At first, it had annoyed him, her habit of stopping by, interrupting his sleep. But over time, it had become a rhythm he didn't realize he depended on.
Tonight, though, the silence of his room felt heavier than ever. The usual soft knock, the voice, sometimes teasing, sometimes grudging, were gone. Only the wind stirred, brushing against his face and magnifying the emptiness around him. By the time he finally fell asleep, it was 3 a.m.
Two hours later, his alarm jolted him awake.
Dark circles under his eyes, he trudged to the bathroom to freshen up. Coming downstairs, he saw the dining table lavishly prepared, as if the chefs were trying to make amends for some unseen offense. Yet the chair opposite him remained glaringly empty.
Without touching the food, Chibuzor stepped out of the house.
Behind the pillars, the staff exchanged uneasy glances. Their efforts seemed wasted again. Murmurs of worry drifted among the cooks, but the housekeeper simply shook her head, smiling faintly.
