After she left her house, she drove to a park to have some deep thinking. She kept asking herself "should I continue the marriage or ask for a divorce." staying outside for some hours without a conclusion made her confused. She had no choice than to go back home.
That evening, he returned home to the quiet hum of the generator and the heavy stillness that had taken over the house. The lights were on, dinner was on the table, but Amoke was nowhere in sight. He placed his keys gently on the console and called out, "Amoke?"
No answer.
He found her in the closet, sitting on the floor and staring into space. She was physically present but emotionally gone.
He stood in the doorway, unsure of what to say. He had rehearsed apologies, explanations, confessions but now his mouth was shut. He knew he had to say something.
"I know you went to see her," he began quietly.
"And I know I have no excuse."
Amoke didn't look at him. Her eyes remained fixed on the wall in front of her.
"I should have told you," he continued. "From the very beginning, I was scared. Not just of losing you, but of facing what I had become."
Amoke finally spoke, her voice low and calm. "You didn't just hide the truth, you built a life on it."
She turned to face him then, their eyes met. Her gaze wasn't angry, it wasn't even bitter, it was tired and worn.
"I carried this marriage on my back," she said. "I gave everything, even when there was nothing left of me. And the whole time, you were somewhere else, with someone else, making a family."
He stepped forward, tears rising in his eyes. "I don't want to lose you, Amoke. I want to fix this, if there's anything left to fix.
She stood, brushing past him slowly. "It's not about what you want anymore."
Her words lingered in the room long after she left it.
The next morning, Amoke rose before dawn. She moved quietly, deliberately. The same way she had learned to move through pain silently and with dignity. She packed a small bag, just enough for a few days. Not an escape, but a retreat. She needed space. To breathe, to think and to be free without eyes watching her.
She scribbled a short note and left it on the bedside table. Her husband was still asleep, his face heavy with worry even in rest. She looked at him for a long moment. This was the man she had once prayed for but now a stranger tangled in guilt and lies.
She walked out without waking him.
By mid-morning, she arrived at her friend's house on the other side of town. She was shocked to see her at the door, suitcase in hand and eyes that looked like they hadn't rested in days.
"Amoke… what happened?"
"I just need a few days," she replied quietly. "Can I stay here?"
"Of course," her friend said, pulling her into a hug. "You don't even have to ask."
Later, in the quiet guest room, Amoke curled into herself on the bed. Not to cry but his time, she was just free from the pressure of pretending, free from the weight of his betrayal pressing against her every move.
She didn't know yet what decision she would make. Whether to return, to rebuild, or to walk away completely. But she knew one thing:
She would no longer live in shadows.
She would no longer shrink.
She would choose herself.
And when she returned, it would be on her own terms.
The question is what about Semi?
After her master's degree, she decided to travel out to continue her Ph.D.
Her husband stirred from sleep, instinctively reaching for Amoke beside him. He sat up quickly, the sheet falling from his chest. The house was quiet, the kind that settles in when something or someone is missing.
He checked the bathroom, there was no sign of her. Same with the kitchen, then he saw it. A single note on the bedside table, folded in half. His name written on the front with her familiar handwriting. With trembling fingers, he opened it.
"I need space, not just physically but emotionally. Please don't come looking for me. This isn't revenge, it's reflection. I need to be with myself and figure out what's left of me, and what I want to do with it.
You don't need to explain again, I heard enough."
Amoke.
His hand dropped to his lap, the note still between his fingers. She was gone.
Not with anger, not with drama, but with intention. That terrified him more than anything.
He sat back on the bed, numbness crawling through his limbs. For years, he thought Amoke was too forgiving to ever leave. He had leaned on her loyalty like it was permanent, even when she cheated, he forgave her but he had stabbed and shattered her with this dangerous move. Now, there was only silence and the echo of her absence.
By afternoon, he could no longer sit still. The silence in the house felt suffocating, each room a reminder of what he had broken. He knew where to go, not to his mother, colleagues but to the one person who had seen them from the beginning.
Pastor Elijah
He arrived at the church office unannounced, wearing plain clothes and a face that had aged overnight. The receptionist took one look at him and ushered him in without question.
Pastor Elijah looked up from his desk, his brow furrowing the moment he saw him.
"My son… what's wrong?"
He sat down heavily, clasping his hands together. "it's Amoke. She left."
The pastor leaned forward, his voice gentle. "Did something happen between you two?"
