“You’re this serious because you’re taking me to your people?” I teased, hoping to lighten the mood.

He smiled faintly. “I’m just thinking.”

When we finally arrived, the compound was full. Children ran around barefoot, goats bleated somewhere behind the kitchen, and the air smelled of firewood and fresh palm wine. His mother came out first … tall, slim, wrapper tied tightly, her smile wide.

“Gloria, my daughter! Welcome!” she said, hugging me like she’d known me all my life.

They had set up chairs under a mango tree for the small reception. Relatives kept coming to greet me … uncles with booming voices, aunties with big gele who asked when the babies would start coming.

I noticed food everywhere: steaming bowls of egusi soup, plates of jollof rice, roasted fish. They offered me a plate, and I happily accepted. But Michael… nothing.

“Son, eat something,” his mother urged, placing a plate in front of him.

“I’m fine, Mama. I ate on the way,” he said smoothly.

I blinked. We hadn’t eaten on the way. I almost said it out loud but stopped myself.

●

That evening, as the sun set, his cousins and uncles sat in the front yard telling old stories. Michael sat beside me, smiling and laughing at the right moments, but still not touching a thing. They brought roasted plantain and groundnut. He held his piece in his hand until it went cᴏʟᴅ, then dropped it on the tray when no one was looking.

At one point, I leaned toward him. “You sure you’re okay? You haven’t eaten since morning.”

He patted my knee. “I told you … I’m fine.”

●

Later that night, his mother came to the guest room where we were staying.

“My daughter, I hope you’re comfortable?” she asked, her eyes scanning me from head to toe.

“Yes, Mama. Thank you.”

She nodded slowly, as if weighing her words. “Marriage is patience. You’ll see some things you won’t understand. Just… trust your husband.”

I frᴏᴢe a little. Why would she say that?

“Okay, Mama,” I said, forcing a smile.

●

Around midnight, I woke up again. The bed was empty beside me. My heart jumped.

“Michael?” I called softly.

No answer.

I got up and peeked through the curtain. He was standing in the yard, barefoot, head tilted up like he was watching the sky. There was no moon that night, only dαrkɴeѕѕ.

I stepped outside. “Michael?”

He turned slowly. “Why are you awake?”

“I should be asking you that. What are you doing out here?”

“Couldn’t sleep. Go back inside.” His voice was calm, but his eyes looked… fαr.

I wanted to push, but something in me said to leave it alone.

●

The next morning, I went to the backyard to help the women cook. One of his aunties smiled at me. “Our wife! How is marriage life?”

“Good,” I replied.

She lowered her voice. “Don’t worry if your husband is… dɪffєrєnt. It runs in the family.”

Before I could ask what she meant, another woman called her and she walked away.

●

At breakfast, they served yam porridge with fried fish. I ate. Michael didn’t. He just sat, talking with his uncle. When I looked at his plate again, the food was gone. But I hadn’t seen him take a bite.

When the others left the table, I whispered, “Did you eat?”

He smiled. “Of course.”

But his smile… it was that same smile from the hotel … polite, warm on the surface, ᴇᴍρtʏ underneath.

●

That afternoon, his younger cousin took me to the stream. On the way back, she suddenly said, “You must really love my brother.”

“I do,” I replied.

“That’s good,” she said, then looked away quickly.

By the time we got back to the compound, Michael was standing by the gate. His eyes followed me all the way from the path to the house. I couldn’t tell if it was love… or something else.

●

That night, as I lay in bed, I kept thinking of all the little things. The untouched food. The cᴏʟᴅ hands. The midnight walks. The strange way his family spoke in half-sentences, as if they were hiding something.

I told myself I was just overthinking. Maybe marriage was just… like this sometimes.

Then, just as I was drifting off, I felt something.

A cᴏʟᴅ breath on my neck.

I turned quickly. Michael was lying beside me, eyes closed, breathing steady.

But the breath… was still there.

TO BE CONTINUED…