The illusion began with silence.
Not the peaceful kind—the kind that stretches just long enough to make you doubt yourself.
Amaka noticed it the first time Maduako didn't reply for hours after a disagreement that wasn't even a fight. No raised voices. No harsh words. Just a difference of opinion about plans.
By evening, her phone was still quiet.
She told herself not to panic.
He was busy. Important people were always busy.
When the reply finally came, it was short.
> We'll talk later.
No apology. No explanation.
Later never came.
The next day, he acted normal—pleasant, composed, unbothered. As if the silence hadn't happened at all.
"You seemed distant yesterday," Amaka said carefully.
"I don't believe in unnecessary conversations," he replied calmly. "Space helps clarity."
The logic made sense.
Too much sense.
She nodded, even though something inside her felt unsettled.
---
The changes were subtle after that.
Plans were made without her input.
Opinions were acknowledged but not considered.
Jokes about her being "emotional" were said lightly—but repeatedly.
"You think too much," he told her once, smiling. "That's a feminine weakness."
She laughed it off.
At least he wasn't shouting.
At least he wasn't controlling.
At least he wasn't Ikenna.
---
The real crack came when she asked a simple question.
"What exactly do you do?" she said one evening, curiosity casual.
Maduako looked at her for a long moment.
"I don't explain myself," he said calmly. "I provide stability. That should be enough."
Her chest tightened.
"I wasn't challenging you."
"And I wasn't defending myself."
The conversation ended there.
Later that night, alone, Amaka stared at her reflection.
When had she started choosing her words so carefully again?
When had peace begun to feel like walking on glass?
She remembered something Ikenna once told her:
> Confidence that cannot ask questions is not confidence. It's fear dressed well.
She pushed the thought away.
This was different.
This was an upgrade.
She had not fallen backward.
She told herself that repeatedly.
But deep down, something whispered the truth she wasn't ready to hear:
She had not escaped the fire.
She had simply learned to admire the heat.