A streak of lightning briefly illuminates the room and an ear-splitting thunder follows. I scoot closer to the headboard and wrap my arms tightly around my legs.

Tonight has all the markings of dread and despair. The rain pounds heavily on our rooftop like a loan shark pumped on adrenaline, drowning out the heavy silence that lay thick between my husband and me.

I sidle a glance towards my husband who is sitting at the opposite extreme of our king-sized bed. The distance between us on the bed feels like a representation of the gulf that has developed in our marriage in recent times. I unfurl myself and tilt my head backwards, resting it on the headboard. I shift my gaze to get a better look at the stranger on the other side.

His broad shoulders are bunched as if weighing against an invisible boulder, His face is buried in his hands, and every now and then, I see a shudder run through his body with the help of the occasional streak of lightning lighting up the room. He looks so broken, I feel my heart crack wider with grief and a little guilt.

My thoughts keep drifting. What next? What now? Where do we go from here? The disconnect between us seemed irreparable, could we ever recover?

My vision gets blurry. The tears have been turning on and off for the past hour like water from a broken tap. I feel suffocated by my endless loop of thoughts. I need some air! I mentally panic. In retrospect, I realize this was what brought us to this current situation.

"I had needed some air", "a change of pace" then I met Finch; good old Finch.

We met at a church seminar where we were divided into groups and asked to discuss faith. Finch was in my group, and during introductions, I as well as my other group members were all visibly perplexed at his name, it was such a peculiar name and his features did not indicate being of foreign descent. When we asked for a surname and he replied with "I don't have one", it threw my group into disarray. After a while of murmuring, one member finally voiced the questions that were on everybody's mind.

"Who are you?"

"Where are you from?"

"How did you come about such a name like Finch?"

Finch simply leaned into his chair and observed everyone with a semi-amused expression. I was piqued with interest. I wanted to know if he would be offended by the intrusive questions but I was even more interested in his answers. After some seconds, he finally replied.

"Well, in summary, I'm an Ibo boy born to parents named Ngozi and Chukwuemeka Ibe. My given name is Chukwuebuka but I changed it when I came of age. As for who I am, let's just say I am an agnostic seeking truth".

"Intriguing", I thought, suddenly, I felt a shock run through me, I felt alive in a way I hadn't felt in years as my brain began to engage the gears needed to psychoanalyse this person of interest. Was he here for the attention he was sure to garner with the eccentricity of his name? Was he just another busybody with narcissistic tendencies? Or was he here to gain insights about "truth" as he said? But why a church seminar? Was this all for cruise and fun?

That was a year ago. After the group discussion, I waited for the group to disperse, then I approached him and we got talking. I had mustered the courage to meet him after deciding that picking his brain would not hurt, after all, what was the worst that could happen? I would probably never see him again since we didn't walk in the same circles.

"So", I began, "From choosing Finch to be your name to being an agnostic, what exactly are you trying to get at?" Are you trying to show the world that you're a different breed, some sort of "uniqueness" competition? Or are you just seeking truth, and before you answer, what exactly is truth to you?"

He cocked his head to the left as if observing me, that semi-amused expression of his firmly in place again like before, it's as if he is tickled by the fact that people are invested in figuring him out.

Crossing his legs, he replied to me in the most relaxed tone, his deep baritone dropping at various intervals.

"First, I sincerely do not care about acting out to get noticed as "a different breed," he said, making air quotes.

To be honest, I believe it's pure silliness and insecurity to pretend to be what you're not just for attention, which if I may mention is very fleeting. As for my name change, it didn't come as a result of my desire to be "different" or anything of the sort, however as I grew into my youth, the Ibo or should I say "African belief" that one's name determines or plays a role in their life pattern became baseless and sounded downright stupid to me. If that were true, then why did the richest people in the world bear names like gates and musk? That and other similar thoughts made me change my name to what it is now.

As for why I came to this church seminar, well, let's just say it was out of curiosity, I mean, I've never been one to discriminate or have a bias when it comes to my search for truth. Finally, as for what exactly truth is to me, I don't know or rather I can't really say, however, I firmly believe that when I see what I'm searching for, I'll know". He ended with a smile.

I sat there in silence. I was too dumbfounded at how articulate the gentleman was with his thoughts. He sure has his way with words, and he sounds intelligent too, I briefly register. Out of questions, I thanked him for his time and stood up to go, curiosity fully satisfied. I was engaged to Paul then who is now my husband, so at the time, I didn't want to give room for any small talk that would only lead down a dead end, so with a final smile, I swiftly made my exit.

However, it appears as if with that single interaction, I had made a deal with the devil because somehow, I started seeing Finch everywhere, at a point, it seemed like I was conjuring him with my presence. I saw him in the most random places; art festivals, music concerts, writing workshops and the like. It turned out he was a "creative" like me and that was one area that I and my husband lacked in common.

