WHEN LOVE TURNED BRUISES Episode 2

After the first slap, nothing truly went back to normal, no matter how hard I pretended. Kunle apologized again and again, and I accepted every apology like a duty. In my mind, forgiveness was part of being a good wife. I told myself that strong women endure, that marriage was never meant to be easy.

But something had shifted.

Our arguments no longer ended with silence; they ended with tension that sat in the room like smoke. Kunle became easily irritated. Every small mistake I made felt like an insult to him. If I spoke too much, he accused me of disrespect. If I kept quiet, he said I was being proud. There was no safe way to exist around him.

I started fighting back with my words. I learned how to provoke him, how to hit where it hurt without touching him. I reminded him of his failures, his unpaid bills, the dreams he talked about but never achieved. When he insulted me, I returned it twice as sharp. It felt good in the moment, like reclaiming my dignity.

The fights became routine.

Morning arguments over money. Afternoon silence thick with resentment. Night-time explosions that shook the walls. Plates broke. Doors slammed. Neighbors knocked once, then stopped knocking altogether. Shame made us loud, but pride kept us together.

Kunle’s hands became familiar weapons. Not always slaps sometimes pushes, sometimes grips that left bruises in places no one could see. He knew where to touch so the marks could hide under my clothes. Afterwards, he would buy gifts. A new phone. New shoes. Apologies wrapped in material things. I learned to measure his regret by how much he spent.

I also changed.

I became defensive, angry, constantly alert. I slept lightly, ready for the next argument. Love started feeling like survival. I stopped sharing my fears with him because they became ammunition during fights. He knew exactly what to say to reduce me to tears, and I knew exactly what to say to make him feel small.

Sometimes, after a fight, we would sit in silence, exhausted. Those moments scared me more than the violence. The quiet felt empty, like something had died between us, something we no longer knew how to revive.

People noticed the changes. My friends said I looked thinner, tired. My sister asked why I flinched when doors slammed. I lied effortlessly. I said marriage was stressful. I said everything was fine.

Deep down, I knew we were no longer lovers. We were opponents.

And the worst part was this truth I refused to admit: the fighting had become normal. Familiar. Almost expected. Peace felt strange, like a lie that couldn’t last.

I didn’t realize then that when a marriage turns into a daily battle, someone always loses.

And sometimes, both people do.

Continue reading Episode 3