BOOK ONE Chapter Three: Cracks That Pretend to Be Nothing
886 Words
There’s a point in every relationship where the truth starts showing up in small corners. It doesn’t shout. It doesn’t kick down the door. It just lingers, waiting for someone to notice. That was what happened with Kene. The shift didn’t arrive with thunder; it came quietly.
At first, he was attentive in that way men are when everything is still new and uncomplicated. He checked on her daily. He brought snacks for Ike. He called her “my strong woman,” like it was a compliment rather than something he admired because it made his job easier. The relationship had a softness Dinma wanted to rest inside, even though something in her spirit didn’t fully settle.
She told herself she deserved a little peace. A little companionship. A little escape from the memories that still clung to parts of her.
But peace built on cracks has a short life.
It started with small comments. Things he said lightly, almost playfully, but they brushed against her self-esteem in ways that made her flinch privately.
“You’re too emotional about things.”
“You like carrying the world on your head.”
“You take things too seriously.”
He said these words with a smile, a hand on her back, a quiet chuckle. And she would respond with a tight smile, unsure why something so simple stung so deeply.
Then came the subtle comparisons.
The way he talked about his exes.
The way he praised women who were more “calm,” more “relaxed,” more “understanding.”
As if her strength was a flaw.
As if her boundaries were inconveniences.
The deeper his emotional influence grew, the more she felt herself shrinking in small ways. Nothing loud enough to name. Nothing dramatic enough to walk away from. Just a slow erosion of self.
But she didn’t dwell on it too much. She had bigger concerns. Rent. School fees. Work. The lingering wounds from her past relationship. And now, the new life growing inside her.
When she told Kene she was pregnant, there was a moment—a tiny, fleeting moment—when his eyes flashed with something she couldn’t interpret. Not joy. Not fear. Something else. Something heavier.
He hugged her. Congratulated her. Told her they would “figure it out.” But the warmth didn’t reach his eyes, and she felt it.
Still, she tried to believe him.
Because hope can be stubborn.
Because faith sometimes feels like the only rope keeping your head above water.
As her pregnancy progressed, the cracks became harder to ignore. There were days he was loving and present. Other days he withdrew into himself so deeply that she felt like she was living beside a stranger. Whenever she tried to ask questions or seek clarity, he flipped the narrative skillfully.
“You think too much.”
“You’re creating problems where none exist.”
“You don’t trust me enough.”
“You always want drama.”
She started doubting herself. It’s scary how quickly that can happen. One moment you’re certain of your intuition; the next you’re questioning whether your own pain is an exaggeration.
Meanwhile, Ike was growing. Eleven years old, observant in the way firstborn sons often are. He watched everything, especially the way his mother moved through life. How she worried. How she tried to stay calm even when her eyes carried storms.
One evening, after a particularly tense phone call with Kene, Ike climbed onto the bed beside her and leaned against her arm. He didn’t say anything. He just rested there quietly. And somehow that simple gesture—his small body warm against hers—made her feel seen in a way adults often don’t realize they need.
She kissed the top of his head.
“You’re my strength,” she whispered.
He didn’t understand the weight of those words yet. But he felt it.
As the months passed, pregnancy amplified the emotional imbalance in the relationship. Kene made plans one day and withdrew the next. He questioned her tone. Her decisions. Her expectations. He made her feel like she was demanding too much simply because she wanted stability.
He didn’t insult her. He didn’t shout. He didn’t call names. His harm lived in the quiet spaces—where she constantly second-guessed herself and wondered why nothing she did felt enough.
Meanwhile, her belly grew.
Her exhaustion deepened.
Her faith wavered but didn’t break.
She prayed quietly.
Not for him.
For clarity.
For peace.
For the courage to leave if she needed to.
But she didn’t know how long she could endure the emotional maze he subtly built around her.
And life, as always, had one more twist waiting.
Because the day Chidera arrived—tiny, beautiful, full of promise—was the day Dinma realized just how alone she had been the whole time.
Kene showed up late to the hospital.
He looked tired. Irritated. Distracted.
He held the baby with the awkwardness of a man holding a responsibility he didn’t ask for.
And in that moment, something inside her settled painfully.
A quiet acceptance.
A knowing.
A truth she didn’t want to name yet.
She wasn’t just raising two children.
She was raising herself again.
From scratch.
If you want Chapter Four, just say:
Continue with Chapter Four.
- Writer