On one of the weird days, I ran into Finch, I was with my husband so I decided to properly introduce the two, telling myself all the while that I was simply introducing the two men and putting things in the open, but deep down I prayed that introducing the two men would make my heart stop the way it skipped when I locked gazes with Finch. During the introductions, both men seemed unimpressed by the other, they were like oil and water, and in my head, I tried to pull up their differences as proof that it was highly unlikely that I liked both men.

Luckily for me, after that introduction, it felt like Finch fell off the grid and I stopped running into him randomly. I made signs of the cross in private and thanked God for saving me from the boat of confusion that had seemed headed my way.

A year later, uncomfortable friction started building up at home between my husband and me. In all honesty, it was an issue that had always been there but like the way of young and dumb couples, we had swept the issue under the carpet and hoped it went away, and for a while it did, but recently it was now crawling out sprouting a hydra's head and eating away at the easiness of our marriage.

You see, my husband had always had this fear that one day, he would wake up and discover the world has left without him. When we were dating and he confided his fear, I reassured him constantly that such a thing would never happen and for a while, he seemed to believe me. However, after our marriage, this fear of his, started showing its ugly head in little ways but I chose to ignore the signs. I should have known with the way our wedding had been rushed that paul was still on an invisible marathon that he was running alone, trying to overcompensate for a reality that would never occur.

I was 24, and he was 27 when he first proposed. We had been dating for six months and I had just landed my first job when he popped the question. Back then, when I had seemed alarmed at how fast things were going, from his end, he had allayed my fears with his response that he was simply a man who did not like to waste time when he saw something he liked and wanted. "What's the use of dilly-dallying, when you know what you want?" he had asked, "life is too short" he chipped, so we got engaged and next thing, we were married.

The first two years of our marriage were blissful and all so wonderful but by the third year of our marriage and yet no issue, I noticed my husband begin to grow distant and more agitated, when I asked him, he would kiss my forehead and promise that nothing was going on, but like a creeping vine, the lie revealed itself in how distracted he became during our movie nights, we would be cuddling on the sofa, him playing with my hair when he would abruptly ask me if I was ovulating. Sometimes, he would just get silent and subdued while I rambled on about my day and when I asked him a question, he would straighten with a jolt like someone who had been electrocuted and ask me to repeat myself. He later confided in me that it was his irrational fear creeping to the surface but there was nothing I could do or say that seemed to bring him from plunging into the deep end.

Before we got married, I thought that the major issue we would need to overcome would be the contrasting nature of our career paths. The world of tech my husband operated in was a constant puzzle I could never figure out and my poetry and paint were the same to him but we were determined to make it work. So while I tried to understand his marriage to words and numbers, he tried to learn the difference between oil paint and water colours, we turned our differences into a bonding experience but when this friction entered our marriage, it brought with it an unwillingness to try any more on both ends. Our career differences became the scissors that left us in unrecognisable fragments.

My husband would hide in his laptop with his texts and numbers and I would hide in my easel and brush. The distance between us kept growing but we kept pretending it wasn't there till it became too big to ignore.

We went to many hospitals but they all said we were medically fit, that it was just a matter of time. Since we were both fired-up tongue-speaking Christians, we decided to follow it up in the place of prayer. It became a daily, and at a point, our only prayer request. We fasted, paid our tithes, and devoted about two hours every day to prayers but after a year and no results, our "ordeal" started taking a toll on us but in very different ways.

While I grew more sceptical about my Christian faith and the omnipotence of God, my husband became a fanatic and going to different miracle ministries and acclaimed prophets became the call of the day. I did not know how to make him stop, his desperation fanned by his unreasonable phobia became a recipe for disaster.

Every night found my husband devising one means or another to get me into bed, finding different virility drugs in our drug cabinet became the order of the day. At this point, I started feeling choked and suffocated, all I could think about was that "I needed some air!". This was not the Paul I had gotten married to, our marriage had turned into a case of "what I ordered versus what I got". Every day he kept metamorphosing into someone unrecognisable. It was during this marital crisis that I met Finch again and we started talking.

Like every story destined to end badly, he was such a good listener at the beginning. He understood when I complained about taking different unknown drugs that sometimes left me with weird side effects. He nodded with sympathy when I explained to him that my faith in God was slowly fizzling into thin air. He could relate when I told him about the times I had to feign sickness so my husband wouldn't make me follow him to the latest prophet "in town". He listened and was so understanding, that was all I wanted from my husband. Throughout my rantings and lamentations, he never tried to take advantage of my bitterness or suggest any lascivious act, which increased my respect for him.

