The night was heavy — the kind that weighed on the chest like guilt.
Lightning split the sky open, and the sound of thunder rolled across the quiet city, echoing the turmoil building in Amara's heart.
She sat on the edge of her bed, eyes swollen from hours of crying. Her fingers trembled as she clutched the pendant Adaeze had given her months ago — a symbol of their sisterhood, once unbreakable, now fractured beyond repair.
Across town, Adaeze sat in her car, parked in front of Chuka's gate. Rain beat against the windshield like angry fists, but she didn't move. She couldn't. Her mind replayed the words Amara had thrown at her, each one cutting deeper than the last.
> "You betrayed me, Adaeze. You stood by and watched him destroy me!"
Her breath hitched. She wasn't innocent, but she wasn't the villain Amara painted her to be either. Still, guilt gnawed at her — the kind that doesn't fade, no matter how many apologies are whispered into the wind.
Inside, Chuka paced his living room. His hands were clenched, his mind in chaos. The truth about Amara's pregnancy had shattered every illusion he'd held. He wanted to fix it — to find her — but he didn't know where to start.
Suddenly, a knock came at his door.
He froze.
When he opened it, Adaeze stood there, drenched, trembling, and broken.
"Chuka," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the rain. "We need to talk… before it's too late."
He let her in, and for a moment, neither spoke. The silence was thick with everything unsaid.
Then she said it.
Everything.
The truth about the night Amara was hurt. The reason she'd kept quiet. The threats. The fear.
By the time she finished, Chuka was pale. His entire body went still.
There was no storm outside that could compare to the one that now raged inside him.
"Do you realize what you've done?" His voice was low, dangerous.
"I was trying to protect her," Adaeze pleaded. "You don't understand—"
"No!" He slammed his hand against the wall. "You were trying to protect yourself."
Tears mixed with the rain on her cheeks. She wanted to explain — to make him see — but before she could, the sound of another knock came at the door.
When Chuka opened it, Amara stood there.
Her eyes locked on Adaeze's, and for a second, time froze.
No one spoke. The air crackled with tension, heartbreak, and something darker.
Finally, Amara broke the silence.
"You both have a lot to say," she said softly, stepping inside. "And I'm done running."
Lightning flashed again — a jagged streak that illuminated three faces, each carrying a different kind of pain.
This night would end in truth — or in ruin.