After Ngozi's call, Nneka didn't move for a long time.
Her mind kept repeating the same words:
"Not just Ada… another girl… even younger…"
It wasn't one mistake.
It wasn't one weak moment.
It wasn't one woman.
It was a pattern.
A lifestyle.
A betrayal she could no longer pretend was small.
She sat on the sofa with her hands wrapped around herself, trying to hold in the storm inside her chest. But the house felt colder than usual — as if it knew something had broken beyond repair.
⸻
When a Woman Stops Begging
Late in the afternoon, Olu's mother called again.
Nneka looked at the screen and simply… didn't answer.
She didn't have the strength to defend herself to people who had already chosen their version of the story.
Then Amaka sent a message:
"Better stop stressing my brother. If he's going out, it's because he's tired of you."
Nneka read it.
Locked her phone.
Didn't reply.
Something inside her had changed.
She no longer had the energy to explain pain to people who enjoyed watching her fall.
⸻
An Empty Table
That evening, for the first time since she got married, Nneka didn't cook.
She didn't boil rice.
She didn't fry stew.
She didn't set the table.
She simply sat at the edge of the bed with her eyes fixed on the wall.
It wasn't anger.
It wasn't punishment.
It was exhaustion.
Exhaustion from carrying a marriage alone.
Exhaustion from defending herself against lies.
Exhaustion from loving someone who didn't respect her.
At 8:40 p.m., Olu walked in.
The moment he saw no food on the table, his eyes narrowed.
"So you didn't cook today?" he asked sharply.
Nneka didn't look up.
"I wasn't feeling well," she said quietly.
He clicked his tongue.
"How convenient. You're always sick when responsibility comes."
Her heart squeezed.
He changed clothes noisily, throwing his shirt on the bed as if she irritated him without speaking.
Then he muttered:
"I'll go out and eat. At least someone appreciates me."
She closed her eyes.
She knew exactly who he meant.
Ada.
Or the new girl.
Or someone else she didn't even know yet.
He sprayed cologne — the same scent he used when he wanted to impress someone outside, not her — and walked toward the door.
"Do what you like," he said coldly. "I'm not in the mood for your attitude."
Then he left.
Slammed the door.
Again.
Leaving her alone with the echo of the silence he had created.
⸻
A Visitor in the Dark
An hour later, someone knocked on the door.
Nneka's heart jumped — she wasn't expecting anyone.
For a second, she hoped Olu had come back to apologize.
But when she opened the door…
…it was the older woman from the previous week — the one who had warned her about Ada.
She held a small nylon bag of food.
"I noticed you didn't open your shop today," the woman said gently. "I saw Olu at the bar again… with someone else. I know your heart must be heavy."
Nneka's throat tightened.
The kindness was too much.
"I made some food," the woman continued. "I don't know if you've eaten, but please take it. I don't like seeing good women suffer."
Nneka covered her mouth as tears spilled.
She didn't want to cry in front of the woman — but pain has a way of overflowing.
The woman touched her shoulder gently.
"You don't deserve this, my dear," she whispered. "But don't break. Don't lose yourself because of someone who has already lost his way."
Nneka cried harder.
The woman hugged her — the kind of hug that felt like comfort and strength at the same time.
"Eat," the woman said softly. "And rest. Tomorrow will need the stronger version of you."
Then she left quietly.
Leaving behind the warmth Nneka hadn't felt in months.
⸻
The Realization
Nneka sat on the bed with the food beside her, but she couldn't eat.
She stared at the door, at the quiet house, at the life she had built with her own hands… and felt a truth rise up in her chest:
"I am alone in this marriage."
Not single.
Not divorced.
But alone.
More alone than a single woman.
More alone than someone with no partner.
More alone than she had ever felt in her life.
And loneliness inside a marriage hits harder than loneliness in the world.
That night, as she lay down on the bed, she whispered to the darkness:
"I need to find myself again… before I lose everything."
The house didn't answer.
But her heart did.
It beat with a new kind of strength.
The quiet kind.
The beginning kind.
The kind that leads to transformation.
End of Chapter 9