Chapter Seven: The Bruises You Can't See.
The sting of the slap was still sharp, and Ezinne could feel the heat of it on her cheek, even though the physical pain had already started to fade. Her heart, however, ached with a deeper kind of burn. Chike's apology, the softness in his voice, the guilt in his eyes—they should've comforted her, but instead, they made her feel smaller, more insignificant.
"I'm sorry, Ezinne," he had whispered, kneeling beside her, his hands reaching to touch her like she was fragile, like she would break under the weight of his guilt. "I didn't mean it. I swear."
But you did mean it, she thought, staring at the floor, her mind swirling with all the ways he had hurt her, all the ways he had chipped away at the person she used to be. It wasn't just the slap; it was everything that led up to it—the control, the manipulation, the constant whisper of "I'm sorry" that never really meant anything.
She stayed silent, the tears welling in her eyes not from the physical pain, but from the crushing weight of it all. The broken promises. The lies. The endless cycle that had now become her life.
Chike had backed off after a few moments, leaving her in the silence that felt suffocating, the room filled with the kind of heaviness that only abuse could bring. He was gone now, leaving her to think. To think about everything. She wiped her cheek, trying to hold herself together, even as the cracks were beginning to show.
She was exhausted. Exhausted from pretending everything was fine, from trying to hold it all in when the walls of her world were closing in on her. She tried to tell herself that it would get better. That somehow, she could make it work, that she could be the woman Chike wanted. But the truth was, she no longer knew who she was or who she was meant to be in this marriage.
What am I doing here?
Her phone buzzed on the table, the bright screen a distraction. She almost didn't want to look, afraid of what it might be. But then she saw the name. Ogechi.
Her friend had tried to reach out to her a few times before, but Ezinne had always deflected, brushing off her concerns with hollow assurances. I'm fine. Everything's fine. But Ogechi knew better. She always had.
The message from Ogechi read: "Ezinne, are you okay? I've been thinking about you. Don't hide things from me. I'm here if you need to talk."
Ezinne stared at the screen, her heart heavy. She knew she should talk to Ogechi, but she wasn't ready. Not yet. She wasn't ready to face the truth of her own life, much less share it with someone else.
She typed a quick response, forcing a smile she didn't feel. "I'm okay, Ogechi. Just tired, that's all. Thank you for checking on me."
Her hands trembled as she hit send, and she put the phone back down, unsure of what she expected. For a moment, she almost wished Ogechi would call her, that she would demand to know the truth, but she didn't. It was easier this way. Easier to pretend.
But as the night wore on, the silence became too much. The empty space in the house, the room that once felt like home, now felt like a prison. She stared at the door, wishing she could escape. But where would she go? She had nowhere else.
She couldn't leave. She couldn't take her son away from the life they had built, even if it was broken and shattered. She couldn't leave Chike. Not yet.
But then the thoughts began to invade. What if this didn't have to be her life? What if there was a way out? What if she could find a way to live really live again?
The next few days were a blur. The routine continued. The smiles, the polite words, the hidden bruises, both visible and invisible. Ezinne found herself withdrawing more and more, her soul weary from trying to keep up the charade. She couldn't even remember the last time she had laughed genuinely.
But Ogechi wasn't giving up. She continued to reach out, sending small messages of support, calling to check in. Eventually, she cornered Ezinne one afternoon after work, her eyes soft with concern as they stood outside the school gates.
"I know you're not okay," Ogechi said gently, her voice low so no one else could hear. "You don't have to do this alone, Ezinne. Please, let me help."
Ezinne's heart pounded in her chest. She looked down at the ground, her feet shifting nervously. The truth she had been hiding for so long seemed to press against her chest, but she wasn't ready to let it out.
"I'm fine," Ezinne replied quickly, her voice unsteady. "Everything is fine. It's just… you know, life. It's complicated."
Ogechi didn't press further, but there was something in her eyes—something that told Ezinne she wasn't fooling her. Ogechi could see it. The cracks. The pain.
"I'm here if you need me," Ogechi said softly, her tone full of understanding. "You don't have to carry this burden alone."
Ezinne swallowed hard, nodding as she forced a smile. "Thanks, Ogechi. I'll be okay."
But even as the words left her lips, she knew they weren't true.
That night, when she returned home, the tension in the air was thick. Chike was sitting on the couch, his eyes scanning her with a silent judgment. She felt the weight of his gaze, but it wasn't the same as before. There was something different in the way he looked at her now, something colder.
She didn't know if she could take it any longer.
As she sat down across from him, her thoughts drifted. The pain, the fear, the weight of her life—it was too much. Too heavy. And as she stared at the man she had once trusted, the man who had promised her everything, a new thought began to take root.
What if she didn't have to stay?
What if leaving was the only way to save herself—and her son?
She stayed up late that night, the thoughts swirling in her mind, until finally, as the first light of dawn broke through the window, she made her decision.
Without telling Chike, without giving him a chance to stop her, she packed a small bag. She didn't take much—just the essentials. And when Chike was still asleep, she slipped out of the house, her heart pounding in her chest. She didn't know what the future held, but she knew one thing: she couldn't stay.
She was leaving. And for the first time in years, she felt something she hadn't felt in a long time - hope