THE SECOND PROPOSAL
PARTY 3
The drive home from Jazzhole was a nightmare. Rain lashed against the windshield like nails, and Lagos traffic choked the streets, but Emeka saw none of it. His mind replayed Amaka’s words on a loop: “Nneka was the reason Chioma said no.” The WhatsApp printouts lay on the passenger seat—each message a knife twisting in his gut.
“Don’t worry, he’ll move on. And when he does… I’ll be there.”
Nneka’s words. Her plan.
He found her in their living room, bathed in the blue glow of her laptop. She was scrolling through wedding venues—a luxury resort in Calabar with palm-fringed pools. Her smile vanished when she saw his face.
“Emeka? You’re back early—”
“How long have you known Chioma?”
The question hung in the air like smoke. Nneka’s fingers froze over the keyboard. For a heartbeat, her mask slipped—panic flashed in her eyes. Then it was gone, replaced by confusion.
“Chioma? Your ex? Why would you ask about her now?”
“Answer me.” His voice was low, dangerous.
She stood, smoothing her wrapper. “We… met a few times. At events. Why?”
He threw the printed messages at her feet. Paper fluttered like wounded birds. “Best friends, Nneka. You and her. That’s why you never mentioned her. Because you didn’t want me to know you were whispering poison in her ear while I loved her!”
Nneka stared at the papers. A tremor ran through her hands. When she looked up, her eyes had changed. The warmth was gone. Replaced by something cold, calculating.
“So Amaka found you,” she said softly. “That bitter witch.”
Emeka stepped closer. “You destroyed us. You told her lies about me!”
“Lies?” Nneka laughed—a sharp, brittle sound. “I saved Chioma from a mistake. She wanted to go to Oxford, become a human rights lawyer. You would’ve clipped her wings! Married her, knocked her up, and stuck her in your mother’s house in Enugu!”
“You don’t know that!”
“I knew her!” Nneka’s voice rose. “She was weak! Always crying about ‘hurting Emeka.’ Pathetic!” She kicked the papers aside. “Yes, I told her you’d cheat. Yes, I said you’d resent her dreams. And you know what? I was right! Look at you—still stuck at that bank job, still scared to leave Lagos!”
Emeka recoiled. This wasn’t the woman he’d proposed to. This was a stranger. A predator.
“And after you broke her heart?” he whispered. “You just… took her place?”
Nneka’s smile was icy. “I fixed what she threw away. You were drowning, Emeka. I gave you life again. Me.”
A knock shattered the silence.
Three sharp raps.
Emeka yanked the door open—and froze.
Chioma stood on the threshold.
Time folded in on itself. She looked thinner, her cheeks hollowed. Her simple yellow dress was faded, her hair tucked under a frayed gele. But her eyes—wide, urgent, full of unshed tears—were the same.
“Emeka,” she breathed. “I came as soon as Amaka told me you knew.”
Behind him, Nneka hissed, “Get out.”
Chioma ignored her, her gaze locked on Emeka. “She didn’t tell you everything.”
Nneka lunged forward. “Shut your mouth, Chioma! Haven’t you done enough?”
Chioma flinched but held her ground. “The night you proposed, Emeka… I didn’t just say ‘no’ because of her lies.” Her voice trembled. “I was pregnant.”
The world tilted. Emeka gripped the doorframe. Pregnant?
Nneka laughed wildly. “Liar! You always play the victim!”
Chioma’s tears fell now. “I lost the baby. A week after I left you. Stress, the doctor said.” She hugged herself, shaking. “I couldn’t face you after that. And Nneka… she made sure I never could.”
Emeka turned to Nneka. “You knew.”
Nneka’s face was stone. “She miscarried. It happens. Why drag you into her drama?”
But Chioma wasn’t finished. She pointed a trembling finger at Nneka. “Two months after I lost the baby, she sent me this.” She fumbled for her phone, pulled up a photo, and shoved it toward Emeka.
The image blurred, then sharpened: Nneka, in a slinky black dress, pressed against Emeka at a club. His arm was around her waist. He remembered that night—he’d been drunk, mourning Chioma. Nneka had “comforted” him.
Text below the photo:
“He heals in my arms now. You lost. Stay lost.”
Sent by Nneka. To Chioma.
Emeka felt something break inside him. He looked at Nneka—*really* looked. At the woman who’d engineered his pain, stolen his trust, and danced on the grave of his unborn child.
“Get out,” he said, his voice raw.
Nneka’s eyes narrowed. “This is my house too! We’re engaged!”
Emeka yanked the diamond ring from his pocket—the one he’d carried since the proposal, planning to resize it. He hurled it at her feet. It skittered across the tiles like a dropped coin.
“Not anymore.”
Nneka stared at the ring, then at Chioma. Rage twisted her beautiful face into something ugly. “You think she’s better? She abandoned you! I fought for you!”
Chioma stepped forward, fire in her tear-streaked eyes. “You didn’t fight. You cheated. You stabbed your best friend in the back to steal a man who didn’t want you!”
Nneka slapped her.
The crack echoed in the hallway. Chioma stumbled back, hand pressed to her cheek.
Emeka moved like lightning. He grabbed Nneka’s wrist, his voice a guttural growl. “Touch her again, and I’ll forget I ever loved you.”
Silence. Heavy. Suffocating.
Nneka wrenched her arm free. She looked from Emeka to Chioma, her chest heaving. Then, slowly, a chilling smile spread across her lips.
“Fine. Keep your weak, broken princess.” She snatched up her car keys. “But remember this, Emeka: I made you. And everything you love?” She leaned in, her whisper venomous. “I can break it too.”
She slammed the door so hard a framed photo of their engagement night crashed to the floor. Glass shattered over their smiling faces.
Emeka sank against the wall, trembling. Chioma stood frozen, her cheek red, tears silent.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “For everything.”
He looked at her—really looked—for the first time in years. The girl he’d loved was still there, beneath the pain and regret. But so much had been stolen.
“The baby…” he choked out. “Our baby…”
Chioma hugged herself tighter. “A girl. I named her Ifeoma. ‘Beautiful thing.’”
Grief, fresh and brutal, washed over him. He reached out—not knowing if he wanted to hold her or push her away.
But before he could speak, Chioma’s eyes rolled back.
She crumpled to the floor.
Emeka caught her just before her head hit the tiles. Her skin was cold, clammy.
“Chioma! Chioma!”
Her eyelids fluttered. Her lips moved, forming one faint, terrifying word:
“Poison…”
To Be Continued...