One night, I was sitting on the sofa chatting with Finch on the phone when my husband sauntered in. He had never been one to keep late nights but then, he was not a lot of things till recently. He had this crazed look about him which usually occurred after he had received another outlandish prophecy from yet another quack. I wondered offhandedly what prophecy he had received this time, I had heard a lot of crazy things recently, and I doubted the possibility of being shocked anymore. My life had become a scene from a bad Nollywood movie.

His wild eyes finally landed on me where I sat on the sofa and he gave me a shy smile, his dimples showing. I found myself starting to smile back, that shy smile of his was still my undoing. He sidled onto the sofa beside me and begins to massage my shoulders, I stiffen in anticipation of what I'm sure is about to come next. This had become his modus operandi, he would first cosy up to me before making one rabid request or another. It had not been more than twenty minutes when he quietly dropped what I had been expecting all along.

Soooo, he began, "I met this really good prophet today..."

That was it, I couldn't take it anymore so I exploded. To my surprise, It quickly turned into a shouting match. My husband and I had always been very soft-spoken people who believed in hashing out our disagreements in civilized tones so I found myself taken aback by the way we went at each other like mad dogs.

Had we dredged steadily to the tethers of insanity that we've lost every fibre of our being and values? I distantly wondered, but my sober reflection is abruptly cut short as my husband grabs my arms and starts shaking me vigorously. He has a crazed look in his eyes and at that moment, I feel an emotion I never thought I would experience with my husband; terror.

I was born in a family where domestic abuse was the order of the day and my husband knew how badly it had traumatized me, hearing loud noises even still made me jump sometimes. I had been very weary of marriage till Paul came along and promised me that he would never do anything to take me back to those dark times in my life yet here he was, doing it without a second thought. I had physically shrunk in horror but didn't even seem to notice, he was still busy screaming his anger and dissatisfaction at my lack of sympathy for our situation, spittle flying out through the corners of his mouth.

I feel tears prick the back of my eyes and with all the strength I can gather, I wrench out of his grasp, unwilling to give him more chance to wreak any more havoc on me both emotionally and physically. I grab my car keys with no destination in mind and before he can say, Jack Robinson, I'm already out of the door. As I start the engine, there's only one repeating thought in my head; I need air, I need to breathe.

Somehow, I end up in a bar, it has been years since I last took alcohol, partly because I was lightweight and partly because of my Christian beliefs why get drunk with wine when you can be drunk with the holy ghost", but today, I couldn't care less.

The next few hours pass in a blur, I can't remember the series of events that occur afterwards but I vaguely remember blubbering some stupid stuff on the phone with someone but after that, there's a huge hole in my memory.

I wake up the next morning to repeated knocks on the bedroom door. Still groggy with sleep and a hell of a hangover, I drag myself up to a sitting position and watch lazily as a guy my brain slowly recognises as Finch goes to unlock the door, standing on the other side is my husband. His head is hung low like a sad dog and I can slightly see his sorry expression. He looks ragged, to say the least, I don't even think he has changed from the work clothes he came back in yesterday.

He lifts his head rattling off an apology when he suddenly registers who is on the other side of the door. Different expression cross across his face, from initial confusion to suspicion to disbelief to betrayal until he looks like he finally settles on the hurt. I sober up immediately, I knew how bad the situation must look and the gaping hole in my memory was certainly not going to help my case but I couldn't bear being the reason why my marriage finally broke apart especially not by this, not like this. I scramble out of the bed, realising that I only have on a big shirt that is not mine.

"Shit, shit, shit", I think, knowing how much worse things looked, I send a panicked look at the door but my husband is no longer standing there. I hold off on asking Finch for an explanation, I mean, I had a marriage to save. Without further ado, I rush out of the hotel room but by the time I reach the reception, my husband is already gone. I collapse to the floor and grab my hair, one thought repeating in my head; " Ada, what the hell have you done?".

Four months have passed, four months of witty deflections from Finch about what happened that night. The whole situation seemed to be a source of amusement to him. In his words, the whole fracas was giving him insights into understanding human nature. I called severally and pleaded with him countlessly to tell me the events of that night since my memory had failed me.

I explained to him how my marriage was at stake but gone was the cool and understanding Finch and in his place, I got a philosophical asshole who replied to my questions with rhetorical questions of his own like "what is a marriage without trust?" "What happened to the sacrosanct vows of till death do us part?".

A month later, I gave up on getting him to give me the details of that night and resigned to my fate. I just hoped I would obtain mercy from whatever powers that be and be able to remember, but as time passed by, my remembrance or lack thereof became secondary, what is the use of an attorney if the judge is not ready to hear your case?

