My ex-wife came to see our son. She ended up staying the night. I let her sleep on the couch. After midnight, I heard something I wasn’t supposed to hear.

“It’s fine,” I replied.

We watched The Incredibles. Eke’s choice, even though it was his fourth time seeing it. His enthusiasm hadn’t faded at all.

About forty minutes before the movie ended, he fell asleep between us on the couch — exactly the way he used to when he was younger and Friday nights still meant family movie nights.

When the credits rolled, I glanced at Adanna.

She was staring at Eke with the kind of expression people only show when they think no one is watching — soft, open, a little sad.

“I should go,” she said quietly, though she didn’t move.

“It’s almost ten,” I said. “And it’s forty minutes back to Lekki.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Adanna,” I said calmly. “The couch pulls out. You know where the extra blankets are.

It doesn’t make sense to drive forty minutes this late when you’re coming back here at nine tomorrow morning anyway.”

She studied my face for a moment.

Something flickered across her expression that I couldn’t quite interpret.

“Okay,” she finally said. “Thank you.”

I carried Eke to his room. I unfolded the couch. I grabbed blankets from the hallway closet and set them on the armrest without making a big deal of it.

I said goodnight from the doorway of the living room, and she answered from the couch.

Then I went to my room, lay down, and stared at the ceiling in the dark until sleep eventually came.

I woke up at 12:40 AM.

That part isn’t unusual. Since Eke was born, I’ve been a light sleeper — the kind of parent who spent years listening for a child crying in the night.

I woke up at 12:40 a.m.

At first, I didn’t move.

There’s a particular kind of silence that exists in a house at that hour—thick, settled, familiar. I’ve learned not to disturb it unless I have a reason.

Then I heard it.

A sound from the living room.

Soft.

Not the television. Not footsteps.

Breathing.

Unsteady.

Like someone trying—and failing—to keep it quiet.

I sat up slowly.

Listened again.

There it was.

A quiet, broken inhale.

Then another.

Adanna