I left the house at 1:17 in the morning.
Not dramatically. Not like women do in movies with screaming and crying and suitcases crashing down staircases.
I walked out quietly carrying one bag while my husband slept in our bedroom.
The entire drive, my hands shook so badly I could barely hold the steering wheel. Every red light felt dangerous. Every car behind me felt like him following me already.
Adaeze had told me not to go anywhere Emeka knew well, so I drove to an old staff apartment owned by a retired lecturer from my university. A woman Emeka had met only once during our wedding introduction years ago.
When she opened the door and saw my face, she didn’t ask questions.
She simply stepped aside and said, “Come inside.”
The moment the door locked behind me, I called Adaeze back.
She answered immediately.
“You left?” she whispered.
“Yes.”
For a few seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then she said something that made my blood run cold.
“Good. Because Ngozi tried to leave too.”
I stopped breathing.
“What do you mean tried?”
Adaeze inhaled shakily. “Three days before Ngozi died, she packed a bag and called her sister. But she never made it there.”
My chest tightened so hard it hurt.
“No,” I whispered. “No, the police said she died from organ failure.”
“They lied,” Adaeze said immediately. “Or they were paid to stop asking questions.”
I sat down slowly on the edge of the bed.
Then Adaeze continued.
“Chioma… did Emeka ever insist on preparing special herbal drinks for you?”
My stomach dropped instantly.
Because every single night for the last four months, Emeka had been making me drink a dark herbal mixture he claimed would help with stress and fertility.
“He said it was for my hormones,” I whispered.
Adaeze started crying softly on the phone.
“That’s exactly what he told me too.”
I couldn’t speak.
My mind replayed every night Emeka stood in our kitchen smiling gently while stirring those dark herbs into a glass cup. Every time he kissed my forehead and said, “Drink it, sweetheart. I just want us to have a baby.”
Suddenly all those moments felt poisoned.
“What was in it?” I whispered.
“I never found out completely,” Adaeze replied. “But after I stopped drinking it, the pain slowly disappeared.”
A cold wave passed through my body.
Then she added quietly, “Chioma… there’s something else.”
