Chapter 1: The Story That Broke Us

A year ago, just on impulse, I tell my wife one story.

I still remember how the words just fly comot from my mouth—careless like say tongue dey run faster than brain. Sometimes, na so wahala dey start for this world. The harm you fit do with just a story—people no dey talk am enough. That night, even the fan for ceiling dey fear to blow.

Because the plot wey I yarn get as e be, and the details too real, Morayo just freeze—fear hold her like winch.

Her face change that night; na the kind shiver wey dey catch person for harmattan morning. Her teeth dey knock, hand dey grip wrapper tight. I try laugh am off, but her eyes no blink. The air for parlour just heavy, like say spirit enter the room. The fear dey written for her face like newspaper headline.

Afterwards, I just dey regret, dey beg her again and again say na only fiction. But the trust wey we get before don scatter—every time she look me, I dey see fear inside her eye.

I try everything—cook her favourite egusi soup, crack small joke, even play her Tiwa Savage playlist. She just press phone, face hard, no even nod head to the beat. But the wall between us stubborn pass NEPA wahala. Trust be like china plate—once e break, wahala to patch am again. The look for her eyes no be the woman wey I marry.

That night, she lock herself for bathroom and call police.

She just run inside, carry her phone, lock the door. I hear her dey whisper, voice dey shake. Gate bang loud—“Open up!”—like say dem dey raid drug den.

Because of that, dem carry me go with handcuff, land me for jail.

For the first time, I feel how cold handcuff dey, even though no be for crime I commit. The cell get this kind sharp pepper smell. Mosquito dey bite my leg, one man dey mutter prayer for corner. The other men just dey look me with corner eye. Na small thing remain make I begin cry.

Now, make I write everything wey happen.

Na so I pick my pen. Maybe if I yarn am from beginning, the thing go clear for everybody. Make truth show face for once.