Chapter 2: The Coldest Truth

When Yinka Olayemi came out from the study, Amara don waka go already.

He walk with that slow, deliberate step, shadow long for corridor. Chandelier light catch him jaw, sharp like chisel. For my ear, Mama voice still dey: "That man no dey ever rush, Amara. You go tire before him." But today, him face tight pass usual.

Shirt collar open small, fine collarbone and chest muscle show.

The gold chain for him neck dey shine, just above him chest. He loosen collar with one hand, brown skin smooth—like ex-footballer for uni. The way him waka, e be like person wey no dey explain himself twice.

See as dining table empty, Yinka Olayemi frown small.

He pause, eyebrow draw together, lips squeeze. Smell of food still dey, but table blank. For once, small curiosity show for him eye before e hide am again.

“You no go chop?”

Him voice deep, firm, echo for corridor. Even housegirl stop work, dey listen. Na the kind question wey you no fit pretend say you no hear.

I breathe deep, swallow tears, squat begin clean carpet.

My knee press for rug, hand dey shake as I pick at the holes. Every breath hard, my eyes dey mist. I dey bite back tears, but e no gree.

Custom-made rug don full with heel holes.

Red, blue, gold thread dey scatter everywhere. I rub am, remember how proud I be when Yinka order am for me last year. Now, e don spoil—like tonight.

I try smooth am, but na waste of time.

The more I press, the worse e look. My heart dey squeeze, every stroke dey remind me say everything dey scatter. I breathe shakily, wish make ground swallow me.

“Amara.” When I no answer, Yinka Olayemi voice cold. “I dey ask you question.”

He raise voice, coldness sharp like pepper. That voice no dey repeat—he expect answer sharp sharp. Fear wan climb my back, but I no show am for eye.

I no look up, just quietly ask, “Why you no tell Kemi to change into slippers?”

My voice small, almost whisper. I pick at stubborn thread, blink tears. E sound petty, but I no fit hold am.

“You know say her high heels go spoil this carpet.”

Chest dey tight as I talk. I remember Mama teach us: remove shoe for house, especially for expensive rug. Na respect, but Kemi enter, respect dey disappear.

I lower eye, look the useless rug, bitterness just full my heart.

The pain heavy, cold. Bitterness mix with jollof scent for my hair. House just dey swallow my pride.

As I dey remember Kemi fair, smooth leg, vex just catch me more.

Jealousy dey scratch my belle. Her laugh, her boldness, the way she dey touch am in front of me—everything about her dey make me shrink. I wish I fit scrub her memory from my head like I dey scrub the rug.

Before I know, I pull up the carpet, ball am, throw am for trash.

Anger dey push my hand. Rug hook for table corner, I yank am, jam am for bin. I slam lid, my chest dey rise and fall, make anybody try me.

As I open dustbin, Yinka Olayemi see all the food I throw away inside.

Him eyes flick bin, narrow as he see red stew, chicken bone, carpet all mix. He wan talk, mouth open, then he just look away.

For big house, na only dustbin noise and my quiet sob dey break silence.

House feel haunted by my pain—no TV, no gen, only my cry and bin lid dey sound. Even AC dey whine like e dey pity me.

He look down at me, see say I wan break, but face still blank.

No pity for him eye, just that same cold calculation, as if he dey weigh whether I be wahala or just disturbance. Na that time I feel most alone.

“Nobody send you message to cook.”

Him words sharp like new blade from Oshodi market. My hand freeze. I think of all the times I try please am, all the times he brush me off like say I no matter.

“If you no fit do am, leave am for Mama Sade.”

Him tone final, dismiss me like pikin wey dey disturb adult talk.

Yinka Olayemi no look me again. He just call Kemi, “Come back, carry me go.”

Voice soft for her. He lean for hallway, wait for her perfume to full the place before he waka. I wipe my face sharp sharp, no let anybody see tears.

“Make we go chop.”

He nod her, small, tight smile. Kemi waka pass me, heels no make noise now, head high. I fit hear her victory song for her mind.

“Mm.”

Her reply musical, as if she dey dance to song wey only she hear. She toss her hair, no even look my side.

“Oh, order another one of those carpets wey Amara like before.”

