WHEN LOVE TURNED BRUISES Episode 4

By the time we reached our final months together, Kunle and I were no longer pretending. The apologies had stopped meaning anything. Even the gifts disappeared. What remained was raw tension, stretched so thin that even silence could trigger an explosion.

Our house no longer felt like a home. It felt like a waiting room for disaster.

We barely touched each other. Conversations were sharp and short. Every look carried accusation. I started staying out longer after work, not because I was happy, but because returning home felt like stepping into a trap. Kunle hated that. He accused me of changing, of hiding things, of planning to leave him. In a way, he was right. I was planning just not brave enough to act.

The fights became louder, uglier. This time, there were no tears afterward, no remorse. When he hit me, I hit back. When he pushed me, I pushed harder. Violence was no longer one-sided; it was mutual, fueled by resentment and pride. We were two wounded people bleeding on each other daily.

One night, after a particularly violent argument, Kunle said something that froze me.

“If you ever try to leave me, one of us will die.”

He said it calmly. Not as a threat. As a fact.

From that day, I started sleeping with one eye open. I hid small amounts of money. I kept my phone on silent. I rehearsed escape plans in my head that I never followed through on. Fear returned but it was different now. It wasn’t fear of him alone. It was fear of what I had become.

The final fight didn’t start dramatically. There was no shouting at first. Just bitterness. He complained about the food I cooked. I laughed a dry, tired laugh that held years of pain. That laugh ignited him.

He slapped me.

Something snapped inside me.

I grabbed the nearest object a bottle from the table and held it tightly. For a moment, we stared at each other. I saw surprise in his eyes. Fear too. That was the first time he realized I was no longer backing down.

The house exploded with noise. Screaming. Breaking glass. Years of anger pouring out at once. We weren’t fighting over food or money anymore. We were fighting over dominance, over pride, over who would finally win.

I don’t remember deciding to swing the bottle.

I remember the sound it made when it connected.

I remember Kunle staggering back.

I remember the blood.

Time slowed. My ears rang. My heart pounded so loud I thought it would burst out of my chest. Kunle fell, hitting the floor hard. At first, I thought he was pretending. I screamed his name, shaking him, begging him to respond.

He didn’t.

That was the moment I understood that some fights don’t end with apologies.

Some fights end lives.

Continue reading Episode 5