What began as chance visits slowly turned out to be a routine. Whenever loneliness pressed too heavily on her, Becky found herself at Koech's door.
That afternoon, Koech glanced at the sky and frowned. Dark clouds massed along the eastern horizon. "A heavy rain is coming." He told Becky who had already noticed the shift. With each passing second, the clouds swelled and spread across the sky, dimming the afternoon sun.
"I've got to go," she said abruptly. She had spent most of the day there, and the thought of being trapped unsettled her.
"You're not serious. You won't even reach the road before it starts pouring."
As if to prove him right, a fierce bolt of lightning split the sky and was instantly followed by a deafening crack of thunder that shook the windows.
Then the rain erupted in torrents. Within minutes, puddles spread across the compound, merging into glistening sheets until the open field beyond resembled a flooded plain.
"See now? I told you. You won't be going anywhere," Koech observed.
Becky did not respond. She listened as the rain lash against the roof, its rhythm growing louder, more insistent, as though sealing her in.
"I'd better start preparing dinner," Koech said, already turning toward the kitchen.
"I'll go back," Becky replied, though the words lacked conviction. "It's going to stop."
"With a thunderstorm like this, it's not even safe to walk in that rain. You can stay the night," he said over his shoulder as he disappeared down the corridor.
Resigned, Becky sank deeper into the couch.
It wasn't long before the aroma of food drifted through the house.
When Koech returned, he carried steaming dishes to the table — ugali, sukuma wiki, and fried beef. Becky hadn't realized how hungry she was until the first bite. The warmth of the meal spread through her, briefly quieting her nerves.
A couple of hours later, the dishes had been cleared away. The house settled into the hush of night. Koech noticed Becky stifle a yawn, her eyes glazing for a fleeting moment.
"It's getting late," he said gently. "Come. Let me show you to your room."
She rose and followed him down the long, narrow corridor. They passed the washroom and stopped at a small bedroom at the far end of the house. He ushered her inside, wished her goodnight, and withdrew, closing the door softly behind him.
Becky lay on the bed, her hands folded over her stomach, her eyes fixed on the ceiling. But sleep would not come.
The storm continued outside, distant thunder rolling across the dark. And against her will, her thoughts drifted back to that afternoon at the restaurant — to the music, the closeness, the way his hand had lingered just a moment too long.
With a sigh, she sat up.
Maybe a shower would help.
She crossed to the closet and opened it. Inside, neatly folded bedsheets and towels were stacked with quiet care. She took one towel and draped it over her shoulder before stepping into the corridor toward the bathroom.
Once inside, she undressed slowly, as though delaying something unnamed. She hung her clothes on the wall hook, then reached for the tap.
The pipes shuddered. Water hissed to life — cold at first, sharp against her skin. She inhaled as it struck her shoulders, then steadied herself beneath it. Gradually the chill softened. She closed her eyes and let the stream travel down her back. The steady rhythm calmed her breathing. The tension she had carried all evening began to loosen, dissolving beneath the spray.
***
Koech found no sleep either.
The thought that Becky was in his house — only a few paces from his bedroom — stirred a restless heat in him. He turned on his bed, willing his mind to quiet.
This was the sixth time she had visited. He told himself it meant nothing. Yet tonight fate had conspired to keep her there.
His thoughts drifted to Kararan Academy — to the spectacle she had made when she fought to see her son. He had admired her courage then. Beneath her beauty lay something fierce: conviction, resilience, a refusal to be silenced. And yet, beneath that strength, he had glimpsed vulnerability. That memory unsettled him more than the storm outside.
He needed to sleep. He had to travel to Siongiroi the next day. Duty awaited him at Kararan Academy.
Perhaps a shower would steady him.
He rose, tied a towel around his waist, and stepped into the corridor. As he passed Becky's door, he noticed it stood slightly ajar.
"Becky," he called softly.
No reply.
He pushed the door open. The bed was empty, the sheets disturbed. For a moment he sat on its edge, listening.
Minutes passed.
A quiet unease tightened in his chest. He stood and moved down the corridor.
Then he heard it — a faint, steady hiss.
Water.
He followed the sound. It came from the bathroom.
He stopped outside the translucent glass door.
He should turn back. He knew that. She deserved privacy. He had only meant to confirm she was safe.
Yet he did not move away.
Instead, he stood there, listening to the water strike the tiles.
His hand lifted almost of its own accord. He hesitated — then wrapped his fingers around the door handle and pushed it in. It yielded.
"Becky," he said quietly.
She gasped instinctively reaching for the towel and pulling it up against her chest. Water streamed down her shoulders as she stepped away, still facing him, wide-eyed.
Then for a suspended second, neither moved.
He should leave.
He knew it.
But the sight of her — bare skin flushed, still damp, droplets tracing the line of her collarbone — rooted him to the spot.
"When I woke up, feeling the need to shower, I heard movement," he said, his voice lower than usual. "I went to your room. You weren't there. I got worried."
He took a step closer.
"I heard the shower. I just wanted to be sure it was you."
