Leo had always believed love was built quietly.
Not with grand gestures or loud promises, but with consistency—showing up every morning, keeping your word, carrying the weight even when your back ached. That was how his father had done it. That was how he had learned.
So when Sophia started coming home later than usual, smelling faintly of unfamiliar perfume and something sharper—confidence, maybe—he didn't question it.
At first.
She walked into the apartment that evening with her heels in her hand, hair loosened from its neat bun, phone glowing in her palm. Her smile was distracted, her eyes still somewhere else.
"You're back early today," Leo said from the kitchen, wiping grease from his fingers with a rag. He had just returned from the workshop, sweat still clinging to his shirt. "How was work?"
Sophia paused. Just for a second.
"Fine," she replied. "Busy."
Leo nodded, trying to sound casual. "You want to eat now or later? I made jollof."
She glanced at the clock on the wall. "Later. I already ate something small."
Something small. With who?
The question stayed in his chest, unspoken.
Sophia walked past him, heels dangling from her fingers, phone still in her hand. Her screen lit up again. She smiled at whatever message she read.
Leo watched the way her shoulders softened, the way her lips curved without effort.
He turned back to the stove.
At the workshop the next day, the air was thick with heat and metal. Leo lay beneath a car, arms raised, grease smearing his forearms. The familiar rhythm of work usually quieted his thoughts.
Today, it didn't.
"You've been quiet," Musa said, crouching beside him. "That's dangerous. Quiet men either plan revolutions or heartbreak."
Leo let out a breath. "You talk too much."
Musa laughed. "And you think too much. That woman of yours finally started earning big money, abi?"
Leo slid out from under the car, sitting up. "What does that have to do with anything?"
Musa wiped his hands. "Everything. I've seen this movie before."
Leo frowned. "Sophia isn't like that."
Musa raised an eyebrow. "I didn't say she was bad. I said things change when respect starts shifting."
Leo stood, brushing dust from his trousers. "She deserves everything she has. I helped her get there."
Musa looked at him quietly. "Exactly."
The word landed heavier than Leo expected.
That evening, Leo picked Sophia up from work. He wanted to do something thoughtful, something grounding—remind them both of where they started.
She came out of the glass building with confidence that still startled him. Her heels clicked against the pavement. Her blouse was crisp. Her posture was… taller.
"You didn't tell me you were coming," she said, surprised.
"I thought I'd save you the ride," Leo replied, smiling.
She hesitated, then opened the car door. "Thank you."
The drive was quiet at first.
"So," Leo began. "I was thinking we could visit Mama this weekend. She keeps asking about you."
Sophia stiffened. "This weekend?"
"Yes. We haven't gone in a while."
She exhaled slowly. "Leo, I'm not sure that's a good idea."
He glanced at her. "Why?"
She turned to him fully. "Your mother is always asking when we'll marry. It's uncomfortable."
"She means well."
"That's easy for you to say," Sophia replied. "You don't have people looking at you like you're wasting your potential."
Leo's hands tightened around the steering wheel. "Wasting your potential?"
"That's not what I meant."
"But that's what you said."
Sophia sighed. "Look, I just—my life is changing. I need space to grow."
Leo nodded slowly. "And I don't fit in that growth anymore?"
"That's not fair."
"But it's true?"
Silence filled the car.
Sophia looked out the window.
Leo swallowed. "I supported you through school. I believed in you when you didn't believe in yourself. That hasn't changed."
She turned back, eyes sharp now. "And I appreciate that. Truly. But support doesn't mean ownership."
Ownership.
The word cut deeper than she realized.
That night, Leo lay awake beside her, listening to her breathing. She was already asleep, turned away from him.
He remembered nights when they couldn't keep their hands off each other, when they whispered dreams into the dark.
Now, there was space.
Not physical—emotional.
And it was growing.
A week later, the first crack became visible.
They attended a company dinner together. Leo wore his best shirt, freshly pressed. He stood beside Sophia, smiling politely as she introduced him.
"This is Leo," she said. "My… partner."
Not boyfriend. Not fiancé. Partner.
"And what do you do, Leo?" a man asked, swirling wine in his glass.
"I'm a mechanic," Leo replied.
There was a pause.
"Oh," the man said, smiling thinly. "That's… honest work."
Sophia laughed lightly. "Yes, it is."
Leo didn't miss the way she shifted slightly away from him.
Later, as they stood near the balcony, he leaned in. "You embarrassed?"
She scoffed. "Don't be dramatic."
"Then why did you say it like that?"
"Like what?"
"Like I'm something you have to explain."
Sophia folded her arms. "You're reading too much into it."
But her eyes wouldn't meet his.
The argument came later, at home.
"You used to be proud of me," Leo said quietly.
"I still am."
"No. You're grateful. That's different."
Sophia rubbed her temples. "Leo, why are you making this about ego?"
"Because dignity isn't ego."
She looked at him, really looked at him, as if seeing him through a new lens.
"I've worked hard to get where I am," she said. "I won't apologize for wanting more."
Leo nodded. "And I never asked you to."
"Then what do you want from me?"
He hesitated. "Respect."
The word hung between them.
Sophia's voice softened, but her words didn't. "Respect shouldn't make you feel threatened."
Leo stepped back.
That was the moment he realized something had shifted.
Not loudly.
Not cruelly.
But permanently.
That night, Leo sat alone on the balcony, grease still under his nails despite washing his hands. He stared at them.
Hands that had fixed engines. Paid tuition. Built a future.
Hands that suddenly felt… insufficient.
And somewhere inside him, a quiet question formed:
When love starts feeling like a favor, how long before it becomes a burden?