Episode 2: The Line Between Help and Husband
The silence in our home became a third presence.
It wasn’t just that Ifeoma had stopped talking to me like she used to. It was the way she began shutting me out without saying a word—no more shared laughter over TV shows, no more late-night gist. She no longer asked, “What did Amaka need today?” Instead, she started locking her phone, sleeping earlier than usual, and murmuring her prayers just loud enough for me to hear her say, “Any strange woman causing confusion in my home… let God judge them.”
That “strange woman” was not a stranger. It was Chima’s widow.
—
The final straw, at least for her, came on a Saturday.
Uchenna had called me around 7:30 a.m., frantic because the generator wouldn’t start and their water tank was empty. Amaka was at work. The boys had no water to bathe for their lesson teacher who arrived by 9.
I rushed there with my mechanic. The gen was fixed. The water flowed.
But Ifeoma wasn’t having it.
—
That evening, I returned home to find her dressed, with her handbag clutched like she was ready for war.
“You were there again, weren’t you?” she asked.
I was still wiping my face with a towel, exhausted. “Yes. The boys had no water—”
“Those boys have uncles!” she snapped. “What kind of man abandons his own home every weekend to play Superman for another woman?”
I froze.
“Amaka is not another woman,” I said. “She’s Chima’s wife. You know what he meant to me.”
“And I’m your wife, Ifeanyi!” she thundered. “Your wife! I didn’t marry you to share you emotionally with another woman—even if she’s wearing black lace and crying over a ghost!”
Her words cut like a razor.
“Is that what you think this is?” I asked, stunned. “That I’m enjoying this? That I like waking up and fixing another man’s household like it’s mine?”
She gave a short laugh. “You tell me.”
That night, she slept in the children’s room.
—
The next few days were tense. I avoided Amaka for a while, just to calm the storm at home. I thought things would get better.
They didn’t.
On Wednesday, Ifeoma cooked for herself and the kids and served nothing for me. When I asked, she said, “I assumed you already ate at Amaka’s.”
I stood there for a few seconds, then walked out. It was better than saying something I’d regret.
That same night, my phone rang. It was Amaka. I hesitated, then picked.
Her voice was quiet. “Ifeanyi… are you okay? You’ve been distant. Did I do something wrong?”
I didn’t know how to answer.
“You didn’t,” I said finally. “I just need to sort things out at home.”
There was silence on the line.
Then she said something I wasn’t ready for:
“Ifeanyi… I can handle things now. Please… don’t lose your family because of me.”
—
I didn’t sleep that night.
I kept tossing between guilt and responsibility, loyalty and love.
Was I doing too much?
Or was the world just too suspicious of a man who cared?
—
Then came Sunday.
I dressed up for church, alone. Ifeoma claimed she had a headache. I took our kids, hoping the sermon would cleanse the tension between us.
After service, a friend pulled me aside.
“Guy,” he whispered, glancing around, “word dey fly around o. People say you dey help that your guy wey die, his wife, well well. Even to the point say you dey drop for her compound steady.”
I frowned. “So what? Is it a crime to help a widow?”
He shrugged. “No be me talk am. But you know this Lagos… people no dey separate kindness from gist. Protect your image, bro. People don dey yarn.”
I walked away, heart p******g.
—
When I got home, Ifeoma was sitting on the dining table with her arms folded. Her face was calm—too calm.
“We need to talk,” she said.
I sat.
“If this continues,” she began, “I’ll pack my things and leave you to continue whatever it is you have going on with Amaka. You’re not her husband. You’re not her saviour. If you want to marry her, just say it.”
I was stunned. Speechless.
“Ifeoma…”
She raised a hand. “I’ve made up my mind. You choose—your family, or hers.”
And that was when it hit me.
I hadn’t just crossed the line.
I had erased it.
—
🔥 To be continued in Episode 3: Who Are You Married To?
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