He Renovated Our Marriage for Her Promotion / Chapter 7: Amaka’s Own Corner
He Renovated Our Marriage for Her Promotion

He Renovated Our Marriage for Her Promotion

Author: Erica Contreras


Chapter 7: Amaka’s Own Corner

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The assistant called me while I was at home packing my things, putting my personal stuff into boxes one by one.

I dey arrange my clothes, kitchen things. Neighbours dey ask if I dey travel. I no answer.

She quietly reminded me, “Aunty Amaka, company policy says if you cancel, you pay 30% penalty.”

I laugh. E no reach me. I dey my own.

I laughed. “Who said I’m cancelling? If Tunde doesn’t want to cancel, let him handle everything. If he wants to keep pretending, let him continue.”

Make e carry im cross. No be today woman strong.

This house was bought by Tunde before we married. For the past year, I helped him pay part of the mortgage.

My own money dey inside, but I no dey beg anybody.

I’m not worried about where to stay.

I dey reason my next move. I no fit die for man matter.

Before we got married, I had my own small flat in Palm Grove Estate, fully furnished, never rented out—always left empty.

Thank God for sense. I fit sleep well for my own bed, no be by force.

So, between me and him, there’s nothing to fight over.

House no be do or die. I fit start afresh—no shame inside.

I don’t want this house, and the renovation costs are all his.

I dey free myself, dey chase my own peace.

When Tunde came back, my things were already packed into two big suitcases.

He see box for door, face change. Na that time e know say matter don serious.

He looked shocked. “Amaka, what are you doing?”

E voice dey shake, e no believe say I fit act like this.

“I tried so hard to make you happy. Even if you don’t appreciate it, you no suppose carry am reach this level, abi?”

He dey reason am, dey beg. But this one pass be careful. Sometimes, na to walk away dey give person peace.

I look am, shake head. If to say na old me, I for stay beg. But today, na new Amaka dey pack her bag. Na so life be sometimes.

As I dey fold my Ankara, the smell of camphor from my old box dey remind me of grandma house for Ibadan. This time, I go find my own peace—no looking back. The next storm fit dey come, but I dey ready.

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