BUKKY'S POV
I didn't sleep that night.
Neither of us did.
The house felt unfamiliar—too quiet, too large, like it had swallowed every sound except my thoughts. When morning came, the sun felt intrusive, like it had no right to rise after what I ad done.
Akanni didn't speak.
That was worse than shouting.
By evening, I couldn't take it anymore.
"You said you wanted the truth," I said, my voice breaking the silence between us. "All of it."
He looked at me then—calm, unreadable.
"Talk."
That one word.
Cold. Empty.
Something snapped inside me, but I continued anyway.
"It didn't start that night," I confessed. "Demi came back slowly. Messages first. Memories. He kept reminding me of who I used to be. Who we were."
Akanni's jaw tightened, but he said nothing.
"I never planned to sleep with him again after that night," I continued quickly. "I
swear. But when you stopped touching me… when you pulled away… I felt unwanted."
I laughed bitterly. "I thought maybe you couldn't… perform. I thought you were ashamed."
He finally spoke.
"Continue."
That word again.
It felt like judgment.
"He kissed me first," I said. "I pushed him away at first. But then I didn't. I let it happen."
My throat burned.
"It happened twice," I whispered. "Not once."
That was when he said it.
One word.
"Impure."
I froze.
"What?" I asked sharply.
"You heard me," he said quietly. "Impure."
Something inside me exploded.
I laughed—loud, hysterical.
"So that's what you see me as now?" I snapped. "Not your wife. Not the woman you claimed to love. Just… impure?"
"That's not—"
"Don't," I cut him off. "Don't explain."
I stood up, trembling with rage and humiliation.
"You watched me suffer," I continued. "You watched me beg for affection, and instead of talking to me, you tested me. You starved me emotionally just to confirm your suspicions."
"I needed the truth," he said.
"And now you have it," I fired back. "Congratulations."
He reached for me. "Bukky, wait."
I stepped back.
"No. I'm done waiting."
My voice shook, but my resolve hardened.
"You know what hurts the most?" I said. "Not that you caught me. But that you enjoyed punishing me in silence."
"That's not true," he said urgently.
"Then why didn't you confront me?" I shouted. "Why didn't you ask me directly?"
He had no answer.
I wiped my tears angrily.
"I won't stay in a marriage where I'm constantly being tested, judged, and starved," I said. "I made a mistake. Yes. But you turned it into a sentence."
He stepped closer.
"Please," he said. "Let's fix this."
That word.
Please.
It broke him.
"I love you," he continued. "I was willing to forgive you. I still am. We can start again."
I shook my head.
"You don't forgive someone you already see as broken."
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He dropped to his knees.
Actually dropped.
"Bukky," he pleaded. "I beg you. Don't do this. Don't throw us away."
My heart clenched—but my pride screamed louder.
"You already threw us away the moment you chose silence over love."
I walked to the drawer, pulled out a file.
Divorce papers.
"I filed this morning," I said calmly.
His face drained of color.
"No," he whispered. "Please. Withdraw it."
I looked at him—this strong man, reduced to desperation—and felt nothing but exhaustion.
"I can't," I said softly. "I don't want to fight to be loved."
He grabbed my hands.
He broke down completely.
"I still choose you," he sobbed.
I closed my eyes.
"And I choose peace."
I walked away, leaving him on the floor.
And just like that—
Our marriage ended, not with shouting…
…but with refusal.