But his gaze betrayed him. It drifted from her eyes to the slender curve of her shoulders, then lower, lingering before he forced it back up again.
"I had difficulty catching sleep," she murmured. The towel trembled slightly in her grip. "I thought this might help."
The air between them thickened.
She reached for her blouse hanging on a nail in the wall, but before she could grasp it, his hand closed gently around her wrist.
The touch sent a current through both of them.
For a heartbeat, she could have pulled away.
She did not.
He drew her toward him slowly, as though giving her time to resist.
She stepped into him instead.
His mouth met hers — not tentative, not questioning, but restrained only by the last thread of his will. The kiss deepened. Her fingers curled against his back. The towel slipped unnoticed to the floor.
Heat replaced the coolness of the water.
His lips moved from her mouth to her throat, and a tremor passed through her — unfamiliar, consuming.
Desire surged, fierce and undeniable.
He wanted her.
And she, in that moment, wanted him just as fiercely.
But even as his hands tightened around her, something in him recoiled — not from her, but from what this would mean.
This is not the time.
The thought cut through the haze.
With visible effort, he pulled back. His breathing was unsteady. For a moment he rested his forehead against hers, eyes closed, wrestling himself back from the edge.
Breaking away felt like tearing flesh from bone.
He stepped back fully now, forcing distance between them, determined — however painfully — to reclaim control.
***
A month later, Becky plucked the last shirt from the clothesline. The air had warmed. The sun, now high up the sky, had driven away the mist that ruled the early morning hours.
Inside her room, she dropped the bundle of laundry onto the bed and began folding one by one, carefully pressing flat every crease with the palm of her hand.
When she pulled open one of the drawers at the bottom of her wardrobe, looking for storage space, the corner of a packet of sanitary pads caught her eye.
Her fingers stilled.
Three days.
Her cycle was never irregular and certainly never late.
A thin thread of unease slid through her. But no. It was too soon to panic. Perhaps the move, the unfamiliar rhythm of the campus life coupled with the cold weather of Kericho town — her body was adjusting. Yes. That was all.
She shut the drawer too quickly finding a different storage space for her clothes in a suitcase.
And just as quickly, she pushed her worries away.
But a week later she stood in the same spot, the same drawer open, the same packet untouched.
Still nothing.
The worries returned. This time there was no wishing them away. Something was off.
She had to be certain. She picked a jacket, put it on and left her room.
At the clinic, the sharp scent of disinfectant made her stomach tighten. She watched as the clinical officer disappeared to a make-shift lab behind a curtain with her sample. Each small sound of his movement behind the fabric felt amplified and every second he spent in there was a torturous delay.
Finally, he returned, his face wore an easy smile.
"Be happy," he said gently extending the test kit towards her
She took it nervously.
"A new life is forming inside you." The clinical officer added.
Becky darted another look at his face. His words did not echo. They settled.
Her gaze returned to the kit she was holding and at the two lines that affirmed the results.
Pregnant.
For one brief, disorienting moment, the faculties of her mind became a battlefield for the conflicting emotions within her.
Life. Inside her; tiny little thing at the onset of a long journey.
Then guilt crashed over the joy of her second chance at motherhood.
She was still a married woman. The discovery just made was evidence of infidelity in separation.
Tesot's face rose in her mind, stern and distant. The fragile hope she had secretly nurtured — that one day he might return — crumbled quietly. How would he take her back now, with another man's child growing in her womb?
"How much?" She inquired of her medical bill.
"Two hundred?"
"Can I pay with Mpesa?"
"Yeah," the clinical officer said his eyes shifting to a printed piece of paper posted on the wall near the door. " The till number is over there.
Later, in her room, she sat on the edge of the bed, hands pressed between her knees reflecting on her new situation.
Another child.
Kiplimo's absence lived inside her like an unhealed wound. Some nights she could almost hear his breathing in the dark.
Maybe this child was Godsend, a replacement for Kiplimo
Yet she was terrified.
And what of the kids father?
Should she tell him? Would that draw him closer. Would he claim rights, claim her? But as who? Accepting him would make her a woman with two husbands.
No.
The word formed slowly and as quietly as had the little life inside her.
This child would be hers. Entirely hers. No strings attached. No negotiations. No debts to its father.
And thinking of the devil, Koech's calls began. She only leaned forward to look at the screen and let the phone vibrate itself into silence. Once. Twice. Then countless times.
Each missed call tightened something in her chest.
She knew he would soon come looking for her. And the next day, she bought a new simcard and relocated to a new apartment without even waiting to be refunded room deposit. She even bought a new sim card.
By the time Koech began asking mutual friends about her, she had folded her life inward — shrinking her world to avoid him like a plaque.
And for six months, she heard nothing from him.
One evening, as Becky prepared to go to bed, her phone rang. She could almost guess who the caller was. Apart from a few classmates, only members of her immediate family had her new number.
She took the phone and stared at the screen.
"Hello, Mum!"
"Hello!" Her mother's tone lacked its usual cheer.
"How is home?"
