It was about 3:30 pm when Aaron stepped briskly out of the glass doors of Phidles Towers, his suit jacket folded neatly over one arm and a leather bag slung over his shoulder. The Wednesday sun was still high in the sky, glinting off the windshield of his silver Toyota Fortuner parked just a few steps away.

He was on his way to meet a prospective new supplier that afternoon, and considering that meeting would possibly take about two hours, he had packed up for the day, knowing he’d head home right afterwards.

His phone buzzed in his palm as he walked toward the car.

He held it up and looked. It was a message from Amos.

Good afternoon. Confirming that I’ll be ministering at midweek service this evening. Blessings, sir.

Aaron paused, a satisfied smirk curling his lips. He tapped a quick reply.

Excellent. I knew my pastor would be on board. We’ll talk after service.

He slid his phone into his pocket and nodded to himself as he reached the car. Unlocking it with a beep, he got in and exhaled.

“Just like clockwork,” he murmured, starting the engine. The AC whirred to life as the voices of journalists discussing national issues boomed through the stereo.

He pulled out slowly, eyes fixed on the road, but his mind playing a different tune.

You really think I’d let you blow up Tete Munchies just because your feelings are hurt, Phyllis? Really?

He scoffed aloud, chuckling bitterly. “Sweetheart, if you knew what was on the line, you’d sit down and behave yourself.”

Mrs. Phyllis Essel. His wife.

Beautiful. well-groomed. God-fearing. Those were a few adjectives one would use to describe her. For him, though, there was one phrase he thought adequately defined her.

Gullible.

To a fault. Especially in spiritual matters.

From the day he first met her to date, there was one thing he knew was a constant about her: she’d eat up every sermon, every spiritual dream, every “prophetic encounter” anyone claimed to have. And he had long since learned how to work with that… and around it.

He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel as the traffic light turned red.

“She was a package deal,” he muttered coolly. “Marrying her came with Daddy’s cheque book, which meant more support for Tete Munchies. It’s not now she’s going to go crying to Daddy because I tell her the truth.”

Truth. That’s what he called it when he told her she was “emotionally immature,” or that she “needed help thinking through basic decisions.” It always came in a calm tone, with a dry laugh or raised brow—never a shout or a violent reaction.

He didn’t need to shout.

Not when sarcasm sliced sharper than a blade.

And now, after years of wearing her down with patronizing barbs, the girl had finally started growing a spine. Threatening to leave. Threatening to tell her father.

And if Mr. Eugene Anobah found out about that, only one eventuality was certain.

Immediate withdrawal of funding, which would lead to the collapse of Tete Munchies.

Aaron clenched the steering wheel just a bit tighter.

If I lose her, I lose the business. I lose the business, I lose everything.

The words of that angry supplier echoed in his mind…

“Look, Mr. Essel, I’m tired of all these excuses! I’m tired! If I don’t get that delivery paid for by Friday, we’re done! Do you hear me?”

The debt was growing teeth. Things were tight. Tighter than Phyllis would ever understand. And losing her father’s funding would destroy the one thing that really brought him joy: fulfilling his dream of owning Ghana’s biggest snack company.

A dream he had shared with his first love back in university. A dream they were meant to achieve together.

A dream he alone had to carry after septic shock took his beloved Joella away from him forever in their final year.

So, no. Phyllis wasn’t going anywhere. Tete Munchies had to survive and thrive for Joella’s sake.

“Prophet Amos,” Aaron murmured with a slow grin, “is going to do what he was called to do—bring restoration. Restore my peace, restore my wife’s sense of fear, restore Tete Munchies.”

He glanced at the dashboard clock. Just enough time to meet his partner before heading to the service.

As the traffic light turned green and he drove off, he shook his head.

“If she actually thinks I’ll let her ruin everything by squealing to her daddy, then maybe she is as slow as I always said.”

***

“And so, people of God, we need to be circumspect. Our world has become very materialistic, more materialistic than it was back in the old days. Nowadays, people measure the meaningfulness of life by how many material possessions they possess, and they judge people by the same standard…”

The small but packed hall of Agrippa International Church echoed with the rhythmic clapping and amens of an energized midweek crowd. Amos stood before them at the pulpit, Bible in front of him as he preached with fire and intensity.