He hesitated. Then the words poured out like floodwaters breaching a dam.
He told him everything, from her cheating to the drunken night at the hotel to the pregnancy, the second apartment, the years of silence, and now, Amoke's quiet departure. He left nothing out.
When he finished, the pastor sat back slowly, breathing deeply.
"You came to confess," he said. "But are you here for forgiveness or for guidance?"
He blinked, unsure.
"Because forgiveness starts with God," Pastor Elijah continued. "But guidance starts with truth, and you have broken trust in a way that love alone can't fix. Same goes with Amoke."
He swallowed hard. " I don't want to lose her, sir. She's everything to me."
"She was everything, and still, you risked her. I won't fully blame you because you were unaware but still….. Now whether you lose her or not… that's not your decision alone anymore."
He dropped his gaze. "What do I do?"
The pastor was quiet for a moment. Then he said:
"Give her the space she asked for. Don't chase, don't pressure. Use this time to become the kind of man she should've had from the start. If she returns, let it be because she chooses to, not because you begged her to."
The words hit deep. They weren't comforting but they were true.
"Pray. Not for her return but for your own transformation, because whether or not your marriage survives… you need to change."
"And when your wife comes back, let her know I need to speak with her."
After he left the pastor's office, he stayed in his car for some minutes before driving home.
That night, the house was too quiet. Amoke absence had left behind a deafening silence. He stood by the window, arms folded, staring into the darkness. The pastor hadn't given him a solution but just a push to go deeper. He picked up his phone again and dialed her number. It rang but she didn't answer. The next day, he made a decision. He would visit Amoke's friend, he remembered her mentioning her a few times, and though he didn't know her well, he had to try. She might know where Amoke was or could help him understand what was really going on.
Her friend was startled to see him at her doorstep.
"I am not here to fight," he said, his tone low. "I just want to know what's happening. I can't keep living like this."
Her friend told him that she went out.
Her husband left, but she was feeling guilty.
Her friend's POV
Night was falling, and Amoke had not yet returned from her outing. She grew uneasy and kept trying to reach Amoke on the phone, but the calls wouldn't go through. Every hour added to her worry. At first, she tried to stay calm, convincing herself that Amoke just needed space, that she'd show up when she was ready. But by the second day, the silence felt wrong. Too long, too cold.
She sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the phone in her hand. The last thing she wanted was to involve him. But what choice did she have? Amoke was hurting, Yes but this had gone beyond heartbreak. This was disappearing. Her fingers hovered over his number for a moment before she tapped "Call." He picked up on the second ring.
"Hello?"
There was a pause. Her voice came out quieter than she expected.
"She stayed with me... for a while."
Silence.
"She left two days ago. No word. I've checked everywhere I can think of." Her voice tightened. "I'm worried."
He didn't speak immediately. When he finally did, his voice was low, cautious.
"Did she say where she was going?"
She shook her head even though he couldn't see her. "She left for an outing but didn't come back later on"
Another long silence.
"I'll find her," he said, almost to himself.
She didn't answer.
She wasn't sure what scared her more, that Amoke had disappeared or that he was the one now desperate to find her.
Her husband's POV
The words clung to his ear long after the call ended. He sat there, staring at the screen, unsure what emotion to feel first, either guilt, fear, regret, or shame. He started searching for her, even involved all the necessary officials but still no result. He even thought maybe she had gone back to her mother's people forgetting, for a second, that Amoke had no mother to go back to. He called her sisters but none saw her.
He rose from the edge of the couch, walked to the window, and looked out. Everything outside moved as if nothing had changed. Cars passed, birds flew but inside this house, everything had fallen apart. The picture of their wedding day still hung crookedly on the wall. He stared at it for a moment too long, he knew he had messed up.
Finding out about the second family was supposed to destroy him, not her. Yet here he was, in his home surrounded by walls she once made warm and she was the one who disappeared.
He tried her number again but it was still switched off. He dropped the phone on the table and ran a hand down his face.
There were a thousand things he wanted to say to her. A thousand explanations that wouldn't change the truth: He had betrayed her.
But now it wasn't about apologies. It was about finding her before the silence became something worse.
A month had passed. Amoke haven't been found. Her disappearance no longer felt like temporary escape. It had become a full-blown mystery. Her husband hadn't stopped searching.
Every day brought a new lead and another dead end. He visited terminals, hospitals, police stations. He knocked on doors, he even reached out to people she hadn't spoken to in years.
