone helped me. I'm paying it forward."
"Just paying it forward?"
Their eyes met. Something shifted.
"I shouldn't feel this," Patience said. "I just ended my marriage."
"Feel what?"
"Attracted. To you." She laughed bitterly. "Twenty years of thinking I was straight, and now..."
"Attraction doesn't follow schedules." Adaeze took her hand. "And you're not broken for feeling things."
"He made me feel broken."
"He was wrong."
In Adaeze's flat, she showed Patience how wrong he'd been.
Kissed every inch that he'd criticized. Worshipped the thick body he'd rejected.
"You're beautiful," Adaeze whispered against her belly. "Every curve. Every inch."
"I want to believe you."
"Then let me show you."
Patience came crying again.
But this time, different tears. Release. Relief. Revelation.
"I've never felt like this," she gasped. "Never."
"Then he definitely wasn't trying."
"God, no."
Adaeze spent the night proving how much better things could be.
The divorce finalized in three months.
Patience moved out of her marital home and into Adaeze's life.
"Is this too fast?" she worried.
"It's exactly the right speed for us."
Basildon's shopping centre manager had found an unexpected treasure.
And Patience learned that some endings are just beginnings in disguise.