“I know that.”
Another pause.
“But loving someone and living with them aren’t always the same thing.”
I closed my eyes.
Every wall I’d built over two years suddenly felt paper-thin.
The silence stretched.
Then she spoke again.
“What hurts most is watching him convince himself he’s happier without me.”
Tears filled my eyes before I even realized it.
Because I had done exactly that.
Every day.
For two years.
I heard her sigh.
“He deserves peace.”
Another pause.
“And maybe that peace doesn’t include me anymore.”
The conversation ended shortly afterward.
I remained frozen in bed.
Unable to move.
Unable to sleep.
Unable to stop hearing those words.
Of course I still love him.
By sunrise I had replayed them a hundred times.
Maybe more.
The next morning sunlight filtered through the kitchen windows.
Eke was still asleep.
I found Adanna standing at the counter making coffee.
She looked surprised to see me awake so early.
“Morning.”
“Morning.”
Neither of us moved.
The air felt different.
Charged somehow.
Finally she smiled.
“You look terrible.”
I laughed.
“So do you.”
For the first time in years, the conversation felt easy.
Natural.
The way it used to.
Then I noticed something.
Her eyes were red.
She hadn’t slept much either.
Neither of us mentioned it.
Around eight, Eke came running downstairs demanding pancakes.
Life resumed.
Breakfast happened.
