Chapter 5: Sorry No Be Weakness

5

Odogwu Nnamdi had just finished a video call with a business partner when he saw Aisha Musa, clearly crying, standing there with the necklace box, staring at her toes.

He paused mid-step, his brow furrowed. In his eyes, I could see that brief flash of annoyance that came when office wahala threatened to enter his house. "What happened?" he asked, confused.

His voice was softer than usual, the kind reserved for junior staff. Before she could answer, Aisha Musa started crying again. She choked out softly, "Chief, abeg take this necklace back. I no fit collect am."

Her voice cracked, the words tumbling out as if they weighed a ton. A flash of displeasure crossed Odogwu Nnamdi’s cold face. He could sense something happened, but didn’t ask straight. He just watched her quietly.

His silence pressed down on the room like heavy rainclouds—waiting, waiting. Aisha Musa bit her lip, hesitated for long, then finally told him everything that happened in the office that day.

"Chief, I’m sorry for causing wahala for you. I just posted online to encourage myself. I didn’t know Madam would see it."

She sobbed, "I didn’t expect Madam to be so angry."

She looked so pitiful, like a goat wey see lion for bush.

She hugged the box tightly to her chest, almost as if hoping it would shield her from the world. "Chief, I want to apologize to Madam. Can I explain to her face to face?"

Odogwu Nnamdi never had time for social media. His time was always for work. But as the company boss, he knew how quickly gist spreads, and his usually hard face grew even colder.

His eyes narrowed, and for the first time, he looked tired—truly tired. "I understand," he said in a low voice.

He nodded once, and in that short gesture, you could read the whole weight of the family name on his shoulders.

6

That night, Odogwu Nnamdi brought Aisha Musa home.

The keke drivers were still honking on the main road outside, but inside our house, only the clinking of silverware and the distant hum of the generator could be heard. She stood timidly behind him.

Her hands were clenched tightly, her eyes darting from the floor to the chandelier to the framed wedding photo above the sideboard. "I brought Aisha here so she can explain herself to you directly," Odogwu Nnamdi sighed. "Amaka, Aisha is just my secretary. Because of what happened yesterday, I gave her a gift to apologize, nothing else."

I stirred my silver spoon and finished the pepper soup the housekeeper made.

I let the pepper burn my tongue just a little, refusing to look up. I wanted her to feel the distance, to know she was a guest in my house, not a friend.

Aisha Musa greeted me with a slight curtsy and a soft, "Good evening ma," her Hausa-accented English clear. She bowed her head, voice shaking, "It’s the first time I’ve ever received such an expensive gift. I was just too happy and lost control. If I did anything to offend you, please tell me. I’ll change, I promise."

I raised an eyebrow. "Aisha Musa, abi?"

Her eyes flicked to the marble floor, then back to Odogwu Nnamdi, as if she was searching for a lifeline. She glanced at Odogwu Nnamdi, like she was looking for strength, and nodded slowly.

I took a slow breath, letting the silence stretch. Looking at this young woman, bold like new born goat, still trying to challenge me, I found it funny.

In my mind, I remembered what my auntie used to say: 'Na small rat dey drag meat with cat, but e no know say na play.' "I’m not your teacher or your boss—I no get time to teach you manners. But I am Odogwu Nnamdi’s wife. So, if anybody tries to get close to my husband, I no go give her second chance."

Aisha Musa probably never met someone as blunt as me. Her face turned red and she just shrank back, looking even more fragile.

Her shoulders hunched, like a small girl that chop cane for breaking cup. "Amaka, Aisha came to apologize," Odogwu Nnamdi said. He knows my character and my style. Even if he didn’t like what I did today, he understood my feelings. So he didn’t get angry—he just let Aisha Musa apologize, already making a concession to settle things.

Everyone here is sharp. Just one look, you’ll understand each other’s mind.

The tension in the room hung thick, but I could feel our silent language working—he was pleading without words. "I understand," I said, deciding to give Odogwu Nnamdi a chance. After all, he hadn’t actually cheated.

I wiped my hands clean on my napkin. "But there must not be a next time. No matter who it is."