The days that followed settled into a pattern that looked normal on the surface but felt anything but steady underneath. Mansa returned to her demanding schedule at the courtroom, determined not to let her pregnancy slow her down, while John buried himself deeper into work, as though long hours could compensate for missed moments. Araba, caught in between, tried to hold everything together like a quiet thread stitching a fabric that was beginning to strain.
That morning, the courtroom was unusually packed. The case Mansa was handling had drawn attention, and the atmosphere buzzed with anticipation. She stood poised, files in hand, her voice steady as she presented her arguments.
"Your Lordship, the evidence clearly shows—"
She paused.
For a split second, the room tilted.
Mansa blinked, trying to steady herself, but the words on the page blurred. A wave of dizziness crept up unexpectedly, wrapping around her like a tightening grip.
"Mansa?" the bailiff called softly, noticing her hesitation.
"I'm fine," she said quickly, forcing a smile.
But she wasn't.
The next moment, her knees weakened. The courtroom gasped as she swayed, her files slipping from her grasp. Before she could fall, the bailiff rushed forward, catching her just in time.
The room erupted into murmurs.
Back at the office room, Mansa sat with her head bowed, a glass of water trembling slightly in her hands. Araba stood over her, arms crossed tightly, her expression a mixture of worry and frustration.
"Mansa!" she snapped. "What was that?"
"I said I'm fine," Mansa replied weakly.
"No, you are not fine," Araba shot back. "You almost collapsed in a courtroom full of people!"
Mansa sighed, leaning back. "It was just a moment. I didn't want to delay the case."
Araba stared at her in disbelief. "Delay the case? You think that case will come and take care of you if something happens?"
Mansa couldn't help it—she let out a faint laugh. "You're sounding like Aba now."
"Good," Araba said firmly. "Maybe that means you'll finally listen."
The room fell quiet for a moment, the weight of the situation settling between them.
"Promise me," Araba said more softly this time, kneeling slightly to meet her sister's eyes. "Next time, you stop. No arguments, no trying to prove anything. Just stop."
Mansa hesitated, then nodded slowly. "Alright. I promise."
Across the city, John was having a day that seemed determined to test every ounce of his patience.
At Boom Bank, the atmosphere was tense. Employees moved carefully, as though even the slightest mistake might trigger an explosion.
And it didn't take long.
"Who approved this?" John's voice cut sharply through the office.
A young employee stepped forward hesitantly. "Sir, I thought—"
"You thought?" John interrupted, his frustration spilling over. "How many times have I told you to double-check everything? Do I need to do your work for you?!"
The office fell silent.
No one moved.
Even John, standing there with clenched fists, realized he had crossed a line. But the pressure—the missed appointment, the growing distance at home, the constant demands of work—it all seemed to converge into moments like this.
He turned abruptly and walked into his office, shutting the door harder than he intended.
Inside, he leaned against the desk, exhaling slowly.
For a brief moment, the noise of the office faded, replaced by a quieter, more uncomfortable thought.
He was losing control.
That evening, the apartment felt unusually subdued.
Mansa rested on the couch, clearly exhausted, while Araba moved quietly around the kitchen, preparing something light for her to eat.
When John entered, he immediately sensed the shift.
"What happened?" he asked, his voice softer than usual.
Araba didn't answer immediately. She placed a bowl gently on the table before turning to him.
"She almost collapsed in court today."
John froze.
"What?"
Mansa looked away. "I'm fine now."
John stepped closer, concern flashing across his face. "Why didn't you tell me?"
Mansa gave a small shrug. "You were busy."
The words weren't loud, but they landed heavily.
John swallowed, guilt tightening in his chest. "Mansa…"
Araba watched the exchange quietly, her expression unreadable. For once, she said nothing.
The silence that followed was different from before. It wasn't just awkward—it was revealing.
Something was shifting.
And for the first time, it was no longer easy to ignore.