The morning Olu walked out without looking back, something inside Nneka shifted.
It wasn't loud. It wasn't dramatic.
It was quiet — like a soft click of a lock inside her heart.
She sat on the edge of the bed after he left, staring at the empty side where he used to sleep close to her. The pillow still held the faint scent of his cologne, but the comfort it once gave was gone.
Her eyes were tired.
Her heart was tired.
Her spirit was tired.
But for the first time in a long time… she felt a tiny spark of something new.
Not anger.
Not courage yet.
Just… awareness.
An awareness that she could not continue living inside a wound.
⸻
A Visit From His Mother
Around noon, Nneka was preparing to open her shop when she heard a knock on the door.
When she opened it, she froze.
It was Olu's mother.
Mama Olu entered the house without greeting, her face sharp and unfriendly — the same look she carried whenever she wanted to blame someone.
"Young woman," Mama started immediately, "I heard you are going around crying and embarrassing my son."
Nneka blinked.
"Mama… I haven't—"
"Don't lie!" Mama snapped, waving her hand. "Amaka told me everything. You want to scatter my son's home with your bad attitude."
Nneka swallowed hard.
Bad attitude?
She had held this home together with tears and strength.
"Mama," she said quietly, "I only complained because he has changed. He comes home late… he insults me… he—"
Mama clapped her hands dramatically.
"Will you keep quiet?! You think you are the first woman to marry? You think men don't behave like this?"
Nneka felt a sharp pain in her chest.
"Mama… I'm your son's wife. Why can't you talk to him?"
Mama hissed loudly.
"You want me to talk to him so he will stop helping me and Amaka abi? You don't fool me. I know your type. You want to control his money."
Nneka shook her head, tears forming again.
"I have never taken anything from him."
"But you want to!" Mama shouted. "Don't deny it. A good wife keeps quiet. A good wife respects her husband. If he is seeing another woman, maybe you are not doing your job!"
The words hit Nneka like a slap.
So it was her fault?
His cheating was her fault?
His late nights, lies, insults — all her fault?
Nneka's voice cracked.
"Mama… I am trying."
Mama scoffed.
"Try harder. Or leave my son alone."
Then she walked out like someone who had delivered a message from the gods.
She left Nneka standing in the same house she helped build — now feeling like an unwelcome stranger.
⸻
The Words That Broke Her Spirit
Nneka sat on the sofa, shaking.
She remembered how she once cooked for Mama with joy.
How she helped them when they had nothing.
How she treated Amaka like a sister.
And now… these were the words she received.
Her tears fell silently.
She whispered to the empty room:
"God… how did I become the enemy?"
⸻
A Phone Call That Changed Everything
Just as she wiped her tears, her phone rang.
She didn't want to answer — she was too exhausted.
But when she saw the name, she picked it up.
Ngozi.
"Nneka… please sit down," Ngozi said immediately, her voice trembling.
Nneka's heart stopped.
"What happened?"
Ngozi hesitated.
"I saw Olu again today. At the bar."
Nneka closed her eyes.
Of course. Another heartbreak.
But Ngozi wasn't finished.
"This time… he wasn't with Ada."
Nneka's brows furrowed.
"What do you mean?"
"He was with another girl," Ngozi whispered. "A different one. Even younger."
The world tilted.
Her breath caught.
Olu wasn't cheating with one woman.
He was cheating with many.
Her hands trembled so badly the phone nearly fell.
"Nneka… are you there?" Ngozi asked.
But Nneka couldn't respond.
She felt the room spin.
Her ears rang.
Her heart pounded like a drum.
Ngozi whispered again:
"My friend… please don't break. Don't break."
But something inside Nneka already had.
⸻
The Spark Becomes Fire
She stood up slowly.
Wiped her face.
Took a deep breath.
For the first time in months, she didn't reach for her phone to call Olu.
She didn't cry to beg him to change.
She didn't try to defend herself.
Instead…
she felt anger.
She felt clarity.
She felt awakening.
Not the destructive kind.
The kind that burns quietly.
The kind that rebuilds.
The kind that whispers:
"You deserve more."
She looked around the house — the house she helped complete from bare cement.
A house where she no longer felt loved.
A house that now held more pain than joy.
She whispered to herself:
"I can't live like this.
Not anymore."
And somewhere in that small whisper…
her strength finally woke up.
End of Chapter 8