The egg cartons multiplied faster than Calvin's patience.
They were everywhere now—stacked carefully against the kitchen wall, arranged in neat towers near the balcony door, even lining the hallway like fragile barricades. At first, Calvin had spoken about the business with enthusiasm, explaining margins, suppliers, and distribution plans. But as the weeks passed, the excitement drained from his voice. He stopped explaining anything at all.
Maya could tell he was losing money.
She saw it in the way he recalculated numbers late into the night. In the tension in his jaw. In how he snapped at small things. Yet he never discussed the losses with her. Not once.
Her monthly allowance was still being transferred into his account. Her own account remained locked because she had not physically appeared at the bank. It had been three months now. Three months of being indoors, mostly confined to the condo, her strength unreliable and her breathing unpredictable.
Three months since she had returned from London.
And still, Calvin kept insisting she go back.
"You should visit London again," he said almost weekly. "You need better care. You shouldn't stay stuck here."
The word unsettled her.
Stuck.
Before, he had never pushed her away like this. Before, her visits home had been occasional, comforting, natural. Now they felt strategic.
She remembered clearly how she had spent almost a month in London. How she had tried to recover, to rest, to breathe easier. And how, upon returning, she had seen things she could not ignore. Conversations that felt too familiar. A bra in their closet that was not hers.
Three months ago.
It had only been three months.
Yet Calvin spoke as though she had refused him for years.
His phone buzzed constantly these days. Esther. Danielle. Names that appeared at odd hours—midnight, 1:37 a.m., 3:12 a.m. He did not hide the messages. But he did not explain them either.
And he did not explain the failing egg business.
Instead, one afternoon, he announced that Becca was coming over.
Becca had once been a warm presence in their lives. An older woman Calvin had tutored years ago when her twins needed academic help. She had grown fond of both of them. Maya respected her deeply.
When the doorbell rang, Maya straightened herself and forced a bright smile.
Becca embraced her gently. "You look tired, my dear."
"I'm managing," Maya replied softly.
They sat in the living room surrounded by the faint smell of cardboard and eggs.
Becca folded her hands. "Calvin said there are some tensions. Let's talk openly."
Calvin did not hesitate.
"The first problem," he said, "is that I do everything in this house. Maya doesn't do anything."
The statement was so blunt that it left no space for cushioning.
He unlocked his phone and showed Becca a photo.
The sink was piled high with dishes.
"This was yesterday," he said. "She doesn't wash. She doesn't cook. I run all the errands. We're always eating takeout because she won't cook."
Won't.
The word tightened Maya's chest.
She felt a flare of anger. If the dishes were there, what stopped him from washing them? If cooking was necessary, what stopped him from helping? But the anger was quickly swallowed by something heavier—sadness.
Because he knew her condition.
Becca turned gently to Maya. "Tell me your side."
Maya exhaled slowly.
"You know I'm not well," she said quietly. "Calvin knows it better than anyone. If I were well, this wouldn't even be a discussion."
Her hands trembled slightly in her lap.
"Sometimes even breathing feels like work. When I try to cook, the smell of onions or the steam makes it worse. I've asked him to help with small things—cutting, anything with strong smells—so I can manage the rest. Even when I feel anxious from the vapour, I still try. But he refuses or he isn't home."
Calvin shifted. "I'm busy trying to provide."
"I know," she said softly. "But I'm not refusing to try."
Becca listened carefully.
"The fact is," Becca began thoughtfully, "whether you do these things or not, you may still fall sick, correct?"
Maya hesitated. "Yes. Sometimes."
"Then perhaps," Becca continued, "it may be better to do what needs to be done and accept that you might fall sick afterward. Peace in the home is important. Constant arguments drain everyone. Sometimes enduring discomfort is better than living in tension."
Maya felt something sink inside her.
Endure.
"For peace."
Becca's voice was gentle, not cruel. But the implication was clear. The responsibility to stabilize the environment rested largely on her.
"No one else can fully take your place in the home," Becca added. "Even if it's hard, try your best. Let him not feel alone."
Maya lowered her eyes.
Was she making him feel alone?
She replayed her own efforts in her mind—the small meals she had forced herself to prepare, the laundry she folded when she could stand, the quiet management of her symptoms without complaint. Had it not been enough?
Calvin cleared his throat again.
"The second problem," he said, "is that she doesn't want to go back to London. She thinks I'll cheat if she leaves. She doesn't trust me."
Maya looked up sharply. "That's not what I said."
"But that's what you imply," he replied.
Becca turned to her. "Why don't you want to go, my dear?"
Maya inhaled slowly.
"I only came back three months ago," she said. "I spent almost a month there. It hasn't been long. I don't understand why I need to keep going back so soon."
Becca nodded.
"But your health—"
"My health didn't suddenly worsen because I'm here," Maya said gently. "And I don't understand the urgency."
She did not mention the bra. She did not mention the late-night messages. She did not want to seem accusatory.
Becca sighed.
"If a person wants to be unfaithful, they can do it whether you are present or absent," she said calmly. "You cannot monitor someone constantly. If something is hidden, God will reveal it in time."
Maya felt torn between logic and emotion.
"So you should prioritize your health," Becca continued. "If London offers better rest, go. If he is faithful, he will remain so. If he is not, you will eventually know. But do not hold yourself here out of fear."
Calvin nodded quickly.
Becca looked at him firmly. "And you must not think of separation. Difficult seasons do not mean you abandon each other. Work through it."
He agreed easily.
After some more quiet discussion, Becca stood to leave. Maya walked her to the door despite her fatigue. Calvin escorted Becca downstairs.
When the door closed, silence settled heavily in the condo.
Maya sat slowly on the couch.
Her emotions churned—anger at being reduced to household duties, sadness at being misunderstood, confusion about whether she was indeed being unfair.
She replayed Becca's words carefully.
Whether you do it or not, you may still fall sick.
Do it for peace.
No one else can take your place.
If he wants to cheat, he will cheat anyway.
Maybe Becca was right.
Maybe she had been focusing too much on fairness instead of stability.
Maybe Calvin truly felt overwhelmed.
Maybe her illness had unintentionally made him feel abandoned.
She looked at the dishes still in the sink.
If she pushed herself more, perhaps arguments would reduce.
If she agreed to visit London again, perhaps his restlessness would calm.
Was it pride keeping her here? Fear? Or was it intuition?
She wasn't sure anymore.
The uncertainty disturbed her more than the conflict itself.
Calvin returned a few minutes later. His phone buzzed again almost immediately. He smiled faintly at whatever he read before slipping the phone into his pocket.
"She understands," he said casually.
Maya nodded.
But she was no longer certain she understood anything clearly.
Was she protecting her peace, or creating tension?
Was she preserving her dignity, or neglecting her responsibilities?
She leaned back slowly, exhaustion pressing into her bones.
Perhaps Becca was wiser. Perhaps endurance was necessary. Perhaps sacrifice was the price of stability.
The thought both comforted and unsettled her.
And as night slowly approached, Maya found herself weighing her body against peace, her intuition against advice, her silence against conflict.
For the first time, she wondered whether harmony always demanded that she be the one to bend.
And whether she was strong enough to keep bending without breaking.