The days that followed were heavy with silence.
Jane no longer visited the lighthouse, no longer waited for Chuka's footsteps on the path. She buried herself in helping her mother in the garden, her fingers deep in the soil, as if grounding herself could quiet the ache in her chest.
But nothing silenced the questions.
Was she foolish to fall so easily?
Had she confused healing for love?
And what if it had been love after all—what then?
The village whispered now. As they always did. Curious glances followed her when she went to the market. Old women folded their arms and muttered. Not all out of malice—some even with sympathy. But Jane felt exposed. Like a chapter in someone else's gossip.
She couldn't breathe in the same way anymore. Even the sea, once her comfort, seemed restless—churning, louder, unsettled. Like it knew everything was about to break.
Then Chuka came.
Late one evening, while Jane sat on the veranda plucking scent leaves, he stood at the gate.
She didn't move to greet him. Just waited.
He stepped closer. There was no smile, no attempt to pretend it was like before.
"I told her I couldn't go back," he said.
Jane looked up slowly. "Why?"
Chuka exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck like he'd practiced this conversation a dozen times.
"She came back expecting to step into the same life. But I've changed. I mourned her. I raised our daughter alone. I learned to live again. And in the space she left, something else grew—something I didn't expect, but now… can't ignore."
He met Jane's eyes. "You."
Tears welled, and she quickly blinked them away.
"She's still your wife," Jane whispered.
"She left that behind when she disappeared. She made that choice—whatever her reasons. I made mine too. And now, I'm asking if you'll let me choose you."
That night, they walked to the beach.
He didn't reach for her hand. He let her decide. The air was thick with questions—but also possibility.
They sat on the shore, Ezinne's laughter echoing from somewhere down the path as she played with other children.
Chuka turned to Jane, voice quiet. "I never thought I'd feel again. Not after Adaora. But with you, I did. You remind me what life can still be. Not just surviving. Living."
Jane's voice trembled. "I'm scared."
"So am I."
He reached for her hand—not to claim it, but to offer it.
And this time, she took it.
But love is never born without consequence.
That same night, Adaora appeared again—this time not in fury, but in tears.
"I thought I could fix it," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "But he looks at you the way he used to look at me."
Jane said nothing. There was nothing left to say.
Adaora walked away, her silhouette swallowed by the shadows, and Jane stood at the water's edge feeling the tide roll in, tugging at her feet
like a warning.
Because even when love is chosen, pain still lingers.