Daniel found the messages by accident.
At least, that was what he said.
I had stepped away to wash my hands, leaving my phone on the bed, face down, screen locked—or so I thought. When I came back, he was sitting too still, my phone in his hands, his jaw clenched so tightly I could see the muscle twitch.
"What is this?" he asked.
My stomach dropped.
"Daniel...give me my phone."
"Who is Femi?" His voice shook. Not loud. Worse. Controlled.
I froze.
"He's… a friend."
He laughed, sharp and humorless. "A friend who asks if you've eaten. A friend you text late at night. A friend you hide from me?"
"I didn't hide anything," I said, though my voice betrayed me.
He stood up suddenly. "So I'm crazy now? I'm imagining things?"
"You went through my phone," I said, disbelief washing over me. "That's not okay."
"I did it because I love you," he snapped. "Because I can feel you slipping away from me!"
The room felt too small.
"You're talking to a forty-one-year-old man," he continued bitterly. "A rich man. Of course. That's how it starts."
"That's not fair," I said, tears burning my eyes. "You don't even know him."
"I know enough," he said. "I know you're changing. I know I can't compete with someone like that."
He stepped closer, his voice dropping.
"After everything we've been through… after all I'm struggling with… you're just going to abandon me?"
The words hit where they always did—my guilt.
"I've supported you," I whispered. "Even when I had nothing."
"And now you're tired," he said softly. "Now you want better."
I shook my head. "I just want peace."
His expression hardened.
"If you stay with me," he said slowly, "you'll stop talking to him."
Silence.
"I won't give ultimatums," he added quickly. "But if you care about me, you'll choose."
Choose.
I felt something tear inside me.
I failed the exam.
When I saw the score, my vision blurred. All those nights. All that pressure. And still—failure.
Something inside me finally broke.
I didn't go home. I couldn't face my parents. I couldn't face Daniel. I couldn't even face myself.
I texted Femi.
I'm not okay.
He replied immediately.
Where are you?
I hesitated, then sent Lia's address.
Can I see you?
His response came without delay.
I'm on my way.
He arrived with quiet thoughtfulness—not rushing, not dramatic.
When I stepped outside, I saw the gifts first: a small bouquet of soft flowers, a paper bag with chocolates, a handwritten card, and a delicate bracelet that caught the streetlight gently.
Nothing excessive. Nothing loud.
Just care.
I broke down the moment I sat in his car.
I cried the kind of cry that empties you out—the ugly, gasping kind. He didn't interrupt. Didn't try to fix me. He just handed me tissues and let me be.
"I failed," I sobbed. "Everything is falling apart."
"I'm here," he said simply.
We stayed in the car for hours, parked quietly, talking about nothing and everything. About fear. About expectations. About how life doesn't wait for you to be ready.
"I don't want to pressure you," he said at some point. "Tell me what you need."
I wiped my face. "Just… don't disappear."
"I won't," he said. "Not unless you ask me to."
I looked at him then—really looked at him—and understood something dangerous and comforting all at once.
He wasn't asking to be chosen.
He was choosing to stay steady.
And that scared me more than anything.