His voice was strong and his delivery sharp, and the church loved it. This visiting prophet had not been announced until that morning, but this fiery sermon he was delivering was worth it.

Deep inside, though, Amos’ spirit was in a storm of conflict.

While cheers erupted and a tambourine rattled from the choir corner, his eyes locked on a woman in the second row. She sat quietly, hands folded, face composed but distant.

Mrs. Phyllis Essel.

He recognized her immediately from the picture Aaron sent her. And he couldn’t deny, there was a softness to her. Something like a quiet beauty, a kind of stillness that caught the eye without trying.

Well-dressed, modest, and clearly unsure of herself.

Chale, I won’t lie, she looks even finer in person. Pretty lady. Very pretty. She doesn’t look like someone trying to ruin a marriage, he thought briefly. Then caught himself.

His stomach churned.

This direction his mind was moving in wasn’t good. Before he knew it, he’d hesitate to do the needful.

Don’t look too hard, Amos, he internally chided himself. You already know what to do. Besides, appearances can be deceiving.

His conscience suddenly rushed in.

Amos, stop this! Stop! This is not what God called you for! You are not a mouthpiece for manipulation. Stop!

He took a deep breath, clenched his jaw and pushed on.

Nope, sorry. I’ve come too far. The money’s in my account. This is happening.

He preached on for a couple of moments, continuing to give them the passionate prophet vibe.

“And that is why the Bible tells us not to put our trust in riches. Because riches can leave your hands. Money can leave your hands. Wealth and influence can leave your hands. But eternal riches will never leave your heavenly account. Are you hearing me, somebody?”

The congregation responded enthusiastically.

He acted as though he was continuing, then paused, looking around with squinted eyes, performing the classic prophet’s stance, pretending to “receive” something.

The room went quiet. The congregation leaned in, waiting to see what the prophet was about to say.

Amos turned slowly, eyes scanning the rows as if seeking confirmation.

Then he locked eyes with her.

“You. My sister. Please rise,” he said gently, pointing at Phyllis.

She blinked, surprised, then stood, shaky and unsure.

“Please… come forward.”

She hesitated, then stepped into the aisle and slowly made her way to the front, flanking by two female ushers.

Amos took a deep breath, drowning out the pounding of his conscience.

No backing out now, Amos! You rehearsed this all morning. Just deliver it!

“My sister…” he started, his voice now tender. “The Lord just opened my eyes as I was ministering. And I saw you… standing at the edge of a very high cliff.”

Phyllis’s eyes widened.

“The wind was fierce. And there was someone in the shadows, urging you to jump. Whispering some sweet logical stuff in your ears, twisting what you know is right. But I heard the Spirit of God say: ‘Not so. This is not the time to leap. This is the time to stand.’”

The murmurs swelled. A few people clapped. Phyllis’s hand went to her mouth.

“You are in a battle. You feel you’ve been misunderstood. Wounded. Frustrated. But this is what the Lord says: hold your peace. Do not step out of covenant. Do not take that decision.”

Tears slid down her cheeks.

Amos raised his voice just slightly. “You are not the one to break up what has been put together. No matter how strong the urge to flee, the Lord says, ‘Go back. Be the woman I ordained you to be.’”

The church erupted in applause.

Phyllis began to cry.

Amos reached out, placed a hand gently on her head.

“Weep not, my sister. The Lord is showing you mercy and delivering you from destruction. Be glad and thank Him for his goodness. Now, in the name of Jesus, I declare restoration over your home. I speak peace into your heart. May the voice of confusion be silenced, and may the Lord strengthen you to do what is right.”

“Amen!” the congregation shouted.

He smiled.

“Go back to your seat, my sister. You are covered.”

She bowed her head and turned, wiping her face as she walked back slowly.

Amos returned to the pulpit, his lips twitching with quiet satisfaction.

The applause continued.

The moment had landed.

He had delivered.

