I Should Have Told Him The Truth

ABOUT US - Episode 8

There’s a kind of silence that doesn’t beg to be broken. It just sits in the air between two people who are usually better at being safe with each other. That was the silence that lived in the car with us that night and I knew, I knew I had caused it.

A week before, I was told I’d be leading the execution of a major ad campaign for one of our top clients except the director my agency hired to work on the ad was Lanre, my ex.

Lanre and I were never good. The relationship was short, but it dragged me through a long tunnel of emotional manipulation and neglect.

So no, I wasn’t happy about working with him. I was angry, anxious, disgusted that someone like him would be put in my space again, professionally or otherwise.

I didn’t even tell Olamide. That was the worst part. I couldn’t tell him. I didn’t want him angry, or worse, worried. So I told myself I’d handle it, quietly and alone.

That evening, Olamide picked me up from work like he usually did on days I felt overwhelmed. His smile still managed to move me, even on days like this. “Hey, I’m sorry I’m late babe,” he said as he walked up to me. He kissed my forehead and pulled me into a hug.

“It’s fine,” I replied, managing a smile that didn’t reach my eyes.

“I got you the cake you asked for. Two flavours though, so you can decide which one you like better.”

“Really? Thank you, babe,” I said, smiling genuinely this time. He always paid attention. But even his thoughtfulness couldn’t undo the knot in my chest. I was so not at peace with myself and with everything.

It hurt me so much for Olamide, because I know him. I know how he would’ve handled it, gently. carefully, with his usual balance of softness and steel. He would’ve listened. He would’ve stayed up with me the night before, prayed with me, helped me prepare. He would’ve even offered to walk me into the shoot just so I’d feel braver. Instead, I lied or worse, I let him believe nothing was wrong.

In the car, he didn’t start the engine immediately. “Why aren’t we moving?” I asked. He turned to me. “Are you fine? You’re quiet. Are you upset with me or something? Did work stress you out?”

“I’m fine. I’m Just tired. There’s this project coming up, it’s going to be a lot,” I said, skipping the part where my unfortunate emotional abusing ex would be working with me for an entire day.

He didn’t press further. He just nodded and said, “Okay. I’ll be right here. Whatever you need this weekend to prepare, I’m with you.” and he meant it.

That weekend, he came over with lunch he made himself. Jollof rice, grilled chicken, fried plantain and a pack of my favorite chin chin. He helped me sort through my documents, read out lines from the ad script dramatically to make me laugh, and made me feel like I wasn’t alone in the stress.

Several times I opened my mouth to tell him, and each time I froze. What if he got mad? What if he got overly protective, what if I told him too late and it hurt him? So I didn’t. I just kept to myself.

The day of the shoot arrived and we began early. I was all business. I kept everything direct and cold. I barely looked at Lanre unless absolutely necessary. The sound of his voice irritated me. The way he said my name like he still had some familiarity to hold on to made my skin crawl.

I avoided him like a plague. His energy was irritating. Still talked over me when I gave instructions. I hated every minute of it.

By evening, I was done and drained from the work and from keeping every emotion under control. As I walked out, I heard him call after me.

“Simi.” I didn’t even slow down. He jogged up beside me.

“Do I look like I have something to say to you?” I snapped.

He frowned. “Look…” I didn't even let him finish before he became defensive or manipulative like he always has.

“Don’t ‘look’ me, Lanre” I cut in, my voice rising. “Don’t talk to me in that tone. It's annoying, it's irritating. You don’t get to talk to me like that, not again.” I almost choked on my words. I was so pissed and tired. I turned and saw him. Olamide, standing by his car, watching us.

My stomach sank. He didn’t wave. He didn’t smile. He Just stood there, with expressions I couldn't read. I quickly cleaned the little tears that lingered and I walked over to him slowly.

“Hey babe,” he said. His voice was calm, too calm..“Hey,” I whispered. I couldn’t look him in the eye. I was so embarrassed. I also knew he knew what was going on already.

The drive to my apartment was quiet. He didn’t put on any music like he usually did. His hands stayed on the wheel, holding it tightly. I looked at him once, yeah, he was upset. His jaw slightly clenched. He wasn’t shouting, he wasn’t distant but he was angry and hurt, anyone could see him and tell.

He walked me to my apartment and lingered at the door. He looked at me for a while, like he was weighing whether to ask questions or just say goodnight and let it go.

He sighed, stepped close, and kissed my forehead. “Goodnight, babe,” he said, turning to leave. “Olamide, I’m sorry,” I said suddenly.

He stopped and turned.

“That’s him, right?” “Yes” I replied tiredly. He looked away for a beat, then back at me. His eyes didn’t waver this time.

“Your ex, the one..” he paused, so confused, so hurt. “Simi, you worked with him all day and I had to find out like that?”

“I didn’t mean for you to...”

“No. Don’t say that.” His voice was still low, but firm.

“I’m sorry,” I said again, tears already gathering. My voice was trembling now. “But I didn’t know how to say it and the longer I didn’t, the worse it felt.” I paused.

“I should have told you. Working with him wasn’t my choice and I didn’t want to burden you, make you upset or worried” My voice cracked.

“But I am upset,” he said lowly “ It's not because you worked with him but because you didn’t trust me enough to tell me.” I broke.

“I hate that you had to see him again. I hate that you spent your day working under stress he probably added to and I hate knowing that you went through all of that alone when I was right here.” His voice cracked too.

“You looked so drained tonight and I couldn’t even comfort you properly because I didn’t know what was going on.” I didn't know when I broke down in tears, right there in front of him, covering my face with both hands.

He sighed, “Come here,” he said gently.

Before I could even move, he pulled me into him. Not forcefully, not dramatically, just firmly enough that I knew he wasn’t letting go, wrapping both arms around me tightly, one hand rubbing the back of my head. I sobbed into his chest. Everything I was holding in, the shame, the tension, and the fear, spilled out in quiet sobs.

After a while, he murmured into my hair, “You don’t have to face anything alone. Not while I’m here.” I nodded against his shirt and he kissed the top of my head.

That night, I cried more from the pain of seeing Olamide upset than from working with a terrible being who wronged and mistreated me.

Watching Olamide, my safe place, carry that kind of hurt because of something I didn’t say hurt me. And still, even in his frustration, he didn’t raise his voice, he didn’t turn away. He held me, reassured me and reminded me that love doesn’t mean protecting each other from the hard parts, it means facing them together.

I knew in that moment, no matter how strong I tried to be, I never wanted to carry anything alone again, I was always going to let him in.