The silence in the hospital room after Adams's confession was heavier than any machine's hum. It was the silence of a future canceled. Mina stood there, watching the man she loved retreat behind a wall of shame so impenetrable she couldn't find a crack to reach him.
The drive home was a blur of rain-smeared windows. The unrelenting Lagos downpour, which had started days ago, felt like the sky was mourning with her. She let herself into the penthouse, the silence there even more profound. It wasn't peaceful; it was bereft. The ghost of Adams's confidence, of Trisha's laughter, had been evicted. Only fear lived here now.
She barely slept. Tossing and turning, she'd check her phone for a message from the night nurse, then open the banking app, staring at the numbers until they blurred into meaningless digits. The severance money was a life raft, but she could see the sharks of their expenses circling beneath it, waiting to take bites.
The rain intensified. It was no longer just rain; it was a torrent, a relentless drumming against the floor-to-ceiling windows that felt like an assault. It matched the storm in her soul.
A crash of thunder, closer and louder than any before, shook the very foundations of the building. The lights flickered once, twice, and then died, plunging the luxurious apartment into an inky blackness broken only by the occasional flash of lightning.
"No," she whispered into the oppressive dark. This was all they needed.
Her phone buzzed—a precious lifeline. A message from Lara lit up the screen: Power's out everywhere. News says the Ogun River has burst its banks. They're calling it a once-in-a-century flood. Are you okay?
A once-in-a-century flood. Of course. Why wouldn't the universe kick them when they were down?
Another sound joined the roar of the rain. A new sound. A gurgling, rushing sound that wasn't coming from outside.
It was coming from under the door.
Mina's blood ran cold. She fumbled for a candle, her hands trembling as she lit it. The small flame cast dancing, monstrous shadows on the walls. She carried it to the front door, her heart hammering against her ribs.
A dark, slick stain was spreading across the polished concrete floor from the bottom of the door. As she watched, frozen in horror, a trickle of water seeped under the weather seal, followed by another, and another.
"No," she said again, her voice firmer, laced with denial. "No, no, no."
She wrenched the door open.
A wave of brown, filthy water surged into the apartment, soaking her feet and ankles. It was shockingly cold. It carried with it the smell of the city's underbelly—oil, garbage, and decay. The hallway was a river, the water already knee-deep and rising fast.
She slammed the door, but it was too late. The vile water was inside, spreading across the floor, lapping at the legs of their designer furniture.
Move. You have to move!
Her mind, fogged by grief and exhaustion, snapped into a frantic, survivalist mode. What did they need? What could she save?
The documents. Adams's filing cabinet. Their marriage certificate, Trisha's birth certificate, the insurance papers… God, the insurance papers.
She sloshed through the rising water to his study. The brown water was already seeping into the expensive Persian rug, staining it forever. She yanked open the bottom drawer of his filing cabinet, her fingers slipping on the wet metal. She grabbed a thick, waterproof folder where he kept their most important documents. She hugged it to her chest like a precious child.
Photos. The physical ones, in albums, from their wedding, from Trisha's birth. They were on a low shelf. She grabbed them, the pages already feeling damp.
The water was at her calves now, rising with a terrifying, relentless speed. It swirled around her, carrying a child's plastic toy from a downstairs balcony past the door.
A flash of lightning illuminated the living room. The water was lapping at the base of the yellow sofa. The beautiful, custom-made sofa they'd argued over and then made up on. It was being ruined.
Her eyes fell on the abstract painting above it—the one Adams had bought for a small fortune at that art auction, his eyes shining with pride. It was safe on the wall, for now.
Another crash of thunder. The entire building seemed to groan. The water kept rising.
She had to get to higher ground. The bedroom. She waded through the flood, the water now up to her knees, pushing against her with a sinister force. She threw the documents and photo albums onto the high bed.
What else? Clothes? Adams's suits? Trisha's things? It was all downstairs in the nursery, already surely submerged. A sob caught in her throat. Trisha's first tiny shoes. The blanket she came home from the hospital in. All of it, gone.
She stood in the doorway of the bedroom, watching the filthy water claim her home. It swallowed the rug, it soaked the sofa, it swirled around the legs of the dining table where they'd shared their first meal as a family.
Her gaze landed on Adams's favorite chair, the one by the window where he'd read to her while she was pregnant. The water was already staining the leather.
This was it. This was the catastrophic final blow. The accident had broken his body. The job loss had broken his spirit. And now this… this was breaking their past, their memories, the very physical proof of their life together.
She was shivering, soaked to the waist, standing on her bed in the dark like a shipwreck survivor. She pulled out her phone. The battery icon was red. She had to call him. She had to tell him.
But what would she say? 'Hello, my love, lying broken in your hospital bed. The life insurance we might need to claim? It's underwater. So is our home. Everything is gone.'
She couldn't. She couldn't lay this on him. It would be the kill shot.
The phone buzzed in her hand. It was the hospital. Her heart seized. Adams. Something was wrong.
She answered, her voice a terrified rasp. "Hello?"
"Mrs. Dared?" It was the kind, weary voice of Dr. Adeyemi. "I'm just calling with an update. His vitals are stable tonight. He's resting."
The relief was so sudden it made her dizzy. "Th-thank you, Doctor."
"Are you alright, Mrs. Dared?" he asked, his tone shifting. "You sound… strange."
The simple question broke her. Standing there in the dark, in the rising water, clutching the phone with her dying battery, the dam holding back her composure burst.
"It's flooding," she whispered, the words trembling out of her. "My apartment… the water… it's everywhere. I'm… I'm on the bed. It's all I could save." She gestured helplessly with the candle at the pathetic pile of documents and photos.
There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end. "Good God. Are you safe? Is the structure sound?"
"I… I don't know," she admitted, a fresh wave of terror washing over her. She hadn't even considered the building might collapse.
"Listen to me," Dr. Adeyemi said, his voice firm and calming. "Stay on high ground. Do not try to wade through the water; there could be live wires. I'll alert emergency services. They're doing rescues across the city."
The phone beeped—a critical battery warning.
"My phone is dying," she said, the panic returning.
"Then conserve its power. Help will come. Just hold on."
The line went dead. The screen faded to black.
Mina was alone. Truly alone. In the dark. In the water. With the remnants of her life floating around her.
She curled into a ball on the bed, clutching the waterproof folder to her chest, the candle flickering precariously on the nightstand. Each gurgling surge of water downstairs was a mockery. Each flash of lightning revealed a new level of devastation.
The storm had gathered. It had broken him. And now, it was washing away everything that was left.