At first, it had annoyed him when she kept interrupting his sleep. But over time, it became a rhythm he didn't realize he had come to depend on.
Tonight, though, the silence of his room felt heavier than ever. The usual soft knock and her voice, sometimes teasing, sometimes grudging, were absent. Instead, only the wind stirred, brushing his face and amplifying the emptiness around him. By the time he finally fell asleep, it was 3 a.m.
But his alarm jolted him awake just two hours later.
With dark circles under his eyes, he trudged to the bathroom to freshen up. Making it downstairs, he noticed the dining table was laden with a more impressive breakfast spread, as if the chefs wanted to make amends for a mistake. But the chair opposite his was still glaringly empty.
Without touching the food, Chibuzor walked out of the house.