There we go. That wasn’t so bad now, was it?

***

It was about 9:15 pm, and Phyllis was almost home.

Her face was blank, and her eyes misty, still swimming in the aftershock of the prophecy from the visiting prophet.

She clutched her handbag tightly with her right hand as she arrived at the gate, beeping for the security man to open it.

The prophet’s words reverberated around her brain…

Do not step out of covenant… Be the woman I ordained you to be.

Phyllis had always been a believer. A true believer. To her, men of God were not ordinary men. They were vessels—chosen, touched, set apart. She grew up being warned never to speak against them, no matter what, because God would take it personally and ruthlessly deal with her if she did. She’d seen the way her mother flinched when people criticized pastors. The ‘touch not my anointed’ doctrine was drilled into her like gospel.

Her brother, Zack, had also been nurtured to believe in that doctrine. After a bad episode with a youth church, however, he had washed his hands off religion and swore never to go back to it, constantly lambasting pastors, to the chagrin of Phyllis and their mother.

So even though her heart ached and her dignity felt bruised, the prophecy had settled it.

God had spoken.

She was wrong to want to walk away and let her father know what an awful husband Aaron was to her, always downplaying and belittling her, making her feel like the dumbest human being on the planet.

***

She entered the house quietly, closing the door behind her.

Aaron was seated in his favourite recliner, scrolling on his phone with a smile on his face. He looked up briefly and stared at her, an unreadable expression replacing the smile.

She wiped her face, then walked over to him, dropped to her knees, and bowed her head.

“Aaron… I… I’m-I’m sorry,” she stuttered, her voice trembling.

He looked at her with a puzzled expression, blinking slowly.

“Uhhh… what’s this?” he asked gently. “Why are you suddenly down there apologizing like I’m the high priest of Israel?”

She looked up at him, eyes glassy. “A-A… a prophet called me out during the service. He… he told me I was standing at the edge of a cliff, and that I should drop my plan and go back to being the wife God ordained me to be. So I… I’m sorry for telling you I want to leave and tell my father what’s going on in our marriage. I… I’ll not do that anymore.”

Aaron raised his brows in mock surprise, setting his phone aside.

“Well, well, well,” he began calmly, “isn’t that interesting?”

She nodded, trying to keep her tears from spilling.

He sighed and leaned back. “I mean, Phyllis, what made you even think God was happy with your decision in the first place? Hmm? You really believed that walking away from your marriage was the godly thing to do? After all the scriptures you read… after all the prayers you’ve prayed?”

She said nothing.

“I mean… I love your passion for God. I really do,” he continued. “It’s a blessing to be with someone who loves the Lord as much as you do. But sometimes, I really wonder… do you actually think? Like, use your brain to think. Or do you just feel something and follow it like a child chasing bubbles? Because it wasn’t Satan who created the brain ooo, it was God. So He expects us to use it.”

She bowed her head again, eyes cast to the floor.

A long pause followed.

“You know what? Never mind. You’ve learned your lesson, so I forgive you,” he shrugged. “But Phyllis… for once, try and grow up in your faith. Learn to be a little bright sometimes. Not every feeling is divine and must be obeyed. You know that.”

Then he leaned forward slightly.

“Now, please… go and make me that groundnut soup. You promised last week. No shortcuts this time. And please, for the love of our Heavenly Father above, go easy on the pepper. I don’t wanna have to spit it out like you made me do the last time.”

She nodded faintly and rose to her feet.

“Yes please, Aaron,” she whispered.

As she walked toward the kitchen, those words rang loud in her head…

 I really wonder… do you actually think? Like, use your brain to think…

Learn to be a little bright sometimes…

They stung. With that all-too-familiar ache of humiliation.

An ache she had been carrying for far too long.

Yet, while a single tear slid down her cheek, she told herself…

This is my cross to bear as a child of God. God sees. God knows. He rewards obedience. I will carry it as I ought to. There’s a purpose for all this…

Smh. Amos actually did it; sold a prophecy for money. Awful.

Aaron knew what he was doing, though, coz Phyllis clearly is a sucker for anything sounding spiritual…