The warm aroma of fried plantains and egg sauce filled the air. The clink of ceramic plates was heard softly through the quiet house as Purple emerged from the kitchen, holding the last tray of breakfast.
She had risen early, fighting sleep and last night's tears, determined to make peace with her husband, if not through words, then through love served hot on a dining table.
This morning, she had entered the kitchen herself, unlike the previous days when her chef would come and make their meal. Although she can't cook, she was privileged to have learnt how to fry plantains and make simple breakfast for herself, back then in school. And that experience will be a tactic to hold her man down this morning, as he knows she can't cook.
The table was nearly complete with pap, akara, and orange juice. She set the final plate down gently, the way her heart now walked on eggshells.
Just then, the sound of descending footsteps stole her breath. Abiola was coming down the stairs.
Her heart thudded with silent hope, as she turned to observe her man. He was dressed casually, grey joggers, a black polo, cologne lingering faintly in the air. Saturdays are one of his free days, no office stress, just him and his wife.
She was still looking at him, lips parting to speak to apologize maybe, or just say "good morning."
But he walked past her, with no glance, and no word.
"Babe.." she called softly, her voice barely steady.
"You're not eating?"
He stopped at the door, hand on the knob. For a brief second, she hoped he would turn. That he'd say something, anything.
But he only hissed under his breath, dismissively, then pulled the door open and was gone. Just like that.
The quiet slammed louder than the door. Purple stood frozen, her hands trembling. She slowly lowered herself into the dining chair, eyes fixed on the untouched plates.
She could hear his car engine turn on, then fade away down the street, off to his friends again, she knew. Probably to the game house where their loud laughter masked the poison they fed into her marriage.
Purple blinked hard, but the tears came anyway. Slow, steady, hot trails on her cheeks.
The house was too quiet, with the food untouched. Sure, he didn't notice, that she was the one that made their meal for the first time ever. She hissed loudly as her heart, shattered into a thousand unspoken regrets.
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SKELETON IN HER CUPBOARD
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The soft clack of billiard balls could be faintly heard in the game house. The air was thick with the scent of air fresheners, leather, and the faint trace of malt from half-empty beer bottles on tables. Flat-screen TVs mounted on the walls silently played last night's football highlights, but no one was watching.
The men had come to play, talk, and decompress. Many were in a group playing, winning money over a bet in the game, but the two men were just alone on their snooker table.
Abiola bent low over the green-felt snooker table, his cue poised, eyeing the angle. With a swift motion, he struck. The white cue ball knocked the red into the corner pocket with satisfying precision.
"Nice shot," Clinton said, leaning on his cue stick casually.
"But e no go pocket your wife problem for you o."
Abiola smiled faintly, shaking his head.
"Even inside this game house, you no go allow me rest?"
Clinton chuckled. "Omo, problem no dey take leave. Na you dey run come here to avoid am."
Abiola sighed, walked around the table, and lined up another shot. This time, he missed. He dropped the cue and stepped aside.
"I spoke to Purple again yesterday… about the doctor," he said, rubbing his temples.
"She flared up. Said she's not going anywhere. She was shouting, crying… accusing me of choosing my mother over her."
Clinton's expression turned serious. He moved over to the high stool and sat down, patting the stool next to him.
"Come sit down, my guy."
Abiola followed, dropping beside him heavily, his fingers still tapping with restlessness.
"I'm just tired," he admitted.
"I'm walking on eggshells in my own house. Anything I say now turns into a fight. She's hurting, I know. But how do we move forward if she won't even try this new option?. Guy, I had to lock myself and sleep in the parlour the previous night."
Clinton nodded slowly, rubbing his jaw thoughtfully.
"I get it. And to be honest, I feel for both of you. But there's something you need to hear, and maybe it'll help you see things clearer."
Abiola looked up. "What's that?"
Clinton relaxed on the table in front of them, eyes narrowing as he spoke.
"Are you sure she doesn't have any skeleton? She is trying to cover?"
"Whaaat?" Abiola said, genuinely surprised.
"Oh no, my wife is just tired from these numerous nagging, blames, drugs, scans, and medications"
"Exactly," Clinton replied, eyes locked on his friend.
"I'm not saying Purple is lying, don't get me wrong. But I'm saying a lot of women carry trauma, secrets, or pressure into marriage that they can't process properly. Sometimes it shows up as defensiveness, anger… fear."
Abiola was silent for a long moment, absorbing the point his friend was making.
"So you think she's scared?"
"I think she feels attacked. Especially by your mother's involvement. No woman wants to feel like she's being dragged around on a leash because she hasn't given birth yet. Even if she's on meds, the timing is God's. But the more you press her, especially with your mum's voice in the background, the more it'll feel like betrayal."
Abiola nodded slowly, rubbing his hands together.
"But Clinton, you know how much I want kids. You know everything I've sacrificed for this marriage. Sometimes I wonder if I made a mistake, if we rushed into this too quickly."
Clinton looked him in the eye.
"You didn't rush, bro. You just didn't plan for this kind of test. Nobody ever does. But it's how you handle it now that will define the future of your home. I mean, you can't be having a heart attack and restlessness in your own home."
"I swear, bro, I need my peace of mind back."
"I understand, bro."
Abiola let out a long breath. "So what do I do now?"
"Two things," Clinton said, standing and grabbing his cue again.
"First, talk to your wife like a partner, not like someone you're trying to manage. Second, create distance between her issues and your mother's opinions. Your mother is your family, but Purple is your household. If you don't draw that line now, na you go suffer am. But make sure she agrees to meet with the new doctor."
He chalked his cue stick and grinned.
"Now, let me whoop your ass in this next game. Maybe the sound of losing will knock some wisdom into your head."
Abiola chuckled, the tension in his chest lightening, if only a little.
"You're not that good, jare."
They returned to the table, cue sticks in hand, the weight of heavy conversations balanced by the simple joy of the game.
___________________________________
Thank you for reading this emotional chapter 💔
Relationships are full of silent battles, and it takes courage to face them, especially when love feels one-sided.
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