My phone rang just as I was trying—and failing—to concentrate on my notes.
The sound alone told me something was wrong.
"Morayo," Lia sobbed the moment I answered. "Please… can you come over?"
My chest tightened. Lia didn't cry like this. Lia laughed loudly, loved loudly, lived loudly.
"I'm on my way," I said, already reaching for my bag.
She opened the door with swollen eyes and a face I barely recognized. Her confidence....the thing she wore like armor—was gone.
She collapsed onto the couch the moment I sat beside her.
"It was all a lie," she whispered.
"Who?" I asked, though I already knew.
"Jeremiah."
The name cracked in her mouth.
She told me everything in broken pieces, how he'd gone to the toilet, how his phone had lit up on the table, how curiosity had turned into dread.
"A woman kept calling," Lia said, wiping her face angrily. "I thought it was his sister. Or an ex. Something explainable."
My stomach churned.
"It wasn't," she continued. "It was his wife, Morayo. Wife."
I said nothing. I just listened.
"He has two kids," she sobbed. "Two. And he looked me in the eyes and talked about the future. About building something together."
Her hands trembled as she spoke.
"I felt stupid. Like I walked into it knowing better."
"You didn't," I said firmly. "He lied."
She leaned into me, crying harder now, her shoulders shaking.
"I checked everything," she went on bitterly. "Pictures. Messages. School runs. Family group chats. A whole life I wasn't supposed to see."
I wrapped my arms around her, holding her the way she'd held me on nights I felt like I was suffocating.
"You loved honestly," I murmured. "That's not a crime."
She sniffed. "It feels like one."
We sat there for a long time, the room quiet except for her tears.
When her breathing finally slowed, I pulled back and looked at her face.
"Listen to me," I said gently. "Cry tonight. Be angry. Feel it."
She nodded weakly.
"But tomorrow?" I continued. "Tomorrow you wash your face, pick up your books, and remember you have exams coming up."
She looked at me.
"You are not failing because of a stupid man who couldn't even be honest," I said. "He doesn't get that power."
A small, tired laugh escaped her.
"Imagine ruining my GPA over Jeremiah," she muttered.
I smiled sadly. "Exactly."
We sat in silence again—two girls nursing different wounds, both learning the same lesson.
Sometimes the people who break us don't even deserve the pieces.