Adaeze's engagement ring catches the morning light streaming through her kitchen window. She's making breakfast for two, humming something soft under her breath.
The same friends who spent months trying to save her from David are posting heart-eye emojis under her engagement photos now.
Funny how that works.
Two years ago, those same women sat her down for what they called “a conversation.” Wine glasses leaving rings on Chioma's glass table, and faces full of concern and barely contained panic. The kind of emergency meeting you call when your friend is about to throw her life away by marrying a drug dealer.
"Babe, we need to talk about David."
She was exhausted then. Bone-deep tired from defending a relationship that finally felt... easy.
Easy was apparently the problem.
"He doesn't challenge you," they said.
"Where's the passion, the fire?"
"Remember how alive you were with Biodun?"
Alive. That's what they called the three months she spent crying in her car after dates because Biodun would disappear for days, then show up with some story about his phone dying or work being crazy.
That's what they called love.
David never made her cry in parking lots. David texted back within the hour. David remembered that she had a presentation on Thursday and sent her "kill it" messages at 8:47 AM, right before she walked into the boardroom.
Revolutionary behaviour, apparently.
Her friends couldn't see it then. The way her shoulders relaxed when he walked into a room. The way she stopped checking her phone every five minutes, wondering if he'd remember to call.
The way she started sleeping through the night again.
They wanted the drama. The late-night phone calls where she'd dissect his mixed signals. The group chat analysis sessions. The emotional rollercoaster they could ride from the safety of their own relationships.
David offered none of that.
What he offered was something she'd never had before: the chance to exhale.
But you can't explain peace to people who've never lived without chaos.
The breaking point came on a Tuesday. She was sitting in her car outside his apartment, crying again. Not because of him this time. Because of them.
Her friends had finally worn her down.
"Maybe they're right," she whispered to herself, watching David through his living room window as he cooked dinner for two. "Maybe I am settling."
The man who brought her soup when she was sick without her asking.
The man who listened to her complain about her boss for thirty minutes straight and never once tried to fix it just held space for her frustration.
The man who made her feel like coming home to herself.
Maybe she was settling for all of that.
The thought made her sick.
That night, she almost ended the best thing that ever happened to her and almost walked away from the only man who'd ever seen her completely and stayed.
Almost.
But something stopped her at the door.
Three little words that changed everything.
Next week, I'll tell you exactly what those words were, and how they saved her from the biggest mistake of her life.