Everything began on a calm Saturday evening in Nairobi’s South B estate, where I had lived with my husband, Michael, for nearly six years.
Our marriage had seen both sunshine and storms, but lately, the storms were becoming too frequent. Michael had changed.
His laughter was forced, his explanations short, and his phone — once carelessly lying around — had suddenly become his most guarded possession.
I tried to ignore it at first, telling myself it was stress from work or the tight economy weighing on him. But the late-night messages, the unexplained calls, and the whispered conversations in the bathroom slowly ate into my peace.
I kept quiet, hoping things would go back to normal, but deep down, I knew something was terribly wrong.…CONTINUE READING
0 Comments