For the first time in months, Nneka didn't wake up with tears on her pillow.
Not because the pain had disappeared — no, the pain was still sitting inside her chest, heavy and sharp — but because something else had taken root beside it.
Determination.
Silent.
Calm.
Dangerous.
She sat up on the bed slowly and looked around the room that had once been their safe place. The wardrobe they bought together. The curtains she sewed herself. The fan Luo screwed into the ceiling. Every corner reminded her of the life they had built with hope.
But now all she saw was the life she was losing.
And the life she needed to prepare for.
⸻
A Quiet Morning, a Loud Mind
When Olu left the house that morning — barely speaking to her, not even glancing in her direction — Nneka didn't cry.
She didn't ask him where he was going.
She didn't ask when he would return.
Instead, she cleaned the house with a strange calmness.
She folded her clothes neatly into a small corner of the wardrobe.
She packed some items she rarely used into a bag and kept it under the bed.
Not because she planned to leave that day…
But because a wise woman prepares for the day she will need courage.
Her mind whispered:
"If he can change, maybe I can too."
And not in the way he wanted.
But in the way she needed.
⸻
A Visit to the Market Woman
Around 10 a.m., Nneka went to the market to restock her shop.
Her steps were slower than usual, heavy but steady.
As she walked past the bar area, the older woman who had given her food the previous night called out:
"My dear, come."
Nneka walked toward her quietly.
The woman looked at her face, nodded slowly, and sighed.
"You didn't sleep," she said.
"No," Nneka whispered.
The woman touched her arm gently.
"Pain is a river," she said. "If you stay inside too long, it will drown you. You must swim out."
Nneka blinked back tears.
"I don't know how," she whispered.
"By remembering who you were before you loved him," the woman replied.
The words struck her heart so deeply she couldn't speak.
The woman continued:
"You built your shop from nothing. You built this house with him. You carried dreams on your head like a proud queen. You have always been strong. Don't forget that."
Nneka inhaled shakily.
The woman squeezed her hand.
"When you're ready, you will walk away from anything that doesn't respect you."
Nneka nodded slowly.
She wasn't ready yet…
but she was getting closer.
⸻
The House That No Longer Feels Like Home
When Nneka returned home later, her heart dropped the moment she opened the door.
She saw Olu's shirt lying on the sofa.
His shoes scattered on the floor.
A cup of alcohol left on the table.
He had come home earlier than she expected.
She entered the bedroom quietly — and saw him lying on the bed, fast asleep, fully dressed, smelling of alcohol and perfume.
Perfume that wasn't hers.
Her chest tightened painfully.
She stared at him for a long time.
This was the man she prayed for.
The man she worked with.
The man she built dreams with.
The man she wanted to grow old with.
But this wasn't the same man anymore.
This version of Olu was a stranger who had replaced her partner with lies, selfishness, and cheating.
Nneka didn't wake him.
She quietly changed clothes, laid on the very edge of the bed, and closed her eyes.
She didn't sleep.
She only listened to the silence — the silence that was louder than any argument they had ever had.
⸻
When the Family Adds Salt to the Wound
In the evening, Nneka's phone buzzed.
A message.
From Amaka.
Her heart dropped as she read:
"I heard you're telling people my brother cheats. You better stop before we disgrace you."
Another message followed:
"You're just jealous because he doesn't love you anymore."
Nneka's throat tightened.
She didn't reply.
Then a call came — this time, Mama Olu.
Nneka stared at the screen and answered.
"Nneka," Mama began coldly, "if my son decides to have fun outside, it's because you failed him. Stop calling him out. Stop checking his movements. Stop crying everywhere."
Nneka felt her chest burn.
"Mama… I haven't told anybody," she whispered.
"You're lying! Amaka heard it from the bar people," Mama snapped. "Behave yourself. You want to ruin his name because he made small money?"
Nneka closed her eyes.
Small money.
As if she hadn't suffered with him.
As if she hadn't supported every business move.
As if she hadn't been there when there was nothing.
"Mama… I don't want his money," she whispered painfully. "I just want my marriage to work."
Mama hissed loudly.
"The marriage is fine. You are the problem. Fix yourself."
Then she hung up.
Leaving Nneka standing alone in the living room with shaking hands.
⸻
A Painful Realization
After the call, Nneka sank slowly onto the sofa.
Her chest ached.
Her breathing felt heavy.
She whispered:
"I'm alone… completely alone."
His family wasn't hers.
His heart wasn't hers.
His respect wasn't hers.
And she knew she couldn't keep begging for a love that was no longer alive.
That was when the slow, quiet realization settled into her bones:
"I can't save this marriage by myself… and I can't die inside it."
⸻
The Beginning of Her Plan
That night, while Olu slept heavily, Nneka sat at the edge of the bed with a pen and paper.
She took a deep breath.
Then she wrote down three words:
"Save myself first."
And under it, she began to write a plan:
1. Grow my business.
2. Save every naira.
3. Prepare a separate life.
4. Find a lawyer when the time is right.
5. Leave quietly… with dignity.
Tears dropped onto the paper, but her handwriting stayed steady.
This wasn't a plan for revenge.
It was a plan for survival.
Her survival.
When she finally put the pen down, she whispered to herself:
"I don't know when…
but one day, I will walk away from all this."
The moon outside shone gently through the curtains, lighting her face.
And for the first time in a long time…
She felt hope.
End of Chapter 11