It wasn't the confident tone he always used. It was small, almost apologetic. "But I'm so sorry."
Olaedo blinked, stunned. Then her disbelief rolled across her face like a storm. "You don't know?" she repeated, her voice sharper than before. "You're unbelievable, Chibuzor."
He actually flinched. Her words hit him cleanly, no soft edges, no cushion.
"Olaedo, it's not that simple—" he began.
"It is that simple!" she snapped, not in anger, but in that tired, frustrated way of someone who has carried the weight alone for too long.
She leaned forward, her voice shaking just enough to expose the hurt beneath. "I'm not asking for poetry or for you to magically read my mind. I'm asking for something real. Anything. You were right there. You saw what happened. So why didn't you say something? Why didn't you defend me?"
Her eyes searched his face, desperately trying to find an answer he still didn't have.
