The first time that Kemi knew something was wrong, it wasn’t the silence; it was the sighs. Bayo, her husband for eight years, had become a man of few words. Once so full of life and cracking jokes, now he came back from his accounting firm tired, into the comfort of his phone.
One night in their little apartment in Ibadan, Kemi put down a hot plate of amala and ewedu before him.
You haven’t finished your meal,” she murmured.
“I’m not hungry,” Bayo complained, gaze stuck on WhatsApp.
Kemi frowned. “Bayo, you’re never hungry anymore, never around. Are you with me any longer?”
His phone landed on the table, the screen illuminating the name of a woman. Kemi’s heart sank.
“Who is Ronke?” she asked, trembling.
Bayo stiffened. “A colleague. Stop reading between the lines.”.
But the damage was done. Suspicion hung between them like a dam. Their smiles disappeared, and fights broke out. Even their two children, Seyi and Moyo, began asking, “Mummy, why is Daddy always angry?”
The tension culminated on a Sunday morning. Kemi had got the children ready for church, but Bayo did not move.
“Don’t draw me into your holier-than-thou,” he snapped.
Kemi exploded. “You’ve changed, Bayo! If it’s another woman, just say so!”
Bayo roared back, “And if it is, will you mind your own business once in your life?”
The children stood paralysed at the doorway, tears welling up in their eyes. The youngest, Moyo, whispered, “Are you leaving us too?”
The room was filled with stunned silence. The two parents turned. It was the wake-up call they hadn’t anticipated.
That night, Bayo sat at the edge of their bed, resting his head in his hands.
“I did not sleep with her,” he confessed. “But I enjoyed the attention. She heard me when I felt neglected at home.”
Kemi’s eyes filled with tears. “So I’ve been neglected?”
“No,” he breathed. “But pride will not let me confess that I feel taken for granted. I thought that if I shut up, you would notice. Instead, I roamed.”
Kemi extended his hand. “And I let anger push you away. We’re both guilty, Bayo.”
For the first time after they had been separated, their fingers touched.
The ride home was not smooth. They attended a couples’ seminar at church, where they were reminded by their pastor, “Marriage isn’t about winning arguments but winning each other.”
At home, they began small, praying together in the morning, cooking dinner together, even charging their phones in the evening. There was laughter again, little by little.
One evening, Kemi gave him a journal. “Write what you can’t speak,” she told him.
Bayo smiled for the first time in weeks. “You’re stubborn, Kemi. But maybe that’s why I love you.”
And she laughed between tears.
Months later, during a family dinner, Seyi looked up from his plate and said, “Mummy, Daddy… you’re laughing again.”
And just like that, they knew, they had chosen love, not pride.
