For the first eight months of my marriage, my husband gave me one rule.
Never look under our bed.
Never sweep beneath it.
Never let anyone move it.
I obeyed without question because I believed a happy marriage was built on trust, not curiosity.
I was twenty-six when I married Obinna.
Before him, I imagined marriage as quiet evenings together, shared laughter, and finally having someone who made the world feel a little less heavy.
Obinna already had everything.
He was a successful oil contractor with powerful government clients, a polished reputation, and the kind of calm confidence that made people lower their voices whenever he entered a room.
When he proposed, my parents couldn’t stop smiling.
“My daughter,” my mother whispered through happy tears, “God has truly remembered you.”
To everyone around us, I had won life’s biggest prize.
