When I walked away from the job, I didn't look back. I didn't storm out. I didn't slam the door. I just left quietly, finally, and completely. It wasn't because I had something better lined up. It wasn't because I had found another job or a new place to restart. No. It was because I was done being mistreated. I was done being used and disrespected.
I wasn't looking for another job.
Some people didn't understand that. But I had just graduated not too long ago. I hadn't even had the chance to go for NYSC. That job I had at my cousin's firm? That was my first real taste of working life. I was fresh out of school, bright-eyed but burdened, hoping to fill the time before NYSC with something productive. Something meaningful. I thought that job would give me a sense of purpose.
Instead, it drained me.
So, when I left, I chose not to rush into anything else. I needed time. Time to breathe. Time to prepare. Time to understand what I wanted before life flung me into the unknown again.
My plan was simple: use the months ahead to prepare for NYSC. Rebuild myself. Heal quietly. Stay grounded.
But simple plans are rarely simple in execution.
The first few weeks felt like walking a tightrope. On one side was relief, I had escaped the suffocating environment of my cousin's home and her husband's toxicity. On the other side was anxiety, how would I survive without an income? Would NYSC really come soon enough? Was I even doing the right thing?
I was managing myself. I stretched every naira. I cooked simple meals, cut back on everything unnecessary, and told myself I was in a transition season, a waiting room of sorts. But even in the silence of those days, Chukwubuikem was there.
He didn't rush me. He never asked me why I wasn't looking for a job. He didn't pressure me to be anything I wasn't ready to be. He just checked in,every single day. Some days, he would send me voice notes telling me how proud he was of my strength. Other days, he would send me job links, not to push me, but to say, "When you are ready, you have got options."
We grew closer in those weeks. What started as a casual connection, something that I had once used to distract myself, was slowly becoming something far more intimate. He became the first person I wanted to talk to when I woke up and the last person I spoke to before sleeping.
It wasn't love at first sight. It was love that crept in silently. Love that grew roots in late-night chats, shared laughter, and quiet prayers. Love that built itself on trust, patience, and presence.
But I wasn't ready to call it love. Not yet.
I was still figuring myself out.
I started journaling. I would write about my past, my feelings, the wounds I never got to show anyone. I wrote about the nights I spent crying into my pillow at my cousin's house. I wrote about how it felt to be gaslighted, mistreated, and undervalued. And slowly, I started to write about my hopes. My dreams. The things I wanted to do beyond NYSC.
I wasn't completely healed, but I was healing.
One day, while I was scribbling in my journal, a message from Chukwubuikem popped up.
"Are you free for a walk later?"
We hadn't gone on a proper date yet not because we didn't want to, but because everything between us had been so layered, so emotionally deep, we didn't know where to start. But something about that message felt right. Like it was time.
That evening, we met at a quiet park near where I stayed. He brought snacks,groundnuts and gala and we laughed about how "unromantic" it was. But it didn't matter. We walked, talked, and sat on a low bench under the fading sun.
Then he said, "I know you're still figuring things out. I'm not asking you to jump. I'm just saying, when you're ready, I will be here. And even if you never are, I will still be proud of the woman you are becoming."
That was the moment my heart finally cracked open.
I didn't give him an answer that day. But I knew, deep down, that I was already his.
As weeks turned to months, NYSC became more than just something I was preparing for. It became a symbol of hope. Of a fresh start. I began attending orientation seminars, started organizing my documents, and made a vision board of what I wanted my life to look like after service.
But the past wasn't done with me.
One day, I bumped into my cousin at a supermarket. It was unexpected and awkward. She looked surprised to see me healthier, brighter and standing tall. She said nothing about my unpaid salary. Not even a half-hearted apology. Instead, she asked, "Are you still staying in this town?"
I smiled and said, "Yes. For now. I've got plans."
She blinked, nodded, and continued, " I heard that you are now following men up and down, and still did not say anything,I actually got the biggest embarrassment of my life that day but I was mute throughout the whole situation, So after she had embarrassed me to her taste,she walked away.
Finally.
That moment didn't bring closure. But it brought clarity. I didn't need her apology. I didn't need her validation. I had moved on.
Chukwubuikem and I became even closer. He started helping me with NYSC preparation, buying stationeries, reviewing my CV, sharing survival tips. But more than anything, he listened. He celebrated my little victories. He never made me feel small.
One night, while we sat in the backyard of my apartment, he said, "You don't have to be perfect to be loved. You just have to be honest. And you, my dear, are the most honest heart I've known."
I cried.
Not because I was sad. But because, for the first time in forever, I felt safe.
And in that moment, I knew.
I was finally learning to breathe again.