THE SHOE OUTSIDE ROOM17

What Miriam first sighted outside her husband's hotel room was the pair of men's shoes.

They were shiny black shoes, which were put by the door.

She stopped walking.

She just stood there staring at them, then She took another look at the text message.

"Pinnacle Hotel. Room 17."

It couldn't have been any clearer, this was definitely Kelechi's room.

Her husband had been in Port Harcourt for almost 8 months. His work was in a construction company where he was appointed to oversee a big project and so he seldom got home to Enugu except two times a month.

It wasn't easy but they had managed the arrangement.

At least that's what she believed.

Until recently.

There had been a significant change in recent times.

The telephone calls that had been made each night had been shorter.

His messages were not as regular.

At times he spoke as though he was distracted and even When she would ask him if something was wrong his just smiles and says "Everythingis fine" i've been working too long and am exhausted.

She was at one time convinced of his truthfulness.

After that, the insecurities started to set in.

Tiny doubts.

Dangerous doubts.

The quiet type that won't clear out.

Then she was invited to Port Harcourt for the weekend at a conference and she wanted to ‘catch him off guard'.

She pictured what he would be feeling inside.

The smile.

The hug.

Maybe dinner afterward.

She was in a hotel hall corridor, watching other man's shoes.

There was an uneasy sensation in her tummy.

She approached closer to the door.

The interior was noisy with voices.

One was one of Kelechi's.

The other one was a man she didn't know.

The conversation seemed to be heated.

Then she heard something, and it made her heart skip.

Kelechi laughed.

Not his typical laugh.

A nervous laugh.

The civil and polite way to talk about awkward topics.

Miriam swallowed hard.

Her hand was hovering towards the door.

Then she knocked.

The voices abruptly ceased at once.

Silence.

A loud silence, an artificial silence.

She frowned.

Why did they not go on talking?

She knocked again.

Still silence.

Her pulse quickened.

All the worst possibilities that she had worked so hard to keep at bay suddenly sprang into her mind.

Was he playing a trick on her?, Was there anyone else there?, Why couldn't he have been opening the door?

It took her a full minute before she heard footfalls.

The door moved slowly and opened.

Kelechi stood there.

His expression was truly in amazement.

"Miriam?"

She forced a smile.

"Hello."

A moment passed and they both became silent.

Then, her eyes went away from him to the room.

There was an old man in front of the window.

Documents that had been spread out on the bed covered it.

There were a number of old photographs on a small table.

The guest seemed taken aback like Kelechi.

“Oh, yes, I am married,” replied the young man.

Kelechi closed his eyes for a while.

So he went away.

"Come in."

The interior of the room was weird.

Slowly Miriam lowered herself to a chair, They all were silent for a while.

Finally, Kelechi exhaled.

I didn't mean for you to discover like this.

"Find out what?"

The old man gazed at Kelechi.

Kelechi looked back.

He then went to his wife.

This is my daddy.

Miriam blinked.

"What?"

"My biological father."

The space in the room suddenly seemed smaller.

Kelechi had never been to meet his father.

She knew that much.

There was a man who lost his life before Kelechi's birth.

He was raised by his mother.

All his childhood stories had a thread of that something in them.

The schools that I did not go to.

Those birthdays that felt incomplete.Those birthdays that didn't feel complete.

Questions No One could answer.

“Yes, I have found him,” she whispered.

Kelechi nodded.

"Three months ago."

Three months.

Miriam stared at him.

Three months?

The realization stung.

Not due to treason.

Because of distance.

The old man fidgeted and then said "I didn't know that I was worthy of meeting him".

He was low voiced.

Fragile.

A voice of a feeling regret.

Kelechi laughed softly.

"Neither did I."

Miriam was listening for an hour.

She heard for decades buried history rise.

Mistakes.

Regrets.

Missed opportunities.

Pain.

Questions which were unanswered for thirty-five years.

The photos on the table were of the man at an earlier age.

Old family pictures.

Letters.

Documents.

History of another life that overlapped but never crossed with Kelechi.

All of a sudden, it all fell into place.

The interruptions of telephone calls.

The emotional distance.

The secrecy.

The hotel meetings.

Out with the shoes, even the shoes outside the door.

The older man had recently had surgery and wanted to get rid of them when his feet were uncomfortable.

A simple explanation.

But almost those shoes had made her believe something entirely different.

Later that evening, when the old man had gone away, Miriam and Kelechi sat down and were silent.

Outside the window of the hotel the city lights were up.

Finally, Kelechi spoke.

I wanted to know the truth, first.

She nodded.

"I know."

I hadn't slept with another woman.

This made her smile.

The real first hilarious laugh of the day.

I know that from there.

Kelechi smiled.

After that, he looked relaxed.

How did you feel about seeing those shoes?

The answer is "You don't want to know".

"I do."

She hesitated.

Then she told him.

Everything.

The doubts.

The assumptions.

The fear.

When she had finished, Kelechi was grinning.

Not because it was humorous.

Because he understood.

The suspicions never start with the evidence.

It starts with the question in mind.

But once the seed of doubt is sown the mind is very creative!

Strangely while lying with her husband that night Miriam found herself thinking about how close she had come to believing a story that wasn't true.

Just from a pair of shoes, A closed door, One minute of silence.

Three ordinary things.

But between them had they fashioned a whole new world in her mind.

That weekend she gained some valuable knowledge.

All mysteries aren't filled with betrayal.

There are no lies in all the silences.

Sometimes the things we think are clues to our fears more than to the truth.

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