Days passed, then weeks. Ifediba did not answer his calls, didn't read his messages.
Didn't ask about his intentions, she told herself she was angry, but beneath the anger was something worse, betrayal. She had loved the man who struggled. The man who fought. The man who stood bare before life.
Now she wondered which parts were real.
Aderemi, meanwhile, unraveled quietly.
He showed up anyway. Not at her door-she would have slammed it, but everywhere else.
He apologized without defending himself.
He took responsibility without excuses. He waited without pressure, every apology was simple. "I was wrong." "You deserved the truth." "I'm sorry." One evening, exhausted from pretending she didn't care, Ifediba finally answered. "Why are you still here?" she asked. "Because I hurt you," he replied. "And love doesn't run from that." She swallowed. "Say it again." "I lied," he said. "And I will spend as long as it takes proving that the rest of me is true." That was when her anger broke. Not loudly, but completely.