From A Producer To A Global Superstar

Chapter 456: Letting the Family know

Sleep didn’t hold him the way it usually did.

Dayo opened his eyes before the sun had fully committed to rising, the room still holding the blue-gray quality of early morning. He lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling, aware of a sensation he couldn’t quite name. It wasn’t restlessness exactly. It was anticipation with sharp edges, the kind that made his heart beat slightly faster without his permission.

He swung his legs off the bed and sat there, letting the silence of the house settle around him. Today was the day. Luna had texted him late last night, an address and a time, nothing more. Morning. Nine o’clock. Her place, or Amanda’s place, or wherever they were staying. He hadn’t asked for clarification. He had just stared at the message until the words stopped looking like words and started looking like a doorway.

He stood up and walked to the bathroom, splashed water on his face, and looked at himself in the mirror. The man staring back at him looked the same as always. Same eyes, same jawline, same controlled expression. But underneath, something had shifted. He was going to meet his daughter today. The phrase repeated in his head like a lyric he couldn’t shake, each time landing with slightly more weight.

He pulled on a simple shirt and pants, nothing that would draw attention, and walked quietly down the hallway. The house was still, everyone else still wrapped in their own dreams. But the kitchen was calling him. Not because he was hungry, but because he needed to do something with his hands. He needed motion, purpose, something to channel the energy that was building in his chest into something productive.

Cooking had always been that for him. It was something his mother had taught him when he was young, back before everything got complicated. Back when the kitchen was just a kitchen and not a place he visited between tours and competitions. He moved through the cabinets with practiced ease, gathering ingredients without really thinking about what he was making. Eggs, bread, the things for pancakes, fruit, juice. Enough for everyone.

He was halfway through mixing batter when he heard footsteps behind him.

"You’re up early."

Jeffrey’s voice, thick with sleep, his hair standing in directions that defied gravity. He walked to the counter and leaned against it, watching Dayo work with the kind of casual observation that came from years of seeing his brother operate on a different schedule than everyone else.

"Couldn’t sleep," Dayo said, not looking up from the bowl.

"Since when do you cook breakfast?" Jeffrey reached for a grape from the bowl Dayo had set out, popping it into his mouth. "You got a competition I don’t know about? Something you need to carb-load for?"

Dayo shook his head. "Just felt like it."

Jeffrey studied him for a moment longer than was comfortable. He knew Dayo. Not the public version, not the controlled version that showed up for interviews and performances. The real one. The one who cleaned the kitchen when he was stressed and cooked when he was avoiding something.

"Alright," Jeffrey said finally, deciding not to push. "I’m not complaining. Your pancakes are better than mine anyway."

"That’s not saying much."

"Hey." Jeffrey laughed, the sound loosening something in the room. "I’m a decent cook."

"You’re adequate."

"You’re annoying."

They fell into an easy rhythm, Jeffrey setting the table while Dayo worked at the stove. The smell of batter hitting the pan, the sizzle of eggs, the familiar domestic sounds that made the house feel lived-in. Janet appeared next, shuffling in with her phone in hand, still in her sleep clothes, muttering something about a notification that had woken her up.

"Something smells good," she said, looking up from her screen. Her eyes moved from the stove to Dayo, and her expression shifted. Not dramatically, but enough. "Wait. Dayo is cooking?"

"Don’t act so surprised," Dayo said, flipping a pancake with practiced ease.

"I’m not surprised. I’m suspicious." Janet sat down at the table, setting her phone face-down. "The last time you cooked breakfast was when you were nervous about the Olympics."

"That was different."

"Was it?" Janet tilted her head, studying him the way their mother did, seeing too much. "You’re cooking at six in the morning, Dayo. That’s not normal."

"Let the man cook," Jeffrey said, setting out plates. "I’m not about to question free food from the best cheff I know."

Dayo smiled pumping fist with his brother.

Jason walked in next, quieter than the others, his presence settling into the room like a foundation. He looked at the stove, at Dayo, at the spread that was starting to take shape, and something flickered in his expression. Recognition, maybe. Or just the awareness that fathers had when they sensed something shifting in their children.

"Morning," he said, taking his seat at the head of the table. "This is a nice surprise."

"Thank him," Jeffrey said, pointing at Dayo. "Not me. I’m just the delivery service."

Abishola was the last to arrive. She walked into the kitchen with her usual morning composure, her wrapper tied neatly, her eyes immediately scanning the room, taking in everything. The table set. The stove going. Her eldest son standing at the center of it all, moving with a focus that looked almost like prayer.

She didn’t say anything at first. She just sat down in her chair and watched him. Watched the way his shoulders sat, slightly higher than normal. Watched the way he checked the pancakes more often than necessary, like he needed to be doing something with his hands at all times.

"Sit," she said quietly. "Eat with us."

Dayo brought the last of the food to the table and sat down across from her. For a moment, the only sounds were the clatter of serving spoons and the pouring of juice, the comfortable chaos of a family falling into a meal together.

