I am the thirty-year-old unmarried woman who let her last relationship fail. My neighbors laugh that Nonso is now filthy rich.
“Foolish girl,” they say. “See what she’s missing.”
They won’t care that the night I had awoken to the scream-crying of his neighbor and made to rush to her aid, he had caught my arm,
“Where are you going?”
“That woman is being raped!”
He surprised me by chuckling, “By her husband?”
“He’s forcing her!”
His brow went up slightly, “Love, a husband cannot rape his wife.”
And I cannot marry a man who thinks so.


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