She came out of her reverie and immediately dashed out to look for her husband.
The hotel compound buzzed with life. Cars pulling in, porters unloading luggage, music drifting faintly from the lounge but all she could focus on was finding him. Her eyes scanned the parking lot frantically, her heels clicking against the pavement as she called out, "Babe! Please wait!"
She caught a glimpse of him heading toward the gate, his strides long and angry, his clenched fists swinging with each step. She picked up her pace, ignoring the curious stares of bystanders.
"Babe, it's not what you think!" she cried.
He stopped but didn't turn around. His shoulders were tense, rigid. "What am I supposed to think, Amoke? You were all over that man."
She reached him and grabbed his arm, but he jerked it away. "Please, let me explain," she pleaded, her voice cracking.
He finally turned to face her, his eyes blazing with betrayal. "Explain what? That you were laughing and holding hands with another man in a hotel bar while your husband was working in the same building?"
Tears welled up in her eyes. "It wasn't what it looked like. He's a client, he asked for a meeting and I didn't know you were here."
"A client," he scoffed, shaking his head. "You looked like lovers, not business partners."
Silence hung between them like a blade.
"Go home, Amoke," he muttered, turning to leave. "I need time to think."
She stood there helplessly, watching him walk away, her chest tight with regret and fear that she might have already lost him.
She wiped her tears and went home, switching off her phone. Deep down, she knew it was time to put an end to the luxurious lifestyle even if it meant hardship. There was no point holding on to what had already placed her marriage on the edge. She tidied the house, prepared his favorite dinner, and slipped into something she knew he liked. Every detail was perfect just the way he used to love it. As the evening wore on, her heart pounded with anxious hope. When her husband finally returned home, he walked past her without a word, heading straight to the bedroom. The coldness in his eyes cut deeper than any insult. Amoke's heart sank, but she refused to give up. She had spent the afternoon rehearsing her words, praying silently for the courage to speak and for his ears to truly listen. She followed him quietly into the room, her hands trembling slightly. He was already seated on the edge of the bed, unlacing his shoes, his face blank and unreadable.
"Honey, please can we talk?" she said softly, standing a few steps away as though afraid to draw too close.
He didn't respond immediately. The silence between them was thick, almost suffocating. When he finally looked up, his eyes held a storm of emotions. Hurt, anger, disappointment but no words.
"I know I've made mistakes," Amoke began, her voice barely above a whisper. "But I need you to understand that I never meant to hurt you. I miss us… I miss you."
He looked away, jaw clenched. "You think dressing up and cooking is going to fix everything?"
"No," she replied quickly, moving closer. "But I want to start from somewhere. I want to fix this, even if it takes time. Even if I have to earn your trust all over again." His gaze met hers again, softer this time, but still guarded. "Why now, Amoke? Why beg after everything?" Tears welled in her eyes, but she blinked them away. "Because I realized nothing out there matters. Not the lifestyle, not the attention, not the money but only us. I lost sight of it for a while, but I see it now and I want to fight for what we have… if you'll let me." A heavy silence followed. He sighed deeply, rubbed his temples, then stood up and walked past her. For a moment, she feared the worst. Just as he reached the door, he paused. "Leave the food on the table," he said without turning. "I'll eat later."
It wasn't forgiveness. But it wasn't a rejection either.
And to Amoke, that was enough for now.
His POV
He had seen the efforts. The clean house, the smell of his favorite meal, the way she looked at him with eyes full of hope and regret but his heart was too hardened to soften immediately. As he sat on the edge of the bed, unlacing his shoes, he could hear her footsteps behind him. Her voice, soft and hesitant, reached his ears, but he didn't respond not because he didn't care, but because he cared too much. He had spent too many nights wondering where they went wrong. He had questioned his worth, his role as a husband. The image of her laughing at that bar, too close to another man haunted him more than he was willing to admit. That betrayal stung deeper than words could explain and now, here she was, begging. When she said she missed him, it tugged at a part of him he tried to silence. He didn't want to believe her, didn't want to open himself up to more pain but when he heard the cracks in her voice, the vulnerability and sincerity, he clenched his fists. The truth in her voice stirred something buried deep within him, something he had tried to bury under anger and pride. He couldn't give in too easily, not yet but he also couldn't pretend her words didn't affect him. He stood up, walking away before she saw the flicker of conflict in his eyes. He didn't turn around because if he did, he might not have the strength to stay angry. And he wasn't sure he was ready to stop being angry yet, but the walls around his heart? They had started to crack.
For the past few days, their home had been a silent battlefield. No yelling, no arguments but just a heavy cold quietness that spoke louder than words. He would eat the food she prepared, get dressed, and leave for work without so much as a thank you or goodbye. At night, he would return, wash up, and lie on his side of the bed with his back to her, the bed felt wider than it ever had. Amoke lay awake most nights, staring at the ceiling, wondering when things had gotten so broken. The emotional distance between them was now more suffocating than the fights they used to have. At least then, there was fire and passion but now, all that remained was silence and careful avoidance. She didn't want to push too hard, fearing it might push him further away, so she buried her pain beneath her responsibilities, pouring her energy into the supermarket she had grown from nothing and checking up on their child. Then her mother-in-law arrived. From the moment the older woman stepped into the house, she sensed the tension and instead of trying to help mend it, she let it fuel her long-held agenda.
"Hmm... this house is too quiet," she said the first night, eyes darting between the couple as they sat on opposite ends of the room. "A man cannot continue like this forever." Amoke bit her tongue. Her husband said nothing, his silence encouraging his mother to speak further. "Some women forget that it is a privilege to be a wife. They stop submitting, they start roaming about, acting like men. It is no surprise the home is falling apart." Amoke turned her face away to hide the sting of tears.
Later that night, she overheard the whispered conversation between mother and son.
"You cannot keep living like this, my son," her mother-in-law said. "A man needs peace and respect in his home. There are women out there who will treat you like the king you are. If this one is tired, let her go so another can enter." That night, Amoke didn't sleep, her mind was racing, her chest was heavy. She wanted to scream and cry, but instead, she held herself together for her child, her dignity, and for the hope that maybe, just maybe, the man she married was still in there somewhere, behind all the hurt, silence, and anger.