HE PUBLICLY HUMILIATED HIS WIFE IN A RESTAURANT BUT REGRETTED IT IMMEDIATELY AFTER A SINGLE CALL

           Episode 1✅ 

He publicly humiliated his wife in a restaurant but regretted it immediately after a single call

The restaurant was elegant, humming with soft jazz and the quiet clinking of glasses. Warm lighting danced off crystal chandeliers. Guests were dressed in their finest. Laughter flowed easily from the tables around them. It was the kind of place people went to celebrate something special.

Tonight, Julian and Naomi were celebrating their 9th wedding anniversary. Naomi wore a deep blue satin dress. Her makeup was soft, her smile gentle but forced. She had spent days planning this dinner, called the guests, reserved the private dining room, even picked out Julian's favorite wine. Julian was quiet most of the evening, his smile tight, his eyes elsewhere. Still, Naomi stayed hopeful.

Maybe, just maybe, tonight would be different. Then Julian stood up. He held his wine glass, tapping it lightly for attention. The room grew quiet as everyone turned to face him. Naomi looked up, smiling, expecting something sweet. a toast to their years together, to their love. But Julian's voice was cold.

To the woman who can't give me a son. He paused, looking around the table. But gives great excuses. Laughter died instantly. The silence was sharp. Naomi blinked. Her smile froze, then fell. Her hands trembled under the table. She tried to speak, but nothing came out. Julian sat down calmly, sipped his wine as if he hadn't just torn her apart in front of everyone.

Naomi stood, her chair screeching against the floor. Her heels clicked loudly as she walked out fast, trying to hold back the tears that were already spilling. The door shut behind her. Julian didn't follow. He stayed seated, leaning back, looking satisfied. The room buzzed with discomfort, but no one spoke. Then his phone buzzed on the table, unknown number. He frowned, hesitating.

Finally, he picked up. "Hello," he said. "Low." A woman's voice answered, "Shaky, urgent. You need to come now, she said. The baby's sick, Julian. Your son is in the hospital. His body stiffened. What? He whispered. You heard me, the voice said. Your son. Our son. He needs you. His hand shook.

The phone slipped slightly in his grip. The color drained from his face. In an instant, the arrogance disappeared. Julian's heart pounded. For the first time all night. He looked afraid. Julian was 42. On paper, he had it all. a powerful lawyer in Atlanta, known for his sharp mind and even sharper tongue. He wore expensive suits, drove a black Mercedes, and walked with the kind of confidence that came from winning in court and in life.

But underneath all that success was a man ruled by pride and tradition. He grew up in a strict Nigerian home where men didn't cry and women were expected to bear children, especially sons. His father had drilled it into him from a young age. A man's worth is measured by his legacy. And legacy in their world meant bloodline.

A male heir, a first son to carry the name forward. Naomi was 37, strong in her own way, smart, elegant, and successful in her own career as a marketing executive. She was the kind of woman who walked into a room and made people pause. But behind her poise was a deep, quiet sadness. They had been married 9 years. In that time, Naomi had gotten pregnant three times, and each time she had lost the baby.

The pain of each miscarriage cut deep. But what hurt even more was the way Julian handled it or didn't. He would disappear for days, blaming work. When he did speak, it was cold and distant. He never held her when she cried, never said, "We'll get through this together." Instead, he buried himself in silence and blame.

TBC…

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