Three months passed by with my husband and I living like soldiers in a minefield, each person careful not to do anything that calls attention to the other. In the third month, I started feeling sick constantly, It became quite serious, and I decided to go to the hospital for a check-up. I crossed my fingers and hoped to God that it wasn't what I was thinking, but apparently, it seemed God had gone deaf to my cries again.

I watched the positive pregnancy test stare back at me and what would have once been the glue to my marriage became the ink that would surely decorate our divorce papers. It was in that state of utter despair that a kind nurse found me and after hearing my story, advised me to go for a paternity test. I hadn't even thought about that, I already concluded in my mind that the baby belonged to Finch, but in retrospect, I realize that I had also been having sex consistently with my husband up until that fuzzy incident, so it wouldn't hurt to be sure. With my hopes in slits, I went for a paternity test making sure my husband was none the wiser. The day I got the results, I got an extra news that was the push the dominos that made up my world needed, to start falling.

I get home around 4 pm and my husband is not yet back from work. Recently, he seems to be intentionally working late but I don't blame him, I wouldn't want to deal with me if I were in his shoes.

I move to the sofa and lay down. I lay there and the memories of how good life had been for us starts coming back and I find myself dozing off.

Hours later, I'm jolted awake by the loud bang of the front door announcing my husband's arrival. I adjust into a sitting position and watch as he makes his way to the bedroom. My gaze goes to the clock, it is exactly 9 pm, perfect, I don't know, I've always had a thing for odd numbers.

I wait for some minutes, mentally calculating how long it would take for him to make his way to the bedroom, get changed, and be in any mood to have a conversation. After about thirty minutes, I make my way to the bedroom, tightly holding all my words wrapped up in a folder of lab files and test results.

As I near the bedroom door to open it, my husband simultaneously opens the door and we both jump back in surprise. After what seems like an eternity, he steps back giving me enough space to come in.

I take one slow step after the other, my heart beating very fast as a lot of scenarios flash through my head. I make my way to the bed and wordlessly hand him the folder. All the while, he has been silently watching me like an eagle observing its prey as I made my way to the bed. When I hand him the folder, he raises a brow in askance and then turns around and hands me a folder that had been sitting on top of our bedside drawer. I narrow my eyes in surprise, I had not expected to be handed anything in return, I guess I was in for a surprise.

I exhaled a long breath, this was looking like it was going to be a very long night. I rest my back on the headboard of the bed and make myself comfortable. I decide to wait for some minutes before going through the folder he has given me so I can see his reaction as he goes through the folder. I had strategically arranged the files in such a way that he was sure to see the pregnancy test first and so on.

He's still standing with his head bent, intently perusing the files, I suddenly see his nose flare up in what I assume is anger. I had expected that, he probably thought the baby was for Finch like I had assumed. The next file is the paternity test, and I hold my breath at his reaction, his expression quickly changed to one of surprise, and then suspicion till he sees the doctor that signed off on the result. I had known he would be suspicious of the results so I ensured I went to one of the doctors he held in high regard.

Slowly, he drops the test result on the bed and pulls out the final result, the news I had not been expecting that was threatening to ruin my world. It was a result stating that I had preeclampsia- a serious blood pressure condition that develops during pregnancy which meant my life, as well as my baby's life, was at risk. When I got the news earlier today, the headaches, blurry vision and shortness of breath amidst other symptoms suddenly made sense. I watched as he seemed to digest this information.

After some minutes, he slumps onto the bed, dropping the folder on the bed and buries his head in his hands. I finally pull out the file in the folder he had given me, my heart in my throat, the word Divorce stares at me like neon lights at the top of the first page and all the strength goes out of me like a deflated balloon. Well, I can't say I am entirely surprised, It had been a long time coming but I also did not expect to be going through a life-changing experience at the time. I drop the files on the bed and curl into myself. That was when the first peal of thunder ripped through the sky heralding the beginning of what promised to be heavy rain.

At that moment, NEPA took the light, throwing us into darkness; a perfect representation of where I currently was- mentally. Literally and figuratively, I was in a dark place, I try to laugh at my silly joke but only a whimper escapes. I had finally got pregnant after a long time of trying and my husband was the father but instead of joy, there was only a looming wave of sadness ahead. I was at the risk of losing my life as well as my baby's life with this cursed pregnancy if care was not taken, and now the one person I needed the most was unwilling to spend what might as well be my last days with me.

It was a cruel joke by fate. I knew my husband still had love for me, it showed in how he still draped me with a blanket those first nights after the incident when had relegated to the sofa. But I wondered whether the love he still had left would weigh higher than the betrayal and hurt he nursed every night like ageing wine. I watched as the seconds counted down as my husband decided what action to take which would seal my fate either for good or bad. As each second passed and my fate became more uncertain, I had only one thought in my head; "air", "I need air", "I need to

breathe".