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Episode 5: The Secrets Between Us
I didn’t sleep that night.
How could I?
I had just uncovered a side of my wife I never imagined existed. That voice note wasn’t just anger—it was strategy. Intent. Threat.
> “When I strike, she’ll know I’m not soft.”
Who was she referring to? Amaka?
And what exactly had she found that she hadn’t told me?
The walls of my home, once filled with laughter and the noise of children, now echoed with quiet tension. Every look from Ifeoma carried weight. Every touch felt calculated.
I was beginning to feel like a guest in my own marriage.
—
By morning, I made a decision.
No more assumptions.
No more sneaking around.
I walked into the kitchen where she was preparing breakfast, the aroma of fried plantain and egg sauce thick in the air.
“We need to talk,” I said, cutting through the domestic calm like a machete through dry bush.
She turned, her smile fading.
“What is it this time?” she asked, wiping her hands.
I pulled out my phone, tapped on the voice note, and played it.
Her eyes widened. She froze.
“Ifeoma,” I said quietly. “What did you find… and what exactly are you planning to do?”
—
There was a long, heavy silence.
Then she sighed and leaned against the cabinet.
“You went through my phone?”
“I did.”
“Wow,” she scoffed. “So now we’re spying on each other?”
“I wouldn’t have needed to, Ifeoma, if you weren’t planning to ‘strike.’” I air-quoted the word with frustration. “You said she should be grateful you haven’t told me something. Tell me what?”
She looked me dead in the eyes.
Then dropped the bombshell.
“Amaka was pregnant last year. And it wasn’t from Chima.”
I blinked. “What?”
“She terminated it quietly. She told someone at my salon in confidence, thinking it wouldn’t spread. But it did. People talk. You didn’t hear it from me before because I didn’t want to fight without evidence.”
I staggered slightly, absorbing the shock.
Pregnant?
By who?
Was it me people thought was responsible?
Ifeoma continued.
“I never said anything because I wanted to trust you. But everywhere I turn, fingers are pointing. And that chat she had with you about ‘leaning on you emotionally’ didn’t help.”
—
I sat down, suddenly weak.
This was bigger than I thought.
And now I was wondering… was that what the anonymous messages were about?
Was someone trying to force this secret into the open?
Or were they trying to push me into a trap?
—
That night, I confronted Amaka.
She was shocked. Quiet. Then tears welled up in her eyes.
“Yes,” she confessed. “I got pregnant. But not by you, Ifeanyi.”
“Then who?”
“It was… it was a mistake,” she said, voice cracking. “I was vulnerable. It was someone I met through church. A counsellor. It wasn’t love—it was confusion. I was ashamed.”
I believed her.
But shame and secrets are close cousins.
And in Nigeria, truth rarely outruns gossip.
—
As I walked back to my car, my mind raced.
How much damage had this secret done already?
How many people already believed I was responsible?
And most of all—
Was my marriage too far gone to save?
—
That night, I asked Ifeoma one question:
“If you truly believe I cheated on you… why are you still here?”
She looked at me, tired eyes full of pain.
“Because I want to be wrong, Ifeanyi,” she whispered. “I want to believe you’re still the man I married. But every day you stayed close to her… it felt like I was slowly losing you.”
—
For once, I didn’t defend myself.
I just reached for her hand.
She didn’t pull away.
But she didn’t hold it either.
We were in the middle—between trust and doubt. Love and fear.
And the worst part?
We were both right.
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🔥 To be continued in Episode 6: When Marriage Meets Fire
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