"Your dad is sick!"
"What?" she said shakily.
"We are at Tenwek Hospital right now."
"What happened?"
"We don't know. He just fainted after dinner. We called an ambulance and brought him here."
That was sad news for her, and she didn't know what to say further.
"Who are you with?"
"The ambulance could only take one person with him, so I came. But your brother, Jephthah, is on the way."
"I am coming in the morning too," she told her mother.
She didn't want to meet her family now. She wouldn't bear the embarrassment of her obvious pregnancy. But then her father needed her.
She woke up early the next day. On board a matatu, her journey to Bomet started.
The matatu jerked to a halt. Becky kept her eyes on the horizon, one hand resting protectively over her stomach.
"Mtu moja, mtu moja! Nairobi direct!" the conductor shouted outside, slapping the side of the vehicle.
A man in a red cap climbed in, paid quickly, and took the only empty seat—beside her.
Becky barely turned.
Until she saw the phone in his hand.
On the screen—a photo.
Him.
Her breath caught.
Koech.
He shifted, sensing her movement, and turned.
His eyes widened.
"Becky?"
Her name sounded like disbelief.
She forced herself to look at him properly now.
"Hello."
"What are you doing here?" he asked, scanning her face as if confirming she was real.
"Travelling to Tenwek. And you?"
"I'm returning to school. The midterm holiday just ended."
"Hmm." Becky nodded, her fingers tightening around her shawl.
"You disappeared," he said, his voice lowering as the van pulled back onto the highway. "No calls. Nothing."
"I needed to."
"I don't understand."
She shifted in her seat.
He stopped mid-sentence. His gaze dropped briefly to her stomach, then returned to her face.
"Are you okay?"
The baby moved—slow, deliberate.
She swallowed.
"I'm pregnant." The words barely rose above the hum of the engine.
He froze.
"What?"
She turned slightly toward him. There was no accusation in her eyes. Just exhaustion.
"It's yours."
The matatu hit a pothole. Someone cursed in the back.
"How far?" he asked quietly.
"Six months."
His jaw tightened. "Six months… and you didn't tell me?"
"I wasn't going to."
"Why?"
"I'm still married, you know. And I hope to still get back to him."
His expression flickered—hurt, disbelief, something heavier.
"I'm alighting at Chebole, and we are almost there," Koech said, rising from his seat as the matatu slowed. "Call me when you get back. We can't ignore this."
The conductor slid the door open. Dust swirled in. Koech stepped down onto the roadside at Chebole, then turned once as if to say more—but didn't..
The door banged shut.
Becky remained in her seat, her palm resting over her stomach as the matatu lurched forward again.
Seeing him had unsettled her more than she wanted to admit. He was still as striking as ever, and the gentleness in his eyes had not hardened. That was the problem.
As much as she had tried to avoid him, life kept circling him back into her path. Now he knows everything, she thought.
A tightness gripped her chest. She regretted telling him.
He wanted a conversation — to decide, to plan, to take responsibility. But she did not want that conversation. She did not want to be drawn into another arrangement, another attachment.
She was afraid — not just of losing this baby, but of losing control.
This child was the one thing that felt unquestionably hers.
Outside, the hills rolled past in muted green. Inside, the engine hummed, indifferent.
"Fine," she whispered, though he was no longer there to hear it.
She arrived at the hospital and was directed to her father's ward. For a brief moment, she hesitated at the door, drawing a steadying breath.
Then she stepped inside.
Her brother, Jephthah, was already there, seated on a plastic chair beside the bed. Her mother sat at the edge of it, close to where her father lay.
They both looked up.
Their eyes met hers.
Her mother rose slowly as Becky moved closer, her arms already opening in anticipation of an embrace.
And then Becky felt it—the shift.
Their gazes dropped, lingering on her belly.
The loose dress she had so carefully chosen did little to conceal her secret; it clung in all the wrong places, betraying her.
For a second, no one spoke.
Then they finally came together.
As her mother held her, heat crept up Becky's spine. Her mind raced, searching for words she did not yet have—trying to prepare for the moment they would ask the question she was not ready to answer.
"How is he?" she asked quietly, pulling back, her eyes drifting to the bed.
"He's okay… though he hasn't woken up yet," her mother said, her voice low.
"They say he's in stable condition," Jephthah added, shifting slightly in his seat.
Becky looked at her father again, willing his chest to rise, to move, to give her something more than stillness.
"What could it be?"
Her mother exhaled softly. "We don't know yet. But now that we're here, we'll find out."
A knock sounded lightly on the door before it opened.
The doctor stepped in, his expression measured, professional.
"We've done a complete haemogram," he said. "We're now waiting for the results."
He paused briefly, his eyes moving between them.
"We'll know more once they're back."
Then he gave a small nod and left.
The room felt quieter after that.
Heavier.
By evening, their father still had not woken up. The light outside had begun to fade, casting long shadows across the ward.
Their mother rubbed her hands together, her shoulders sagging with fatigue before she turned to them.
"You should go home," she said gently. "We can't all stay here."