Daniel called seven times before I answered.
I watched my phone light up on Lia's bedside table, the screen flashing his name like a question I wasn't ready to face. By the time I finally picked up, my chest already felt tight.
"Where are you?" he asked immediately.
No hello. No pause.
"I'm with Lia," I said. "I needed space."
There was a short silence on the other end. Then, "Why didn't you tell me?"
I closed my eyes. "Things escalated at home."
"How?" His tone sharpened. "Morayo, your parents don't just throw you out for no reason."
The words stung more than I expected.
"I didn't say they did," I replied carefully. "It was… complicated."
"Does this have anything to do with that man?" he asked.
I stiffened. "Femi?"
"Yes. Femi," he repeated, as though the name itself irritated him. "Because people are talking."
I leaned back against the headboard, suddenly exhausted. "Talking about what?"
"You tell me," he said. "Older man. Rich. Always around you. You don't think it looks a certain way?"
"I didn't do anything wrong," I said, my voice steady even as something inside me wavered. "We talked. That's it."
Daniel exhaled sharply. "That's never just it."
I felt myself bristle. "What is that supposed to mean?"
"It means you like the attention," he said. "And I get it. He's established. He's impressive. But you should've shut it down."
The room felt smaller.
"I didn't invite anything inappropriate," I said. "And I didn't hide him from you."
Daniel laughed softly, humorless. "You didn't need to. Everyone can see it."
See what? I wanted to ask. That I was curious? That I felt alive? That for the first time in a long while, someone had spoken to me like my thoughts mattered?
But I didn't say any of that.
Instead, I said, "You're not listening."
"I am listening," he insisted. "I'm just being realistic. Men like that don't hang around for conversation. You're being naïve."
The word landed heavily.
"I'm not naïve," I said quietly.
"Then why does it feel like I'm losing you?" he shot back.
I didn't answer right away.
Because the truth was—I didn't feel like I was being lost. I felt like I was being found. And that was the part I didn't know how to explain without hurting him.
"You could've told me before it got this far," Daniel continued. "Now your parents are angry, people are talking, and I'm the one left defending you."
I frowned. "Defending me from what?"
"From yourself," he said.
Something in me went still.
Lia knocked gently and peeked into the room. "Everything okay?" she asked.
I nodded, though my throat felt tight. She hesitated, then closed the door quietly.
"Look," Daniel said, lowering his voice. "I'm not trying to fight. I just need you to be careful. To think about how this looks. About us."
Us.
I waited for him to ask how I was feeling. If I was okay. If I was hurt.
He didn't.
"I need time," I said finally.
There was a pause. "Time for what?"
"To breathe," I replied. "To think."
"That's not reassuring," he said.
"I know."
He sighed. "Call me when you're ready to be honest with me."
The line went dead.
I stared at my phone long after the screen went dark. My chest felt hollow, like something essential had slipped away during the conversation and I hadn't noticed when.
I hadn't lied. Not exactly.
But I hadn't told the truth either.
And somewhere between Daniel's questions and my careful answers, I realized something quietly devastating.
I had spent the entire conversation shrinkin-softening myself, trimming my thoughts, making space for his fears while my own went unheard.
I set the phone down and stared at the ceiling, wondering when love had started to feel like restraint.
And why the absence of one man felt heavier than the presence of another.