The Quiet Wife 2

THE ONE WHO LISTENS

Chapter 9: To the One Who Listens



Late one night, she typed with tears in her eyes:

"Dear D.O.,

I don’t know who you are, but I think I’ve been writing to you all along.

She didn’t publish that one. Not yet.

She saved it in her drafts and whispered to herself, “Maybe someday.”

But that night didn’t end there.

As she slid into bed beside Chuka, she noticed something unusual—his eyes were open, the glow of her phone reflecting in them.

"You write every night now," he said softly, surprising her.

She blinked. "Yes."

He paused, then added, "I read one of your episodes... the one about the woman who lost her voice in her own home."

Ada froze. Her breath hitched.

"You read it?"

Chuka nodded. He turned to face her fully, his voice stripped of its usual edge. "I didn’t know that’s how you felt."

Ada looked down at her hands, suddenly exposed. "It wasn’t just a story."

"I figured," he murmured.

A silence stretched between them. Not angry. Just full.

“I never meant to make you feel small, Ada,” he said. “I guess... I was so focused on keeping the house running, on work, on... life, that I didn’t notice you were shrinking.”

Ada swallowed hard. Her voice was barely above a whisper. “I stopped dreaming because I thought it made me a bad wife. I thought you'd prefer the version of me that didn’t talk too much, didn’t cry too much, didn’t... need too much.”

Chuka sat up, rubbing his hands together. "I didn’t know. I really didn’t. And that’s not on you. That’s on me."

His honesty cracked something in her. Not everything was suddenly fixed. But this was new.

“I’m not mad at you,” she said. “I was just... fading.”

He reached for her hand—awkward, unsure.

“I’m sorry,” he said, eyes shining. “You’ve always been more than just my wife. I should have seen that.”

For the first time in years, Ada felt like her words had landed. Not just online. But here, in her home.

The next day, she posted a new piece. A simple reflection titled The First Time Someone Listened.

And that night, a comment came in from D.O.:

“Healing doesn’t always come with an apology. But sometimes, when it does, it feels like a sunrise after years of night.”

She smiled.

Chuka was no villain. He was just human. And so was she. She thought in her mind.

And maybe, just maybe, they were both finding their way back—one word at a time.

She was full of smile that it was visible as she slept.

Her face gleamed in sleep and a fresh breath came out from her nostrils.

She hasn't felt like this in a very long while!

Chuka on the other hand, didn't sleep so well, he kept wondering, how can I be this insensitive, to not knowing my wife's deep longings! He wept silently, feeling lost and failed, and wished the hands of time could be turned to many years past, when they were still in the university days courting and learning each other.