You leapt up when he walked in,  

ran to him, grinning,  

your face bright with pride,  

like a warrior showing off his conquest.  

"Meet my babe," you said.  

I smiled, waved,  

oddly touched by your candor.  

I loved hearing you call me yours—  

even when I knew you were never mine alone.  

He asked my name,  

where I was from.  

Said his mother had served in Akwa Ibom.  

I laughed. They always said that.  

Your friend—  

his eyes lingered too long,  

his laugh too easy,  

his hands brushing mine  

as he reached for the wine.  

I could not believe my luck.  

Some betrayals take time to return,  

waiting for the right moment,  

the right sin to even the scales.  

But this one,  

this one you handed to me,  

placed him in my path like fate,  

like an offering.  

As I drank deeply from my cup, smiling to myself,  

I felt the scales tip.  

Justice would finally be served—  

but in the quiet of his bed.