"Goodnight, my love"

You whisper in his ears, waiting for a return peck that never seemed to rest on your cheekbone - his body, stiff as wood.

"Could Ebuka no longer want me?"

You ask yourself whenever he walks away from a naked display of your womanhood - without the slightest erection.

It was very different from the night of the day you exchanged rings, the broken bed frames were a testament of how heavy both your bodies vibrated.

Somehow, you found yourself looking up erectile dysfunction - two words you recall from your most recent gossip with Shade.

What was strange was how you confided in your best friend on sexual matters and never bought the idea of meeting a family therapist.

The next day came and Ebuka arrogantly described your meal as a distasteful solution to hunger.

Go learn from other women, he would yell as he dumps massive left overs in the waste bin - this had become second nature to him.

Not only did he stop responding in bed, his taste buds had become allergic to your one time magical cooking. In anger, your throat would squeeze tightly as you sob over painful hours wasted in the kitchen.

Days passed and you suddenly befriended the standing mirror in your bedroom, watching its reflection and questioning every bit of it.

"Are my breasts too saggy?"
"Is that a grey hair behind my ear?"

You saw a million flaws, forgetting he said those were the things that made him love you more.

Puzzled by his new grown hostility, you do all you can to win back his love - by starting with the thing bulging in his underwear.

"Woman! I had a stressful day"

Ebuka bursts out from bed, reacting to your fingers sneaking up his groin. He must be ashamed of his condition, your mind murmured.

The other time you confronted him, it led to a heated exchange of words and his dominant hand found its way to your face. He made up for it intimately - you felt relieved, but could not help but notice how dull and indifferent his body was.

You pile up his dirty clothes, like you normally would on a Saturday morning. As you reminisce on the compensatory sex only you enjoyed, something caught your eyes.

A wipe of red lipstick stamped itself on one of Ebuka's shirt collars. You knew it was not yours, you hated red.

This gave supporting evidence to the used sachet of condom you dug up from his trouser pocket some weeks ago - he told you there had been a reproductive health orientation in his workplace, compulsory for employees.

A sorry excuse to take your mind off what was really happening.

It was then (with his shirt wrapped around your fingers) that you realised love had nothing to do with the man between his legs, but the woman you never got to meet.

His phone rang while he was having his bath. You were done washing and out of curiosity, picked it up. The call was from a number you recognised but

As you pressed the green button, a feminine attempt of a seductive voice ushered in with steamy lines that may have been pulled from the romance novel, Fifty Shades of Grey.

"I've never felt so much of a woman until now, we should do it again some other night"

Quickly, you hung up and fell to the ground in shock. Ebuka had obviously been caught, but it had hit differently.

The voice you heard came from no stranger. It was familiar and it hurt you to realise that the other woman, Ebuka's new found love was Shade.