The next morning arrived quietly, like it was tiptoeing into the house, afraid to disturb the heaviness lingering in the air.
Nneka woke up before sunrise, not because she slept well, but because she barely slept at all. Her eyes burned, her head ached, and her chest felt tight from crying.
She sat up slowly, staring at the faint light creeping through the curtains. The house felt unusually silent, unusually empty, unusually distant — like the walls themselves were holding their breath.
She looked at the clock.
6:14 a.m.
Olu wasn't home.
For the first time since they got married.
Her heart twisted painfully, but strangely, she didn't panic. She didn't reach for her phone. She didn't call him. She didn't send frantic messages.
She simply sat still.
Because heartbreak had taken her to a new place — a place beyond begging.
⸻
Her First Step Outside the Pain
After a long moment, she stood up, washed her face, and tied a scarf around her head. She looked at herself in the mirror — her eyes swollen, her lips pale, her expression empty.
She hardly recognized the woman looking back.
"This is not me," she whispered to her reflection.
She had always been full of life and dreams.
She had always been strong and hopeful.
She had always been the type of woman who believed in building something beautiful.
But recently, she had become someone else — someone holding broken pieces alone.
And she knew she couldn't survive like this much longer.
She left the house quietly and walked to her shop, opening it earlier than usual. She arranged the scarves, powders, and earrings neatly, wiping the shelf even though it wasn't dirty.
She needed to keep herself busy.
She needed something to hold onto.
⸻
A Customer With Sharp Eyes
Around 9 a.m., an older woman entered the shop — someone Nneka recognized as a regular customer.
Mama Chiamaka — the type of woman who noticed everything but didn't speak unless necessary.
"My daughter," she greeted. "You look tired."
Nneka tried to smile.
"I'm fine, Mama."
Mama Chiamaka looked at her for a long moment, then shook her head slowly.
"No, you're not."
Nneka felt her throat tighten.
Mama Chiamaka picked a bottle of perfume and said, "Sit down."
Nneka obeyed quietly.
The older woman sat opposite her and spoke softly, like someone who had carried her own share of heartbreak in life.
"When a woman stops shining, it is usually because someone close has dimmed her light."
Nneka's eyes filled instantly.
"Mama…" she whispered.
"You don't have to tell me," the woman said gently. "Your face already told your story."
Nneka lowered her head, a tear slipping down her cheek.
Mama Chiamaka reached for her hand.
"Young woman, remember this: no matter how much you love a man, you must never lose yourself. When you disappear inside love, you are left with nothing when that love falls apart."
The words hit deep — deeper than Nneka expected.
The woman squeezed her hand.
"Rest your heart. Your destiny is bigger than pain."
Then she paid, picked up her items, and left.
But her words stayed.
⸻
When Silence Is the Answer
Around noon, Nneka's phone finally rang.
Olu.
His name flashed on the screen.
Her heart raced, but she didn't pick up immediately.
She stared at the phone, thinking about everything she had endured. The insults. The lies. The accusations. The humiliation. The cheating. The disrespect.
She inhaled slowly.
Then answered.
"Hello," she said quietly.
"Where are you?" Olu asked, his tone cold and annoyed — not apologetic, not worried.
"In the shop," she replied.
"I came home and you weren't there," he said. "Is that how a wife behaves? You don't tell your husband where you're going?"
Her chest tightened.
There he was — blaming her again.
Turning everything around.
Acting like he was the victim.
Like he hadn't left her alone all night.
"I didn't know where you were either," she replied softly.
He hissed.
"I was out. Must I explain myself every second?"
Nneka swallowed her pain.
"You didn't come home…"
"I don't owe you explanations!" he snapped.
Her fingers trembled around the phone.
She closed her eyes.
This wasn't love anymore.
This wasn't partnership.
This wasn't marriage.
It was torture.
"I'm busy," Olu said finally. "We'll talk later."
Then he hung up.
Just like that.
⸻
A Decision Growing in Her Chest
Nneka held the phone to her chest for a moment, letting the weight of his words sink into her bones.
She felt something she hadn't felt before:
A quiet strength.
A quiet anger.
A quiet acceptance.
She whispered to herself:
"If I keep staying like this… I will break completely."
For the first time, the idea of leaving didn't feel impossible.
It didn't feel like failure.
It didn't feel shameful.
It felt… necessary.
Not because she didn't love him.
But because she finally loved herself enough to see the truth:
She couldn't save a man who didn't want to be saved.
She couldn't protect a marriage she was the only one fighting for.
She needed to protect her heart, her mind, her future.
⸻
A Shadow at the Door
Later that evening, Olu returned home.
Nneka was already inside, cleaning the kitchen quietly.
He walked in with the smell of alcohol and a cold expression.
"You didn't bother cooking again?" he asked.
"I wasn't hungry," she said calmly.
Olu frowned.
"You're changing. And I don't like it."
Nneka looked at him — really looked at him.
She saw a stranger.
A man she no longer recognized.
A man whose heart was no longer with her.
A man who didn't care if she cried or broke.
She inhaled slowly.
"Maybe I am changing," she said softly. "Because pain changes people."
Olu rolled his eyes and walked to the bedroom, ignoring her words.
And at that moment, she realized something:
She wasn't afraid of losing him anymore.
She was afraid of losing herself.
⸻
The Seed of a New Beginning
That night, Nneka sat outside on the small bench in front of the house — the same bench where they once planned their dreams together.
She looked at the sky.
She looked at the moon.
She let the breeze wash over her.
And she whispered:
"I don't know what tomorrow will bring… but I need to prepare myself."
The seed of her future had been planted.
A future where she stands strong.
A future where she finds herself again.
A future where she no longer cries every night.
A future where she doesn't need to beg for love.
And deep down…
She knew that the beginning of her transformation had arrived.
End of Chapter 10