Òyì nke e mepụtara

They whispered about her at the grocery store. At the gas station. Even in the church parking lot. “Did you see who she was with this time?” “Doesn’t her husband know?” Of course he knew. Or at least… he used to. Every night, she came home late. Different perfume. Different excuses. Same routine. She’d slip off her shoes quietly, like that somehow erased everything. And every night, he’d be sitting in the same chair. By the window. Blanket over his legs. Watching the door like it still m