Chapter 2 - Eight Years in BlackBy thirty-two, I had carved out a dignified, quiet life for Obinna and myself.
My hands were calloused from hard work, my eyes carried the steady, unshakeable strength of a woman who had survived the worst life could throw at her. Obinna was now eight years oldâa brilliant, gentle boy who shared his fatherâs deep brown eyes and soft laugh.
I kept a single black-and-white photograph of Tobenna on my bedside table. Every night, Obinna would look at it and ask, âMom, tell me about Dad again.â
And I would tell him about the honest, hardworking man who loved us, the man the river took away too soon.
Then came a Tuesday afternoon in October that shattered my reality into a thousand pieces.
During our lunch break at the clinic, a new administrative assistant named Amara sat beside me, scrolling through her phone with a bright, joyful smile.
âLook at these photos from my cousinâs store opening in Enugu!â Amara gushed, holding the screen toward our group. âThey look so happy!â
A coworker leaned in. âBeautiful couple! They look like royalty.â
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I casually glanced at the phone screen, holding my teacup.
My heart stopped beating. The tea spilled across my knuckles, burning my skin, but I didn't feel a thing.
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