28: A House, Not A Home.

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WARNING: Use of multiple POV's. You may proceed 💗.


Bibi's POV
Abuja, Nigeria.

He came back three days after our argument at the restaurant.

I heard the door open from the sitting room slow and casual, like he hadn't left me here sick and forgotten. My head was pounding, fever clinging to my skin like a second layer. All I'd been able to do was sleep. Khadijah had been an angel, making sure I took my meds on time and that I ate.

He walked in, dropped his keys on the console like he lived alone, glanced at me curled up on the couch with a blanket around my shoulders, and said nothing.

Not even "How are you?" Not even "You don't look fine, are you okay?" The anger built slowly, like hot coals smoldering beneath my ribs. "You really just walked in like you didn't abandon your wife in this house?" I snapped.

He stopped walking. Turned around, calm like he had no idea what I was talking about. "You looked fine to me."
"Fine?" I laughed bitterly. "Ayman, I've been sick. Burning up. I had to go to the hospital because I thought something was seriously wrong and you didn't even bother to check on me."

"I had things to do," he said coldly. "Don't make a scene. You're always making everything about you."

That was it. I stood shaky, but firm wrapping the blanket tighter around me like armor.
"I'm the one being dramatic, right? We've been married for almost four months, and who's done more damage than you? But now I'm the problem because I'm asking you to treat me like a decent human being if not as your wife?" I half-yelled, and he turned to look at me like I'd grown two heads.

"You know what, Ayman? I'm tired of this. Just divorce me." He blinked. "What? Kina hauka neh? Are you crazy?"

"You heard me. The case with my father is over. The threat is gone. You fulfilled your promise. You've married Bilkisu so free me from this. Go play house with her all you want. I'm done being the ghost in your story." His nostrils flared. "You're being childish, Bibi."

"No," I said, stepping closer, trembling now with rage and heartbreak. "I'm being human. I'm tired. This house, this marriage it suffocates me. You're not my husband. You never were." His face twisted. "You have no idea what you're saying."

"I know exactly what I'm saying!" I shouted. "You treat me like I'm invisible! You say I'm your wife, but you've made me feel like a prisoner." "I'm not divorcing you, Bibi," he snapped. "So just grow up. And stop acting like this."

Then he walked upstairs and slammed the door behind him. And I— I collapsed to the floor, sobbing silently, chest aching like it was going to split open.

After gathering what was left of my energy, I went to my room. That's when I decided, I'm not taking this anymore.
I'm going back home. That evening, I packed my things. Clothes. And other essentials. My dignity what was left of it. I called Khadijah up to my room.

"Zani gida koh, kije gida. Idan zan dawo, zan kira ki," I'll be going home, you can go home as well, when i com back I'll call you. I told her.

"Toh, Aunty. Allah ya kiyaye. Sai kin dawo," ok aunty till I hear from you. she replied. "Amin," I murmured. She disappeared into her room to pack. Thirty minutes later, I saw her leave through the gate. Soon, it would be my turn.

He left the house the next morning and still didn't bother to check on me. I managed to drag my box downstairs, and the security guard loaded it into the car for me.
Without looking back, I left the house.

I drove straight home. When I rang the doorbell, it was Aunty Shafa who opened the door. Her eyes widened when she saw me, tears still streaking down my face.

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