HIS LAST SECRET

HIS LAST SECRET Chapter 6: After

Chapter 6: After

I didn’t go home.

Home smelled like him.

Like the body spray he wore when he said "goodnight" and kissed my forehead.

Like the lies he told while holding me.

So I drove.

No destination.

Just away.

2:47 AM.

Lagos was quiet but my head was loud.

Every red light felt like a question I didn’t have answers to.

Every song on the radio sounded like a memory.

My phone kept buzzing.

Him: "Baby please talk to me"

Him: "I’m sorry"

Him: "Come back home"

Unknown number: "Now you know."

I switched it off.

I ended up at the beach.

Tarkwa Bay was dark.

The waves were crashing like my chest.

I sat on the sand in my dress and heels and cried.

Not pretty crying.

Ugly, heaving, "why me" crying.

A year.

One whole year I spent alone.

Therapy. Journaling. Deleting his number.

"I will never beg for love again," I told myself.

"I will never be the girl who gets chosen last."

And then he came.

With his soft voice and his "you deserve better" and his "I see you".

And I believed him.

Because I wanted to.

"One night."

"One mistake."

As if time could measure betrayal.

The sun started coming up at 6:12 AM.

Pink and cruel.

Like the world dared to be beautiful while I was breaking.

My phone was still off.

But I knew he would be there.

At my door. With breakfast. With apologies. With promises.

Men always come with breakfast after they break you.

I stood up.

Sand in my dress. Mascara on my face.

But my back was straight.

If I was going to fall apart, I would do it on my own terms.

---

**Day 3**

He was at my office.

With flowers.

White lilies. My favorite.

Of course he remembered.

"Baby, can we talk? 5 minutes."

I looked at the flowers. Then at him.

"I don’t want flowers from guilty hands."

And I walked past him.

My girls knew.

Of course they knew.

I didn’t tell them but my face did.

"Do you want us to drag him?" Tolu asked, holding my hand.

"No," I said.

"I want to drag myself out of this."

That night I deleted all our pictures.

Not to forget.

To remember that I survived.

---

**Day 7**

The unknown number texted again.

"He’s still texting her you know.

Just saying."

My stomach dropped.

Then rose.

Then steadied.

Because here’s the thing about betrayal:

The first cut hurts.

The second one?

It just confirms what you already know.

I blocked the number.

I blocked him.

I blocked the version of me that thought love meant tolerating crumbs.

---

**Day 14**

I went back to therapy.

"How are you?" Dr. Amaka asked.

"Angry," I said.

"Good," she said. "Anger is better than numb."

I started running again.

3AM runs.

To outrun the thoughts.

To prove to my body that it could still move without him.

I started writing again.

Pages and pages.

Not to him.

To me.

"Dear Future Me,

He didn’t ruin you.

He revealed you.

To yourself."

---

**Day 30**

He sent one last email.

From a new address.

"I know you won’t read this.

But I need to say it.

I lost the best thing that ever happened to me.

Because I was scared and stupid and selfish.

I’m not asking for forgiveness.

I’m just saying I’m sorry.

And I hope you’re okay."

I didn’t reply.

But I didn’t delete it either.

I archived it.

Proof that I was loved.

Proof that I left.

That night I slept through the night.

For the first time in 30 days.

No dreams.

No checking my phone.

Just me.

And peace.

Loud, quiet peace.

---

They say healing isn’t linear.

They’re right.

Some days I’m fine.

Some days I smell his cologne on a stranger and my knees go weak.

But every day I choose me.

Every day I choose the girl who spent a year alone to protect her peace.

And I’m not giving her up again.

For anyone.

The war in me is still going.

But now?

I’m winning.