He talk over shoulder, voice casual, like say my pain na minor wahala. The message clear: anything spoil, e fit replace—including me.

He look me, voice cold: “No—order ten.”

He make sure I hear, like say he wan pour salt for wound. My hand tight for fist, but I no talk. Na pride keep me silent.

Yinka Olayemi slowly wear him shoe, adjust wristwatch, no look my side again.

Every movement measured—he bend, tie lace, brush trouser, check gold watch. Every step na power show, as if to remind me who get ground here.

Even though I dress well tonight, wear fine, sexy dress, he still dey cold—proper, distant.

I touch the silk dress, the one my cousin swear dey 'hold man.' E no matter. To him, I just be another body. My self-worth dey slip away every second.

My phone buzz twice: [How far, little sister?]

Screen light, Kemi message—the nickname burn my heart. I wipe my hand for apron, pick am up, dey pray make she no mock me again.

Na Kemi.

[Chairman no get strength tonight oh, abeg. Next time try small salad, not all this heavy food.]

Her tone na pure Lagos-urban, playful but wicked. I see her dey smirk, leg cross for car seat, eyebrow raise.

[Abi the food wey you cook no sweet for am? Make I tell you, Chairman Yinka like light food at night, no too chop swallow, and also…]

She dey twist knife, dey rub my failure for face. Cheek dey burn, but I read all—pain need to finish me reach ground.

Kemi thigh and that tight skirt flash my mind again.

My stomach twist. I see her laugh, flip hair, skirt rise small. Jealousy claw my chest.

I no fit take am—I off my phone, block Yinka Olayemi sharp sharp.

Hand move on their own, block number, delete chat. E feel useless, but na all I fit do. Breath dey short, chest heavy with shame.

I look up at am, cry: “Abeg, no go.”

Tears slip as I throw myself block am. For once, I no send if I look weak. Voice break, plead. E sound strange, even to me.

Yinka Olayemi shock, so I talk am again, “No go.”

Eyes wide, lips part. He never see me like this—bold, demand. For one moment, he almost look vulnerable.

“No see Kemi. You no fit chop with her.”

I block door, arms wide, beg with all my body. Heart dey pound. Dignity don waka; only him matter.

“And you no fit…”

Word stick for throat. I wan scream, beg make he choose me, just once. But mouth dry, voice fade.

We don marry three years—why I go need her teach me how to take care of you? Why…

I wipe nose with back of hand, fight new tears. Pain of three years loneliness land me once. Hand dey tremble, soul dey ache.

“Amara.” Yinka Olayemi look me like say e no believe, clearly shock say I react like this.

He hesitate, eye dey run from my face to my hand, back to my tear cheek. Mask slip small, I see confusion flash.

As he wan talk, Kemi waka come back.

Her presence fill the place, perfume clash with kitchen smell. She stand tall, her smile dey cut like new blade from Oshodi market.

She stand for door, smile: “Chairman Yinka.”

She flash teeth, cool, collected. Eye slide over me, dismiss me like house lizard for wall.

“Make we dey go.”

Voice sweet, but meaning clear—she win this round. Gentle nod, already dey lead.

I bow head, no let her see my shame.

I stare ground, let hair fall hide red eye. I bite lip till e pain, swear say I no go cry for her front.

I never ask Yinka Olayemi anything before, but this time, I really want make he stay.

I dig nail for palm, half-moon mark dey show. First time I beg person for love. Silence thick like garri.

After long silence, Yinka Olayemi bend small, Kemi adjust him tie natural.

Their body move together like dance wey dem practice well. Kemi finger brush him chin, fix tie soft, sure. He allow am, face blank but no resist.

The two stand—one calm, serious, one fine, elegant—like perfect match.

Anybody watch go think say na them suppose dey magazine cover. Na couple wey Lagos wedding go envy, chemistry clear.

Just before door close, I notice under Kemi skirt, one big patch of pale skin.

For one second, time stop. My eye lock for creamy skin wey show under skirt—no stockings, nothing. Na final proof, final slap to my dignity.

She really no wear anything underneath.

The realization hit me like cold water. I feel naked, exposed, all my pain open for doorway.