… The two lovers visited the same hair salon.
One was the wife, and the other was the girlfriend.
And in that salon were whispers.
About the wife.
And how her husband treated her.
Starved her of money and of conjugation.
No one knew the girlfriend was there.
For to them, she was just another gorgeous lady with money to spend.
The wife was also ravishingly beautiful.
Holding her own in the face of time, even as she clung tight to the one luxury that was an echo of the past.
A past in which she was the jewel of her husband’s crown.
This same husband who viewed her as a relic.
And the girlfriend would watch her as she daintily and quietly walked in, was coiffed and silently left.
No words exchanged between the two.
Yet the stories flowed from the gossips once the wife left and the girlfriend listened.
And her conscience resurrected.
Guilt filled her so much, she could taste its bitterness.
So she started making more demands from her lover.
No more gifts.
Which piled and piled until it was a mountain.
And as was her routine, the wife came into the salon on the one day that she usually came and left more beautiful than she had been when she came in.
And the girlfriend followed her to the parking lot.
Stopped the white Prado jeep with the sweating exhaust pipe that was about to drive out.
She knocked on the window.
The wife looked at her, puzzled and then a glint of recognition before she rolled down the window.
And with a halting voice that barely rose above a whisper, the girlfriend spoke to her.
“I am sorry for taking what is yours.”
The wife saw the meaning in her eyes.
There was no shock.
Her husband had killed that ability in her.
The girlfriend raised the big LV duffel bag that was in her hand.
“I pray this money makes up for the pain I have caused.”
And the wife looked at the bag.
Her lips were pursed.
Her eyes went cold.
“How much is there?”
The girlfriend nodded before she added.
“I will leave him too.”
“Have you left him?”
She shook her head.
The wife reached over, collected the bag and placed it in the car.
Then she turned to the girlfriend.
A faint smile on her face.
“Don’t leave him yet. I need more money.
I am a Nigerian graduate documenting the perks and pains of being a graduate without long leg in Nigeria; while also contributing her quota to make the world a better place. Lets be friends on Instagram, Facebook and Twitter. You'll find me there as Naijafreshgraduate.