TV stations began to run her story, local radio hosts aired emotional pleas. Flyers with her photo were plastered on gates, streetlights, and the backs of commercial buses.
"Missing: Amoke. If seen, please contact…"
The image became strange to strangers, yet still meant everything to those who knew her, but despite the noise, silence was all they got in return. It was as if she had disappeared into the wind.
In all these, Semi also joined the search.
Semi POV
Semi stared at her phone screen for the hundredth time that day. Dozens of missed calls, messages, news links, all saying the same thing. Her mother was missing.
She was seated in a quiet corner of the university library, but the noise inside her head drowned out everything around her. She had first heard it from a family friend, a casual voice note that began with,
"I hope you're okay. I heard about your mum. I'm so sorry."
That was how she found out. She didn't believe it at first. Then came the photo, the posters, her mother's face plastered across WhatsApp statuses. She saw the clips from TV, heard the radio pleadings online. The world was looking for Amoke, but no one could find her.
Semi had called her father immediately.
"She just left?" she asked, barely breathing.
"She stayed with her friend for a day and then disappeared," he said. His voice was strained, robotic.
"We've done everything. The police are involved. The media too. I haven't stopped."
That didn't make sense to Semi. Her mother had never done anything like this. She was steady, present and protective. Even when her marriage had cracks, she had stayed for the sake of peace and her daughter.
But now? She was just gone. And Semi wasn't a little girl anymore. She understood things. She had seen the photos online too, the other woman and her pregnancy. The betrayal dressed in silence, she hadn't asked questions. She wanted to fly back. She tried but her visa situation was delicate, her thesis defense days away. One wrong step could cost her everything she'd worked for, so she had to wait thousands of miles away. Hoping that when her mother is found, she would have the strength to come home.
Amoke's husband phone rang just past midnight. He was on the couch again, half-asleep, half-awake, the TV on mute, replaying news updates that never changed. His heart skipped when he saw the unknown number flash across the screen. He picked up.
"Hello?"
A man's voice came through, low and uncertain.
"Good evening. I hope I'm not calling too late."
"You're not," he said quickly. "Who is this?"
"I saw the posters, her face. I think I saw her a few mornings ago."
He sat up straight. "Where?"
"I am not sure I can say. I move around a lot for work, but she stood out to me. She was alone but looked calm and focused."
"Did she seem okay?" he asked, breath catching.
"Yes. She didn't seem lost. She looked like someone who had already decided where she was going and I also saw her with shopping bags"
Silence hung between them.
"I just thought you should know," the caller added. "She didn't look troubled. Just done."
The line went quiet before he could ask more. The call ended.
He stared at the screen, eyes burning.
She wasn't hiding.
She wasn't afraid.
She was simply gone because she chose to be.
And that, somehow, hurt more than any unknown could.
The second wife POV
She had just picked the boys from school when her eyes caught the familiar poster again — the same woman, the same headline.
"Missing: Amoke Adebayo. Last seen over a month ago."
It was the third one she had seen that day alone. She didn't need to read the details anymore. The woman's face had already branded itself in her mind, a constant reminder of the silent war she never planned to be part of. As she settled behind the steering wheel, a heavy silence sat with her. She didn't turn on the engine. Instead, she let her eyes linger on the poster pasted across the school's entrance gate. She didn't ask for this. She never knew he was married until after the pregnancy and by the time the truth came out, she was already in too deep — her boys were already calling him Daddy.
But now, with the way the entire city seemed to be searching for Amoke, she couldn't help but feel a weight pressing on her chest. She wasn't the cause… but somehow, she felt responsible.
That evening, when the house had gone quiet and the boys were fast asleep, she stood by the window, staring into the darkness.
Then she reached for her phone.
Her fingers hovered over his number for a moment, hesitant but guilt always finds its way through hesitation. She pressed call.
He answered on the second ring, his voice tired, empty.
"Hello."
There was a brief silence.
"I saw the posters again today," she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. "I… I don't know why, but it's getting to me."
He didn't respond immediately. She could hear the quiet sound of his breathing.
"Are you okay?" she added, softer this time.
More silence.
Then his voice low, guarded:
"Why are you calling me?"
She exhaled slowly, the weight tightening in her throat.
"Because I can't keep pretending like this doesn't affect me. I think… we need to talk." can we meet?"
"Alright, I will come down."
He disconnected the call.