"This is good," Jeffrey said through a mouthful of pancake. "Really good. Like, restaurant good."

"That’s because our restaurant is globally known for a reason," Janet said, grinning. "And apparently, Dayo is the reason."

"I just follow Mom’s recipe," Dayo said, though the compliment registered somewhere in his chest.

Abishola hadn’t touched her food yet. She was still watching him, her gaze steady and patient, the way she had always watched him. Through every competition, every heartbreak, every version of himself he had tried on and discarded.

"Something is different," she said. Not a question. A statement.

The table went slightly quieter. Jeffrey looked up from his plate. Janet stopped reaching for seconds. Even Jason paused, his attention shifting to his wife, then to his son.

"What do you mean?" Dayo asked, keeping his voice even.

Abishola tilted her head slightly. "Do you want to tell them?"

Dayo’s fork stopped halfway to his mouth. He set it down slowly, meeting his mother’s eyes. She knew. Of course she knew. She had always been the one person who could read him before he had finished forming a thought.

"Tell us what?" Janet asked, her voice sharpening with curiosity.

Dayo looked around the table. At Jeffrey, who was watching him with genuine confusion. At Janet, who was already leaning forward, hungry for information. At Jason, whose expression had settled into something calm and waiting. And at his mother, who had given him the opening he didn’t know how to create for himself.

He took a breath. Then another.

"Luna has a child," he said. The words came out steady, but he could feel his heart pounding against his ribs. "A daughter. Her name is Jennifer. She’s almost five months old."

The silence that followed was absolute. Not the heavy kind, not the awkward kind. The kind that happened when information was so unexpected that it took the brain a few seconds to process it into meaning.

"Wait," Jeffrey said, setting his fork down. "Luna? Your Luna?"

"She’s not my Luna," Dayo said automatically, though the correction felt hollow.

"Okay, the Luna," Jeffrey continued. "The one you were with. She has a baby?"

"Yes."

"And..." Janet’s eyes were wide, her mind clearly moving faster than the conversation. "And the baby is...?"

"She’s mine," Dayo said. "I asked Luna last night. She told me the truth. Jennifer is my daughter."

The reaction exploded across the table in fragments.

"What?"

"Oh my God."

"Dayo..."

Janet was the loudest, her hands flying to her mouth, her eyes immediately glistening. "You’re a father? We have a niece? Oh my God, I have a niece!"

Jeffrey was more controlled, but his expression had shifted into something serious and focused. "When did you find out? How long have you known?"

"Last night," Dayo said. "I asked Luna directly. She confirmed it."

"And you’re just telling us now?" Janet’s voice rose with excitement, already half out of her chair. "We need to go. Right now. We need to meet her. We need to see her. Dayo, we have to—"

"Sit down," Abishola said. The words were quiet but carried the weight of absolute authority.

Janet froze, halfway to standing. "But Mom—"

"Sit down." She said with a stern Nigeria accent which meant she was dead serious

Janet sank back into her chair, her excitement momentarily checked but still bubbling visibly beneath the surface.

Abishola turned her attention back to Dayo. "You spoke with her. Last night."

"Yes."

"And she agreed to let you see the child?"

"This morning," Dayo said. "Nine o’clock. That’s why I’m... that’s why I couldn’t sleep."

His mother’s expression softened, something warm and complex moving behind her eyes. "This is a big thing, Dayo."

"I know."

"You’re sure?"

"I asked her directly, Mom. She said yes. Jennifer is my daughter."

Jason spoke for the first time, his voice low and steady. "How are you handling this?"

Dayo looked at his father. The question was simple, but the space it opened was enormous.

"I don’t know yet," he admitted. "I’m still processing. But I know I want to be there. For Jennifer. For Luna too, if she’ll let me. I missed five months. I don’t want to miss any more."

Jeffrey nodded slowly, something like respect moving across his face. "That’s real, bro. That’s the right way to think about it."

"We need to go with you," Janet said, her voice urgent but quieter now. "All of us. We can meet her together. She should know her family."

"No," Abishola said. "Dayo goes alone. This is his first meeting with his daughter. Luna has been raising this child by herself for five months. The last thing she needs is all of us showing up at her door like a delegation."

"But Mom—"

"Your mother is right," Jason said, cutting in gently. "Let Dayo handle this first. Build the connection. Then we can be introduced properly, when Luna is ready for it."

Janet looked like she wanted to argue, but she pressed her lips together and nodded seeing the expression on her mothers face she knew is she protested she might get a spoon right on her face or even get spanked. The excitement was still there, bright and alive in her eyes, but she understood the logic.

"When can we meet her?" she asked Dayo. "Soon, right? Like, this week?"

"Let me get through today first," Dayo said. "Let me see how this goes. I’ll talk to Luna about introducing her to the family. But it has to be on her terms. On their terms."

"Of course," Abishola said. "That’s the only way this works."

She reached across the table and covered Dayo’s hand with her own. Her palm was warm, the touch light but full of meaning.

"Go," she said. "Meet your daughter. Be present. Don’t try to be perfect. Just be there."