The microphone in David’s hand shook, but he squeezed it tighter and smiled like a champion. Cameras flashed. Staff clapped. A bright red carpet ran across the compound of Northside Holdings, a famous company in Lagos with glass walls that glittered in the morning Sunday banners waved. “Welcome our new manager.

” “Good morning, everyone,” David said, voice loud and proud. “Today marks a new chapter for North Side.” He paused. His eyes were not on the crowd. They were on the gate. He was searching for someone. He wanted Sonia to be there. Not because he missed her. Not because he loved her. He wanted her to watch him shine.

He wanted her to feel small. The gate began to open. A black Bentley rolled in slow and smooth like it knew it owned the ground it touched. Two tall security guards walked beside it. Eyes set, shoulders straight. The crowd began to whisper. Even the photographer lowered his camera. The Bentley stopped at the carpet.

The back door opened. A woman stepped out in an expensive anchor gown with gold jewelry that caught the light. Her wig lay gently on her shoulders. Her chin was high. Her smile was calm. “It was Sonia,” the MC raised the microphone, his voice rising over the buzz. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he announced.

“Stand as we welcome the new CEO of Northside Holdings, Mrs. Sonia Adile.” Everywhere people stood, heads bowed, palms clapped, phones tilted up to record. David’s face went pale. How? He said, but it burst out by mistake. Louder than a whisper, softer than a shout. How can she be the CEO? Sonia did not look shocked. She looked ready.

She moved down the red carpet with the two guards behind her, the crowd parting on both sides like water. And as she climbed the stage to stand next to David, the whole company held its breath. Two days earlier, the night Lagos held its heat like a secret. David had danced alone in his small living room. He waved a paper letter in the air and laughed. A wild happy sound. The letter was thick.

The logo at the top was bold. Northside Holdings appointment. Manager. He had finally made it. The call had come that evening. A smooth voice from HR. A polite congrats. a neat salary, benefits, a car, a driver, a house allowance, a promise of respect. He had wanted this for years. He turned to the bedroom door.

“Sonia,” he called, “Come and see something.” Sonia came out, wiping her hands on a towel. A little flower still on her fingers from baking meat pies they sold on Sundays to pay bills. She had a quiet smile, the kind that stayed even when life was hard, her eyes shone. “What is it?” she asked. David held up the letter like a trophy.

Your husband is the new manager of Northside Holdings. Sonia’s mouth fell open and then she clapped both hands over it and laughed. David, are you serious? Oh my God. Thank you, Jesus. She ran forward, hugging him tight. I’m so proud of you. This is the start we prayed for. But his embrace hardened, and then it dropped away.

The joy on his face folded into something else sharp, cold. Pack your things, he said. Sonia blinked. What? I said, pack your things, David repeated. He walked to the table, pulled a white envelope from under the appointment letter, and dropped it at her feet. It’s over between us. She stared at the envelope like it might bite her.

“David, what is this?” “A divorce letter,” he said. “I’ve made my decision.” Sonia looked up, eyes full, voice small. “Is this a joke, David? We’ve been together for 5 years. We fought for each other when no one believed in us. I sold my jewelry when you needed money for that exam. We prayed every night. We prayed. He cut in hard. I’m not in your class again.

The words hit like a slap. From now on, I need a woman who matches my level. A wife who can stand in the kind of places I’m going. You’re not that woman. Silence filled the room like smoke. Sonia’s fingers trembled as she opened the envelope. The paper inside was real, stamped, signed, cold.

Her mouth opened, but no words came. Tears did instead. David, she whispered. Don’t do this. Please don’t throw us away because of a title. Please. He looked over her shoulder, passed her, through her like she had become a wall he could not be bothered to paint. “I’m done,” he said.

He walked to the door, opened it, and held it wide. The corridor outside was dark. The night smelled like dust and fuel. Get out. Sonia stepped back, shocked. In the night, David, please. Neighbors will see David. He turned his face away from her, pleading, and stood still as a stone. She wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand.

She lifted her small suitcase from under the bed. She took two dresses, a toothbrush, a photo of them smiling on a beach, and the recipe book her mother gave her before she died. She paused by the door one last time, hoping for anything soft. “Don’t make me beg you,” she said gently. “You’ll hate yourself tomorrow.” He closed the door in her face.