A Coolvalstories Production
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Title: When the Honeymoon Ends
Episode 1: “The Wedding Was Just the Beginning”
Word Count: ~1,060 words
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The hall glittered. Gold and white decorations hung like dreams from the ceiling. Cameras clicked. People clapped. The MC’s voice boomed over the speakers, and the crowd roared as Amaka and Chike danced into their wedding reception like royalty.
It had taken them eight months to plan this dream wedding—eight long months of negotiations, fights over color palettes, bridal party selection, and family politics. Amaka had cried more than once. Chike had lost his cool a few times. But now, watching their guests cheer and raise glasses in their honor, it all felt worth it.
They were husband and wife.
“Finally,” Amaka whispered to herself, a contented smile on her face.
That night in their hotel room, with confetti still in Chike’s hair and Amaka’s dress spread across the carpet like a collapsed flower, they made love like it was a ritual of beginning. The next morning, they flew to Obudu for their honeymoon—a week of bliss, pictures, and whispered promises.
But nobody told them that the real marriage starts when the honeymoon ends.
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Back in Enugu, real life greeted them coldly.
The apartment Chike had before the wedding was small—one bedroom, cramped kitchen, and a bathroom that needed plumbing work. Amaka had moved in with high hopes, carrying her cookware, photo frames, and scented candles.
“This is only temporary,” Chike had said, helping her unpack. “In a few months, I’ll secure that promotion and we can move to a three-bedroom.”
Amaka nodded. She believed him. She always had. Chike was ambitious, intelligent, and hardworking. But reality didn’t care about good intentions.
Three months in, the cracks began to show.
The first big fight happened over toothpaste.
Yes—toothpaste.
“You always squeeze from the middle!” Amaka yelled from the bathroom.
Chike raised his brow. “And that’s what you want to start a war over this morning?”
“It’s not just the toothpaste, Chike! It’s the fact that you don’t pay attention to anything!”
He laughed dryly. “I squeeze toothpaste and now I’m the villain? Wonderful.”
That night, they didn’t speak. Amaka cried silently while scrolling through Instagram reels of other couples—laughing, matching outfits, breakfast in bed. Meanwhile, Chike slept with his back to her.
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Then came the deeper issues.
Amaka, a junior staff at a private establishment, earned just enough to support her needs and contribute to groceries. Chike worked as a project supervisor for a construction company, but payments were irregular. By their fourth month, rent was due, NEPA bill had piled up, and the generator needed repair.
One night, as they sat in darkness eating cold eba by phone torchlight, Amaka asked, “What’s our plan, Chike? We can’t keep living like this.”
Chike sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I applied for a loan. My boss promised to approve it this week.”
“You said that last week.”
“I’m doing my best, Amaka! You think I’m enjoying this?”
“I never said—” she began, but stopped. Her tone was already rising. She knew where this was headed.
He stood, dropping his plate with a loud clatter. “Every day, complaint. Every day, pressure. So because I married you, I should become Dangote overnight?”
Amaka didn’t respond. Her heart sank. This wasn’t the man she married—at least, not the man who had carried her on his back across the grasslands laughing like a child.
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The sixth month brought loneliness.
Chike began to spend more time outside. He blamed “site meetings” and “late deliveries.” Amaka didn’t doubt him, but she noticed the change. The cuddles were less frequent. The laughter dried up. Even when they made love, it felt like a chore—like ticking off a duty list.
She tried initiating conversations.
“Maybe we should see a counselor.”
Chike scoffed. “So our marriage has already reached that level?”
“It’s not a bad thing,” Amaka said gently. “We need help.”
“I don’t need some stranger telling me how to run my home,” he snapped.
Amaka swallowed her reply. She’d never felt so married and so alone.
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And then came family.
Chike’s mother visited and stayed for two weeks.
She criticized everything—Amaka’s cooking, her cleaning, even the way she addressed her husband.
“I raised him better than this. You’re spoiling my son.”
Amaka tried to smile through it. “Yes, mummy.”
But when Chike failed to defend her over dinner one night, letting his mother lecture her about “submission and humility,” something broke in Amaka.
She stormed into their bedroom and slammed the door.
Later, Chike entered.
“She’s just old-fashioned,” he said casually. “Ignore her.”
“Old-fashioned is not the same as disrespectful, Chike! Why won’t you stand up for me?”
“She’s my mother, Amaka.”
“And I’m your wife!”
The silence after that was loud.
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One Saturday evening, Amaka stood at their balcony watching the sun set over the Enugu hills. She wore her satin robe, arms folded across her chest. Her eyes burned with tears she refused to shed.
Marriage was supposed to be sweet, wasn’t it? That’s what they told her. That’s what the photos showed. But here she was—tired, emotionally drained, and scared.
She heard the door open behind her. Chike stepped out, holding two cups of zobo.
“I bought akara,” he said quietly. “Your favorite.”
She turned, surprised.
They sat in silence, sipping zobo and listening to the wind.
“I know I’ve been difficult,” Chike said eventually. “This is harder than I thought. But I still love you, Amaka.”
Her chest tightened.
“I love you too. But love isn’t enough, Chike. We have to choose each other every day—even when it’s hard.”
He nodded, his eyes misty. “Let’s try again.”
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To be continued in Episode 2
