The plane ride to California was long and uncomfortable
She sat by the window, one hand resting lightly over her stomach as the landscape changed from Lagos chaos to quieter stretches of road.
She didn’t cry.
But she allowed herself to feel the weight of what she had done.
She wasn’t running from him.
She was stepping toward herself.
Her apartment was modest — cream walls, slightly uneven tiles, a balcony overlooking a quiet street .
The first night felt overwhelming.
No familiar sounds.
No familiar routine.
No one to share space with.
But there was something else too.
Relief.
She unpacked slowly over the next few days.
Orientation at the university was humbling.
Most of her classmates were younger.
Energetic.
Unmarried.
She introduced herself simply.
“Aira.”
Not Mrs.
