12/21/2025
The Driver Who Started Working for My Husband Fell in Love With Me, and I Found Myself Drawn to Him
Episode 1 Title: When Silence Entered My Marriage and Rode in With the Driver
I noticed the silence in my marriage before I noticed Kunle.
It started on a quiet Monday morning in our house at Agodi side, the kind of morning where the ceiling fan spins lazily and the air smells like yesterday’s stew. My husband, Adebayo, was already dressed in his senator material and white shirt, tying his tie with the same seriousness he tied every decision in our marriage. He barely looked at me as he reached for his car keys.
“We’ll be late today. New driver is resuming,” he said.
That was all.
No good morning kiss. No question about how I slept. No smile.
I nodded, as usual.
Marriage had taught me how to nod even when my heart wanted to scream.
Adebayo was a businessman, respected, feared, admired. People said I was lucky. Married at 28 to a man who could provide everything money could buy. But nobody asked what money could not buy. Nobody asked about the long nights, the lonely dinners, the way I sometimes felt like a well-furnished guest in my own home.
That was the morning Kunle resumed.
He stood outside when I first saw him, slim but strong, dark-skinned with eyes that carried something I could not name then. He wore a simple shirt and trousers, his shoes clean but worn. He bent slightly when greeting my husband.
“Good morning sir. My name is Kunle.”
Adebayo nodded. “You’ll be driving me and madam. Be punctual. I don’t tolerate excuses.”
“Yes sir.”
When Kunle turned to greet me, he didn’t rush his words.
“Good morning ma. E ku ile.”
Something about the respect in his voice made me pause. I responded softly, “Good morning.”
That was all. Nothing dramatic. Nothing romantic.
Yet, something shifted.
Days passed. Weeks followed. Kunle became part of the rhythm of the house. He drove Adebayo early in the morning and returned him late at night. Sometimes, I barely saw my husband except as a shadow moving from bedroom to bathroom.
Kunle, however, was always there.
If I needed to go to the market, he was ready. If I had a doctor’s appointment, he arrived early. If I was quiet in the back seat, he stayed quiet too, never forcing conversation, never playing loud music.
It was in that silence that we first connected.
One afternoon, stuck in traffic along a dusty road, rain threatening to fall, I sighed without realizing it.
“Ma, e ma binu,” Kunle said gently. “Traffic le.”
I laughed softly. “This city can test patience.”
“Yes ma. But patience saves the heart.”
I looked at him through the rearview mirror. His eyes met mine briefly before returning to the road.
That sentence stayed with me.
Patience saves the heart.
At home, my heart was not being saved.
Adebayo had stopped asking questions. Even when he was home, his phone was always in his hand. Business calls. Meetings. Plans that never included me. When I tried to talk, he responded with half sentences.
“Later, Tola.”
“I’m tired.”
“Can we discuss this another time?”
Another time never came.
One evening, after he returned late and went straight to bed without eating, I sat alone at the dining table, staring at untouched food. My chest felt heavy. Tears gathered, but I swallowed them. Crying had become useless.
The next morning, Kunle noticed my eyes.
“Ma… se ara yin da?”
I hesitated. No one had asked me that question in months.
“I’m fine,” I said quickly.
He nodded, but I knew he didn’t believe me.
From that day, something dangerous began. Not in words, not in touch, but in attention.
Kunle noticed when I was quiet. When I smiled forcefully. When I asked to stop by the roadside to buy fruits just so I could breathe outside the house. He never crossed a line. Never asked personal questions. Yet, he listened with his presence.
Sometimes, that is all a lonely heart needs.
One afternoon, Adebayo travelled for three days. No warning. Just a message.
“I’ll be out of town. Behave yourself.”
Behave yourself.
As if I was a child.
That evening, rain poured heavily. The generator went off. The house was dark. I sat alone in the sitting room, listening to rain hit the roof like angry tears.
I heard a knock.
It was Kunle, holding a small torchlight.
“Ma, generator switch is faulty. I informed the electrician. He will come tomorrow.”
“Thank you,” I said.
He hesitated. “Ma… should I light candle for you?”
I nodded.
As he placed the candle on the table, the small flame lit the room slightly. Our shadows danced on the wall.
“Thank you, Kunle,” I said again.
He cleared his throat. “Ma, no problem.”
He turned to leave, then stopped.
“Ma… sorry to say this. But you have been looking sad for some time.”
My heart skipped.
“I don’t want to disrespect you,” he continued carefully. “But sometimes, silence can wound more than words.”
I felt my throat tighten.
I wanted to shout. I wanted to cry. Instead, I whispered, “You should go, Kunle.”
He nodded immediately. “Yes ma. Good night.”
That night, sleep avoided me.
His words replayed in my head. Silence can wound more than words.
Days turned into weeks. The space between me and Kunle filled with unspoken emotions. I caught myself looking forward to entering the car. Looking forward to his calm greetings. Looking forward to the way he said “ma” like it meant something.
I hated myself for it.
I was a married woman.
Yet, I was starving.
The first time our hands brushed accidentally was when I was stepping into the car and lost balance. He held my arm briefly, quickly, like it burned.
“Sorry ma.”
“It’s okay.”
But it was not okay.
My heart raced like I had done something forbidden.
That night, I prayed harder than usual.
“God, please remove this feeling.”
But feelings do not leave because you ask nicely.
Adebayo returned from his trip colder than before. When I tried to hug him, he gently pushed me away.
“I’m tired, Tola.”
I watched him undress, turn his back to me, and sleep.
I faced the wall and cried silently.
The next morning, as Kunle drove us, Adebayo spoke without looking at either of us.
“I’ll be very busy this month. Tola, don’t disturb me unnecessarily.”
“Okay,” I replied.
Kunle tightened his grip on the steering wheel.
I noticed.
I shouldn’t have noticed.
But I did.
That was when I knew something dangerous had already started.
Not love.
Not s3x.
But emotional hunger.
And emotional hunger can destroy faster than desire.
Was Kunle only being kind, or was something deeper already growing in his heart?
Could Tola continue surviving a marriage filled with silence?
Would loneliness push her to cross a line she once swore she never would?
What secret battles was Kunle fighting behind his respectful silence?
And when attention feels like love, how do you tell the difference?
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NOTE TO READERS:
This is just episode 1 out of the full 5 Episodes. All episodes are available for free on StoryTera.
Note: This is 100% Fictional, and not having resemblance to any true events or characters.
