He did not laugh.
He did not ask what I meant.
Instead, he sighed softly, as if I had mentioned something minor and inconvenient.
“I told you not to look,” he replied.
The air suddenly felt heavier, thicker, harder to breathe.
“She looks exactly like me,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “She is pregnant.”
Obinna glanced briefly at Musa, who nodded once and returned to his bench like a machine completing an instruction.
Obinna turned back to me and reached for my bag gently.
“You are shaking,” he said. “Come inside. Let us talk properly.”
I stepped backward.
“I am not going back into that room.”
His expression changed slightly, not into rage, but into something colder.
“You already went into that room,” he corrected quietly. “You crossed the line.”
A breeze moved across the compound, but it did not cool my skin.
I felt sweat gathering at the base of my neck.
