“Then help me understand,” he replied.
Chida drew in a deep breath, trying to steady herself.
“My husband,” she began, then paused, as if the words themselves were heavy.
Okon did not interrupt.
“At the beginning of our marriage, everything was fine,” she continued quietly. “He was kind, patient, responsible. I believed I had made the right choice.”
She gave a faint, broken smile.
“But after some years, things started to change. Not suddenly, just little by little.”
Okon’s gaze remained fixed on her.
“He began to take interest in everything,” she said. “How I spent money, who I spoke to, even small decisions.”
She wiped her face.
“At first, I didn’t think much of it. I thought maybe it was just concern.”
She paused.
“But it didn’t stop there.”
Her voice dropped.
“He started insisting that, as my husband, he should be the one handling all the money that came into the house.”
Okon’s expression hardened slightly, but he remained silent.
“When you sent money,” she continued, “he would ask about it. At first, he only wanted to know how much. Then he began to demand access.”
She looked down at her hands.
“I resisted in the beginning,” she said. “I told him it was meant for my mother. That it was your effort.”
She shook her head slowly.
“He didn’t see it that way.”
A quiet pause settled between them.
“He would say things like, ‘Everything that comes into this house belongs to this house.’”
Okon exhaled slowly, his jaw tightening.
Chida continued, her voice unsteady.
“Over time, he gained access to my phone, my bank app, everything. He stopped me from going to the bank to access my account.”
Her fingers trembled slightly.
“I lost control over my account.”
Okon looked at her more closely now.
“The money you sent for Mother, for the house,” she said, her voice breaking. “He took it.”
She closed her eyes briefly.
“He used it for his own plans, his own needs. Things I could not question. I lived in fear.”
She looked up at Okon.
