Chapter 4: Silent Sacrifice

The day I come out from hospital, na Ifeanyi come carry me.

Dem say make I wait for nurse, but na him show first, shirt iron well, face serious. Hospital smell of antiseptic, but his cologne cut through.

Room full with fruit baskets, flowers, toiletries, clothes. Mama send prayer oil, aunty send shawl, cousin dash slippers. All to show say I get people for my back.

He pack everything well, then go sort discharge.

He arrange bags like driver, no complain. I watch, dey wonder if na same boy wey carry me sickbay those years ago.

When we reach downstairs, he carry bags.

He no let nurse touch anything. I wan help, he just shake head, “No, make you rest.”

Elevator full. He stand beside me, body slant small, block me inside. He just give one sharp side-eye—nobody fit try squeeze us.

Even for this moment, he still calm.

Like pesin wey get plan for any wahala. I just stand, dey look am from corner eye.

No sign of panic at all.

He just breathe normal, smile greet one nurse. I wonder if I fit ever get his kind calm.

After elevator, I thank am sincerely.

I touch his arm, voice low. “Thank you, Ifeanyi.” I mean am, even if my heart still dey bleed.

Ifeanyi look me side-eye. “No need thank me like that, after all…”

He pause.

Something hang for air. Maybe wan say "after all, na my wife you be" or another thing, but he swallow am.

He no finish talk.

Just scratch head, hand steady.

Eyes shift pass me, dey look elsewhere.

Na that kind look man give when something heavy dey mind. I follow am.

I follow eyes—na Halima I see.

There she stand, plain gown, face tired, dey support her mama as dem waka out hospital.

She wear simple, hold medicine, dey support one middle-aged woman as they waka.

Hand for mama waist, steady. I notice the way she look Ifeanyi—quick, then look away. Love dey obvious for anybody wey dey watch.

The woman left leg limp small, struggle to waka.

I remember say na accident dem talk. Halima dey patient, move slow so woman no go fall.

I shift eyes, look back—Ifeanyi don disappear.

Before I blink, na only his scent remain. He don waka, no tell me sorry.

He waka fast.

I hustle after, bags heavy. Mind twist, mouth shut.

I hurry catch up, no sure if na talk I wan talk or na curiosity, but I just ask, “You no wan go check them? I fit go house myself.”

Voice crack small, but I try sound strong. Question honest, even if I no want answer.

As I talk, Ifeanyi stop.

Shoe make sound for floor. He turn, face me, eyebrow raise.

I jam am back.

I almost fall, catch myself. He steady me, no smile.

He look down, face calm. “No need, make we dey go.”

Voice soft, meaning clear. E no want drama. He dey protect her from my own side.

I just nod, then hear his voice—soft, but warning dey.

He lean close, as if people dey listen.

“Amaka.”

Tone serious.

“I tell you about me and her because I no want wahala again.”

Eyes hold mine, steady.

“But if you think say you fit put mouth for our matter—”

He pause, face hard. Warning clear. "No try am."

“You dey make mistake.”

For Naija, we sabi boundary. I hear am loud and clear.

Hospital lobby busy. I drop eyes. “Okay.”

People dey pass, but for that moment, na only us dey inside that small world of tension.

“Sorry, I talk too much.”

Voice low. He no rude, just tired. I feel am, so I nod again, mouth tight.

He value Halima too much; no way he go want people see her suffer or look down.

He dey protect her pride. No be everybody fit do that for pesin wey no get money.