Kiva had always been perceived through the narrow lens of shallow eyes. To many—especially men—she was too dark, not the conventional definition of beauty. But what people failed to see was her heart, her brilliance, and the fierce compassion she carried in her soul.
At 35, Kiva was a powerhouse. A successful business executive with a PhD, a homeowner, a member of several chartered professional bodies, and a devoted caregiver to widows and orphans. But despite her accomplishments, life had been unkind in one particular area: love.
Men came, not for her heart, but for what she could offer. She was generous, and people knew it. They took and took, without the intention to stay. She became a magnet for emotionally unavailable men who only saw her as a means to an end.
Eventually, Kiva woke up. She distanced herself from opportunists and leaned into the unwavering love of her close-knit group of childhood friends and her family. But the loneliness still gnawed at her. Most of her friends were married or in committed relationships. She, however, remained alone—childless and unmarried.
The weight of her unmet desires began to show—on her body, in her spirit. She was losing weight. Her skin broke out. Her joy dimmed. Then one night, everything changed. She woke up to use the bathroom and caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. For a moment, she didn’t recognise the woman staring back. That reflection was tired, hollow—burdened by unspoken grief. She sat before the mirror and wept. Then, she spoke to herself—not with pity, but with power.
“It’s time to become better, not bitter.”
She remembered who she was. A woman of substance. Accomplished, compassionate, deeply loved by the right people. She reminded herself that life had not cheated her—it had shaped her. That night, Kiva chose gratitude over gloom. She realised the lemons life had handed her were old news—it was time to make lemonade and move forward.
The next morning, she rose with a renewed mindset. She dressed like the queen she was, smiled more, and carried herself like someone who had remembered her worth.
And the world noticed.
People complimented her glow. Her confidence. Her elegance. Even her dimples—those tiny indentations no one had ever paid attention to—suddenly became charming details.
She poured her love into the children around her—nieces, nephews, and the children of friends. Her home became a haven for joyful sleepovers. The kids adored her. Their moms became jealous and even planned their own sleepover and girls’ outing.
There were only two single women left in her circle—Kiva and Onah. And Onah was getting married. This time, instead of feeling sorrow, Kiva felt joy. She helped organise the wedding like it was her own. She was everywhere—calm, elegant, in charge. The event planner even pulled her aside and whispered, “You should consider event planning professionally because your attention to detail should be studied.”
At the wedding, Ivan—one of the groom’s friends—could not take his eyes off her. What drew him wasn’t just her physical appearance, though he found her stunning. It was the light she carried. Her skin glowed like polished ebony, and her smile lit the room. He was impressed by the way she moved around, making sure everything went well and everyone was alright.
When Kiva came around to check if they needed anything, Ivan seized the moment and complimented her. Then at the after-party, he finally sat beside her. Her wit, intelligence, and grace sealed the deal for him. And in the middle of their conversation, he said it plainly:
“I’m going to marry you.”
Kiva laughed until tears rolled down her cheeks. She was 37. Marriage? Not in her plans. She’d long stopped believing in fairy tales.
But Ivan was different. A software consultant based in Germany, he had come to Nigeria for two things: to attend the wedding and finalise his transfer back home. Meeting Kiva became the third reason to stay.
He pursued her like a gentleman. He called. He checked in. He cared. She kept her guard up, waiting for him to vanish like the rest. But he didn’t. Even when he returned to Germany, the connection remained. They talked daily, shared dreams, and opened wounds. Kiva knew now that love comes when you least expect it—and sometimes, the best stories begin when you’ve given up on the script.
Four months later, when Ivan returned to Nigeria, he didn’t waste time. He proposed. Kiva was scared. She wasn’t used to this kind of certainty. What would his family think of her? Her fears were almost suffocating her.
But they embraced her warmly.
“You’re everything Ivan said you were,” his mother told her, “and even more beautiful in person.”
Kiva was happy.
His nieces and nephews adored her instantly. It was clear that Kiva had a gift with children. Her maternal instinct was deep and natural.
She wanted a quiet wedding, and that’s exactly what she got. Then she had fears about getting pregnant. She knew that could be impossible considering her age, but Ivan assured her that he didn’t marry her because he wanted kids—he married her because he loved her.
It’s true what they say: “Delayed doesn’t mean denied.” Life may not follow your timeline, but it often exceeds your expectations in due season.
Now guess what? Pregnancy came. And with it, its fears too. Kiva was carrying twins. It was classified as high-risk, but with rest, care, and faith, she carried her babies to full term and had them via C-section.
Now Kiva is 40. A wife. A mother to two radiant girls. And more fulfilled than she ever imagined. Ivan turned out to be more than a husband—he was the reward after years of heartbreak, the compensation for every tear shed over men who never truly saw her.
She looks back and smiles, and reminds herself that—you’re never too old for a new beginning. Whether in love, career, or motherhood—age is not a limit.
She stands in front of the mirror, remembering how that mirror had been the game changer for her. Her babies crawl up to her as their dad chases them from behind.
Kiva smiles.
“This life—this love—was worth the wait.”
