Tears welled in her eyes.
“I was selfish. I thought I was protecting something fragile, but I was wrong.”
Her voice cracked wide open.
“You didn’t fall for Ifyoma Adaku. You fell for me. The clumsy girl who sings off-key, can’t cook, fears pigeons, the one who loved silly coffee and burnt jollof and rainy days with you.”
Tunday’s face remained still, but his eyes shifted, flickering with emotion.
“I don’t care about the money,” she said, voice softer now. “I don’t care about the name. I’d give it all up—the company, the houses—just for one more night in that tiny apartment with you, eating burnt rice.”
She took a steady breath.
“I’m not asking you to forgive me now. I’m not asking you to forget what I did.”
Tears slipped down her cheeks.
“I’m asking for a chance to show you it wasn’t a lie. That what we had was real. I love you, Tunday, with everything I am.”
She stood there, trembling but brave. Her heart laid bare, hoping.
Tunday stared at her for a very long moment.
Then, slowly, he reached out and gently wiped a tear from her cheek.
So softly, it broke something inside her.
“You were real,” he said, his voice rough. “You still are.”
Her heart overflowed.
She threw herself into his arms, sobbing against his chest.
Tunday held her tightly, breathing her in, feeling the broken pieces of his heart begin to knit themselves back together.
Not because she was perfect.
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