Weeks of unpaid suspension passed in a fog. Adanna spent most days inside her apartment, too ashamed to face the outside world. The phone calls from friends and colleagues gradually dwindled, and the loneliness that crept in became her constant companion.
Her mother had called several times, sensing that something was wrong, but Adanna couldn't bear to tell her the truth. How could she explain that everything she had worked for, everything her parents had been so proud of, was now hanging by a thread?
The silence in her apartment was suffocating. Every time she looked at her phone, she expected a message from Damilola, some sign that there was still hope for them, but it never came. Instead, the days stretched on, filled with nothing but regret and self-recrimination.
One night, as she sat curled up on her couch, staring blankly at the TV, her phone buzzed. It was a message from an old colleague.
I heard what happened. Are you okay?
Adanna stared at the screen, unsure how to respond. Was she okay? No, she wasn't. She hadn't been okay for a long time. But admitting that felt like another failure, and she wasn't sure she could handle any more.
She typed out a quick reply, I'm fine. Just taking some time off, before tossing her phone aside. The lie sat heavy in her chest, but it was easier than admitting the truth.
Days turned into weeks, and soon, Adanna found herself standing at a crossroads. Her suspension was still in effect, and the chances of her returning to work with her reputation intact were slim. The few friends she had left had stopped checking in, and even Ebuka had faded into the background of her life.
She had nothing left to lose. But instead of feeling liberated by that fact, she felt trapped—trapped by her own choices, her own mistakes.
One evening, after another long, sleepless night, Adanna made a decision. She couldn't keep living like this, drowning in her own guilt and shame. She had to find a way forward, even if it meant leaving everything behind.
Adanna packed up her apartment in silence. There wasn't much to take—just a few boxes of clothes, books, and the memories of a life she was leaving behind. She had made up her mind. She couldn't stay in Abuja, couldn't stay in the city that had witnessed her rise and fall. If she was going to rebuild, she needed a fresh start.
She booked a one-way ticket to Lagos, where her sister lived. It wasn't much, but it was a place to go, a place to figure out who she was outside of her career, outside of the relationships that had defined her for so long.
As she boarded the plane, she felt a strange mix of relief and sadness. Abuja had been her home, but it had also become a place filled with too much pain, too many reminders of what she had lost.
In Lagos, life seemed different . Her sister welcomed her with open arms, offering a place to stay and the space Adanna needed to heal. The days passed without the pressure of work or the weight of her past mistakes, and for the first time in a long while, Adanna began to feel like she could breathe again.
But even in this new city, the ghosts of her past followed her. She thought about Damilola often, wondered if he had moved on, if he had found the happiness she had taken from him. She thought about Ebuka too, about the passion they had shared and the way it had all come crashing down.
One afternoon, as Adanna sat on her sister's balcony, she received a call from Chinwe.
"I just wanted to check in," Chinwe said, her voice kind but cautious. "How are you doing?"
Adanna hesitated for a moment, unsure how to answer. "I'm… better," she said finally. "I'm trying to move on."
Chinwe was silent for a moment. "I wanted to let you know that the HR review is complete. They've decided not to terminate your employment, but… things will be different if you choose to come back."
Adanna felt a mix of relief and apprehension. Returning to Abuja, to the firm, would mean facing everything she had left behind—Damilola, Ebuka, the whispers, the stares. Was she ready for that?
"I'm not sure if I'm coming back," Adanna admitted softly. "I think I need a fresh start."
Chinwe's voice was gentle. "Take your time, Adanna. You've been through a lot. Just know that we'll support you, whatever you decide."
After the call ended, Adanna stared out at the city skyline, feeling a strange sense of peace settle over her. Maybe she would return to Abuja one day. Maybe she wouldn't. But for now, she had found something more important than her career or her relationships—she had found herself.
Months passed, and Adanna settled into her new life in Lagos. With her sister's support, she began to find a rhythm—a job at a small community pharmacy, volunteering at local outreach programs, and making new friends who had no connection to her past. The sense of normalcy was comforting, but deep down, the unresolved feelings for Damilola lingered like a shadow.
One evening, while sorting through some old boxes, Adanna came across a photo album from her time with Damilola. Memories flooded back—laughing together at parties, quiet moments over coffee, dreams of their future. As she flipped through the pages, nostalgia washed over her, but it was quickly followed by a wave of guilt. She had hurt him deeply, and she owed it to herself and to him to face what had happened.
Determined to find closure, Adanna decided to reach out. It took days of drafting and erasing messages before she finally settled on something simple yet honest.
Damilola, I know it's been a while, but I'd like to talk. If you're open to it. I need to face what happened.
She pressed send, her heart racing. It was a step into the unknown, and she knew there was a chance he wouldn't respond—or worse, that he would and it wouldn't go well.
The next day, while working at the pharmacy, her phone buzzed. It was Damilola.
I'm willing to meet. Let's talk.
Adanna felt a mixture of relief and anxiety. The prospect of seeing him again brought a rush of emotions. Would he be angry? Indifferent? Or had enough time passed for them to begin to mend what had been broken?
They agreed to meet at a café halfway between their homes. She had to travel back to Abuja.
The day arrived, and Adanna felt a mix of hope and dread as she walked through the familiar streets of Abuja.
When she entered the café, Damilola was already seated at a corner table, his expression unreadable. As she approached, their eyes locked, and for a moment, it felt like the world around them faded away.
"Adanna," he said, his voice neutral but firm.
"Thank you for meeting me," she replied, taking a seat across from him. The silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken words.
"How have you been?" Damilola finally asked, breaking the tension.
"I've been trying to rebuild," Adanna admitted, her voice steady. "I moved to Lagos. I'm working at a pharmacy now and volunteering. It's… different."
"Good different or bad different?" he inquired, a hint of curiosity breaking through his stoic demeanor.
"Good, I think. I needed a change," she replied, gauging his reaction. "But I also wanted to talk about us. About what happened."
Damilola leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. "I don't think there's much to say that hasn't already been said, Adanna. You made your choices."
"I know," she said, her voice breaking slightly. "And I'm so sorry for the pain I caused you. I was lost and made terrible decisions."
Damilola looked away for a moment, collecting his thoughts. "It hurt, Adanna. A lot. I thought we had something real, something lasting. But you chose someone else."
"I did, and I regret it every day," she confessed, her heart racing. "I want you to know that I never meant to hurt you. I got caught up in everything and lost sight of what mattered most. I lost you."
His expression softened slightly, but the hurt was still visible in his eyes. "You need to understand that I can't go back to being that person who waits for you to choose me. It's not fair."
Adanna nodded, tears welling up. "I understand. I wouldn't ask you to do that. I just needed you to know how much I've reflected on my mistakes. I'm not the same person I was back then."
Damilola studied her for a moment, and she could see the internal struggle on his face. "So, what do you want from this conversation?"
"I want closure," she said, her voice steady despite the tears. "I want you to find peace. I don't expect us to go back to what we had, but I hope you can forgive me someday."
Damilola sighed, a mix of resignation and understanding. "It's going to take time, Adanna. I'm not there yet, but I appreciate your honesty."
Adanna felt a glimmer of hope amidst the sadness. "That's all I can ask for."