The next morning begins with something unexpected: hunger.
Real hunger.
The kind that isn't dull or forced, but warm and present. A gentle rumble from within, like my body whispering that it's ready to live again.
I shuffle to the kitchen in my robe, barefoot and slow. The sun is already spilling across the marble tiles, golden and soft. For once, it doesn't feel like a spotlight. Just light. Just morning.
I make myself a small plate avocado, bread, fried plantain, and a little bowl of papaya. My baby kicks gently just as I sit down.
"Good morning to you too," I murmur, smiling.
It's the first full breakfast I've had in weeks. Maybe months.
After eating, I walk back to the study and open the thick leather journal Gloria gifted me after Kolade vanished.
"You'll need a place to collect your real story," she had said. "Not just the one people will whisper about."
I hadn't touched it.
Until now.
I flip to the first page and begin writing, hands steady.
"This is what survival looks like…"
And the words flow.
Not perfect. Not pretty. But true.
I write about meeting Kolade, about the slow-burn charm, the clever restraint. About the way he always knew when to be silent, when to compliment, when to disappear and reappear just right.
I write about the way I felt chosen. Seen, heard. Softened.
Then I write about the cracks.
The unusual transactions. The missed calls. The carefully vague answers. The way he always made me feel like I was imagining the doubt.
I pause.
Tears prick the edge of my lashes, but I don't stop. I write through it. Around it. Beyond it.
By the time I stop, pages are full. My shoulders are lighter.
There's power in putting your pain on paper. Like turning ghosts into ink.
+++
Later that afternoon, Mariam calls again.
"Rita, I have to tell you something that's… sensitive."
I sit up straighter. "Go ahead."
"You remember Kolade's ex-wife the one who showed up at your gate with all the files?"
"How could I forget?"
"Well, she didn't just help him con you. She helped con four other women too. One of them reached out to us after seeing your story hinted at in a leaked finance blog. Apparently, Nse used a fake name to pose as a business coach, luring women in by offering investment help... only to pass the financial access on to Kolade."
I blink.
"So it wasn't just me."
"No. But you were the big fish. The one they all watched for years. And you're the one who's speaking out now. That matters."
Something cold settles in my chest.
It wasn't a random betrayal.
It was a long, calculated one.
And I was the centerpiece.
"I want a meeting with the others," I say. "Every one of them who's willing."
Mariam exhales like she's relieved. "I thought you'd say that. I'll set it up."
+++
By evening, Gloria and I are at her flat, curled on her couch in a mess of takeaway containers. Jollof rice. Suya. Roasted corn. We're watching a bad romantic comedy on mute while chatting softly, half-laughing, half-exhausted.
She refills our wine glasses with cranberry juice instead of actual wine her subtle, protective reminder.
"You looked alive again today," she says.
"I felt… something. Not happiness, but a kind of peace."
She clinks her glass gently to mine. "To peace."
I sip. "Do you think I'm different now?"
"You're softer," she says, "but not weaker. That's rare. Most people swing hard the other way build walls, not windows."
"Maybe I did both," I murmur. "And maybe that's okay."
She nods. "It is. You're allowed to protect yourself. Just don't disappear from your own life in the process."
+++
That night, I lie in bed, staring at the ceiling. There's a shadow dancing on the wall a reflection from the streetlight outside. It reminds me of the way Kolade used to trace patterns on my skin. A silly memory, out of place now.
But I let it stay for a moment.
Because healing isn't always cutting things out.
Sometimes it's looking them in the face and deciding they don't own you anymore.
I place both hands over my belly. There's movement again stronger now.
"Whoever you are," I whisper, "you came at the end of something… but you are not the end. You are the beginning."
The baby kicks in reply, or maybe I just need to believe that it is a reply.
Either way, I smile.
And this time, it reaches my eyes.