Chapter 4: Public Shame and Fresh Wounds

One friend message me about hangout today, ask if I go show.

She talk say 'Amara, you gats come chop life, forget all these yeye men.' I no really wan go, but she dey beg.

After three days wey I lock myself inside house, all the wahala for my chest nearly suffocate me.

Even fresh air for balcony no dey help. My heart dey heavy. I need distraction, even if na just gist.

I reason say, maybe e go good make I comot small.

I go bath, package face small, wear new wig. I tell myself say na today I go try smile again.

But I no expect—

for the gathering, he carry him new babe come, even warn me for my face.

As I see them, my blood freeze. Even Halima dey do like say she no know me well. My other friends dey shift body, dey pretend dey look phone.

“Amara, wetin dey between us don finish.”

Tobi voice firm. E shock me. I just stare, mouth open small.

“Halima no be like you—she get clean heart, she dey sensitive. No use your office sense take dey bully am.”

The insult bite me for bone. E be like slap for public. I grip my wine glass tight, dey fight tears.

I drop my wine glass for table.

The glass ring for table, everybody look up, fear dey their face. I cross leg, try maintain composure.

True true, na complete drama be this.

If na film, this one don pass season finale. I just dey look them like say na stranger I dey see.

Tobi eye dey scan my friends. One of my girls move chair closer to me, her hand touch my arm, eye sharp. "Amara, abeg no mind all this one." Another friend glare Tobi, hiss under breath. I see the loyalty for their face, even though I keep silent. My friends don form wall around me with body, dey show say dem dey my side.