Chapter 14: The Happy Ending I Never Thought I'd Have
I don't believe in perfect endings.
Because life isn't perfect.
It's messy. Chaotic. Sometimes painful.
But sometimes?
Sometimes it hands you a miracle wrapped in glitter, leather jackets, and the sound of your favorite song playing loud enough to wake up your soul.
And that's exactly what happened.
----
Jon got engaged again.
To a Nigerian boy this time.
A poet.
A guitarist.
A man who knew all the Bon Jovi lyrics by heart and sang them to her under moonlit skies like he was trying to win my approval.
She brought him home one afternoon.
He met me with respect in his eyes and a copy of "These Days" on his phone.
"I heard you like this one," he said shyly.
I smiled.
Then I hugged him.
Hard.
Because I already loved him.
Not just because he made Jon happy.
But because he reminded me of someone I used to dream about when I was young and lonely and searching for love in all the wrong places.
He was kind.
Genuine.
Real.
And when he asked for my blessing?
I cried so hard I had to borrow David's handkerchief.
Yes, I still owned one. Don't judge.
We held the wedding at the same rooftop spot where David and I had our first real kiss.
Fairy lights.
Music.
Dancing.
Laughter.
Tears.
Everything.
Jon walked down the aisle in a white dress and red sneakers—her way of honoring me.
When she reached the altar, she looked at me and winked.
"You raised me right."
I sobbed.
David wiped my tears.
And then—
The DJ dropped "Livin' on a Prayer."
Everyone danced.
Even the elders.
Even the pastor.
Even Bukky and Bonnie, who were now five years old and convinced they were the backup singers.
Jon and her new husband slow-danced in the middle of it all, whispering promises into each other's ears.
And I watched from the side, holding David's hand.
Thinking:
This is what happiness looks like.
----
If I thought life couldn't get any better…
I was wrong.
Jon's band opened for Bon Jovi on their African tour.
You read that right.
My daughter—my firecracker, my little Bon Jovi girl—was going to share a stage with the man who unknowingly raised me through music.
I screamed so loud when she told me that Bose called an ambulance thinking I was having another heart attack.
Turns out, joy can be dangerous too.
The concert night was magical.
Jon performed first.
Sang "Mama's Man."
The crowd roared.
And then—
He came on.
Jon Bon Jovi.
Still golden.
Still legendary.
Still making hearts beat faster.
He walked across the stage, mic in hand, voice still strong.
And then he did something unexpected.
He paused.
Looked into the crowd.
Smiled.
"Before we go on with the show… there's someone special here tonight."
The spotlight hit me.
I gasped.
He pointed.
"That's Folake. She's the reason I'm here today."
The crowd cheered.
I stood frozen.
He continued, "She wrote me a letter once. Said I helped raise her. Said I gave her courage when she needed it most."
I covered my mouth with both hands.
He raised his mic toward me.
"And tonight, I want to give her something back."
The next thing I knew—
He started singing "Always."
Just for me.
The whole stadium went silent.
Except for my tears.
And David's hand squeezing mine like he knew how much this moment meant.
At the end of the song, he waved at me.
"I hope you know," he shouted, "you're part of my story too."
I collapsed into David's arms.
Literally.
He caught me again.
Of course he did.
----
Remember those two tiny tornadoes I raised?
Well, they inherited more than sass.
They inherited talent.
Jon recorded a children's album.
Guess who starred in the music video?
Yep.
Bukky and Bonnie.
Two little girls in leather jackets, dancing around Lagos while singing a jazzy version of "Say It Isn't So."
It went viral.
People called them "Mini Bon Jovi."
I called them "Troublemakers with rhythm."
Either way, they were unstoppable.
----
We moved to Port Harcourt.
Built a small house near the beach.
Every morning, we woke up to the sound of waves and Bon Jovi playlists.
We taught music classes together at a local youth center.
I handled the lyrics.
He handled the guitar.
And sometimes, we'd sit outside, sipping tea and watching the sun rise like we were in our own music video.
He kissed me every day like we were still newlyweds.
I kissed him back like I never took him for granted.
Because I didn't.
Not for a second.
----
I finally finished my memoir.
Published it under the title: "Livin' on a Prayer in Lagos."
It sold out in weeks.
People read it and cried.
Laughed.
Texted me saying I inspired them.
One woman wrote:
"I used to think my life was over after my divorce. But reading your story made me remember how powerful I am."
Another said:
"I wore lipstick again for the first time since my husband died. Thank you for reminding me I'm still beautiful."
And one teenage girl sent me a photo of herself wearing a Bon Jovi shirt and holding my book.
She captioned it:
"This is my queen."
I cried for three days straight.
In the best way.
----
We celebrated our fifth anniversary with a party at our house.
Jon flew in with her husband and twins.
Bukky and Bonnie ran around chasing balloons.
Bose showed up in a dress shaped like a microphone.
David wore a T-shirt that read: "I Married a Rockstar."
I wore red lipstick.
And tears.
So many tears.
Because I had everything I ever wanted.
A loving husband.
A successful daughter.
Two amazing granddaughters.
A legacy written in music.
And a life full of stories I wouldn't trade for anything.
----
I still write.
Still sing.
Still dance in the kitchen when no one's watching.
Still cry during "Bed of Roses."
Still hold David's hand like I might lose him tomorrow.
Because I know better than anyone how fragile life is.
But I also know this:
Love doesn't end with age.
It grows.
It deepens.
It becomes something sacred.
Something eternal.
And as long as I have my family, my music, and the man who still kisses me like I'm seventeen again…
…I'll keep living.
Loud.
Proud.
Free.
"WHOAAAAA!"
Bukky screamed as she jumped onto the couch beside me.
Bonnie followed, clutching a toy microphone.
David walked in, smiling.
"Ready for another day?"
I nodded.
"Only if you promise to dance with me before bedtime."
He laughed.
"Always."
I leaned back.
Closed my eyes.
Let the music play.
Let the love surround me.
Let the tears fall.
Because this?
This was it.
My happy ending.
No plot twists.
No pain.
No fear.
Just love.
Family.
Faith.
And the music that raised me.
"This is your life…"
"This is your song…"
"And every road leads back to where you belong…"
And now?
Now I'm home.
Finally.
Fully.
Beautifully.
Happily.
Alive.