Dreams to vows

Chapter 11: Misunderstandings

*"Find joy in the journey."* — Unknown

--------

POV: Priscilla

It’s a Monday morning, and I’m determined to make things right with John. After our argument, the thought of leaving things unresolved gnaws at me. I’ve been rehearsing my apology all night, and today, I’m going to surprise him at his office.

I take extra care getting ready, choosing a light blue dress that I know John likes, the one that hugs my figure just right, striking a balance between elegance and professionalism. My makeup is subtle yet polished, and I sweep my hair into a neat, sophisticated bun. I need to look composed, confident—like the woman who’s ready to mend this rift.

The drive to John’s office is filled with anticipation. My heart pounds with a mixture of anxiety and hope, the cityscape of Lagos blurring past me as I replay my words in my head, trying to make them perfect.

John’s company headquarters is an imposing skyscraper in the heart of Victoria Island. The building is a marvel of modern architecture, all gleaming glass and steel, towering over the city. It’s a symbol of power, wealth, and influence—just like John.

I pull into the private parking garage reserved for executives, my car dwarfed by the sleek, luxury vehicles that fill the spaces. As I step out, I’m greeted by the quiet hum of the underground garage, the click of my heels echoing against the concrete. I feel a wave of nerves wash over me but quickly push it aside. I’m here to fix things, and nothing will stop me.

The elevator ride up to the top floor is smooth and fast, the kind of ride that makes you feel like you’re ascending into the clouds. John’s office is on the 35th floor, the entire level dedicated to his private workspace and the executive suite. When the elevator doors slide open, I’m greeted by the sight of a polished marble floor, sleek modern furniture, and expansive glass walls that offer a breathtaking view of the Lagos skyline.

The reception area is quiet, almost serene, with the receptionist giving me a polite nod as I walk past. She knows me; I’ve been here enough times, though always by appointment or to pick John up for dinner. But today is different. Today, I’m here unannounced.

As I walk down the long, carpeted hallway leading to John’s office, the opulence of the surroundings does little to calm my nerves. The walls are adorned with contemporary art, the kind that probably costs more than I care to imagine. Each step brings me closer to John, and with it, a surge of hope that maybe, just maybe, we can sort this out.

But as I approach the door to his office, I hear something that makes me pause—laughter. It’s a light, melodic sound, and it’s not John’s. I hesitate, my hand hovering over the door handle, my heart pounding in my chest.

The door is slightly ajar, and through the gap, I can see John sitting at his massive mahogany desk, a picture of power and control. He’s leaning back in his chair, relaxed, his attention focused on someone standing next to him.

"Clara".

She’s perched on the edge of his desk, her long legs crossed casually, her figure perfectly accentuated by a sleek, designer dress in a bold shade of red. Her dark hair falls in waves over her shoulders, and her smile is all teeth—bright, confident, and, in this moment, deeply unsettling.

They’re laughing together, their voices low and intimate. Clara says something, and John chuckles, the sound deep and familiar. She leans in closer, her hand resting lightly on his arm, her body language far too familiar for my liking.

A cold feeling settles in the pit of my stomach as I watch them. The way Clara looks at John, the way he seems at ease with her, as if they’re sharing some private joke—it’s all too much. I’ve always known that John’s work life was demanding, full of late nights and high-pressure meetings, but this? This feels different. This feels personal.

Clara glances up, and our eyes meet through the gap in the door. Her smile widens—smug, almost victorious—and she shifts closer to John, whispering something in his ear that makes him smile again.

I feel a sharp pang in my chest. My first instinct is to storm in and demand to know what’s going on, but I can’t move. I’m frozen, rooted to the spot by the sight of them together. Every insecurity I’ve ever had comes rushing to the surface, and the doubts I’ve been trying to suppress since our argument come crashing down on me.

John finally notices me. His smile falters, replaced by a look of surprise, and then something else—concern, maybe? But I don’t wait to find out. I can’t.

I turn and walk away, my footsteps echoing in the quiet hallway. Each step feels heavier than the last, my vision blurring with unshed tears. I don’t know where I’m going; I just know I need to get out of there, away from the sight of John and Clara, away from the image that’s now burned into my mind.

The elevator ride down is agonizingly slow. I press the button repeatedly, willing the doors to close faster, to take me far away from the scene I just witnessed. My thoughts are a whirlwind of confusion, hurt, and anger, all swirling together, making it hard to breathe.

When the elevator finally reaches the lobby, I all but stumble out, my heart pounding in my chest. The bright sunlight outside feels like a harsh contrast to the darkness settling over me. I make it to my car and fumble with the keys, my hands trembling so much that it takes me a few tries to unlock the door.

Once inside, I slam the door shut and sit there, gripping the steering wheel, trying to steady my breathing. I can’t believe what I just saw. My mind races, jumping to all the wrong conclusions, and I can’t stop the tears from finally spilling over.

As I sit there, staring blankly out of the windshield, I can’t help but wonder--what if I’m losing him? What if, despite everything, Clara is the one who really understands him now?

The drive home is a blur of emotions, my thoughts too chaotic to make sense of. All I know is that something has shifted between John and me, and I’m not sure how or if we can fix it.