A sudden, profound silence fell over the room, so absolute you could hear the soft hum of the air conditioning. Every pair of eyes was locked on her, and more specifically, on the three small children clinging to her skirts. The woman he had once publicly labeled barren was now standing there, a mother to triplets.
This moment, however, was merely the culmination of a story that began years ago in the bustling, noisy city of Inugu. This was where Chaik built his life. Still in his early thirties, he had carved out a reputation as a formidable businessman, a man who commanded attention the moment he walked into a room. The whole town knew him by his appetites: a love for money, a collection of the latest cars, and an insatiable thirst for power and respect. He wore his expensive suits like armor, drove his flashy vehicles with a commanding air, and carried himself with a chin-held-high arrogance that suggested the very ground was unworthy of his footsteps. He was loud, unapologetically proud, and demanded deference from everyone he met.
Yet, behind the grand facade of his mansion, behind the cold gleam of the gold watch on his wrist, festered a private anguish that poisoned his days. His wife, Ngozi, had not borne him any children. Ngozi was the quiet counterpoint to his bluster—a gentle, soft-spoken woman with a beauty that was often overshadowed by a deep, lingering sadness in her eyes. She had married Chaik for love, long before the money and the status, and for seven long years, she had stood faithfully by his side. But those seven years had slowly curdled from hope into a relentless cycle of pain, a monthly ritual of waiting and the subsequent, crushing disappointment. No child. The words became a haunting refrain in their lives.
One evening, the storm of resentment that had been brewing within their marriage finally broke. The house was oppressively quiet, the air thick with unspoken accusations. Ngozi sat on the very edge of their large bed, her hands clasped so tightly together her knuckles were white. Chaik entered the room like a thunderclap, his face set in a deep frown, his tie pulled loose in irritation. “Seven years, Ngozi!” he shouted, the sound echoing off the walls as he slammed his car keys onto the dresser with a violent clatter. “Seven years of waiting, and what do I have to show for it? Nothing! Do you intend for me to die without a son to carry on my name?”
Ngozi lifted her eyes slowly, her voice a fragile, trembling thing. “Chaik, I have tried. We have tried. This is not something within my power to control. Perhaps… perhaps we should see another doctor. There could still be hope.”
“Hope?” He let out a bitter, mocking laugh that cut through her. “Is that the only thing you can offer me? I am so tired of hope. My mother calls me every single day, asking why her son’s wife has not given him a child. My friends, they laugh behind my back. Do you have any idea what it feels like to be the man they pity and mock? You have made me a fool in their eyes.”
Tears welled up in Ngozi’s eyes, blurring her vision. “Please, do not speak to me that way. I am your wife. We stood before God and made vows to each other—for better, for worse. Why are you throwing those vows in my face as if I am nothing?”
His voice only grew louder, coarser. “Because you are nothing to me now! What good is a woman who cannot even perform her most basic duty? You eat my food, you wear the clothes my money buys, you ride in the cars I provide. Yet you cannot give me one single son to carry my name. Ngozi, you are a curse upon my life.”
Her lips trembled as she tried to form a response. “Do not… do not call me a curse. I have prayed until my knees are sore. I have cried until I have no tears left. Every night I go to bed, begging God for a child. Do you think this brings me any joy? My own heart is shattered, Chaik. I am in pain, too!”
He turned his back on her, pacing the spacious room like a caged and furious animal, his anger feeding on itself with every step. “I have had enough of your tears! I am done waiting. I will not let you waste any more of my life. Tomorrow, first thing, I am speaking with my lawyer. This marriage is over.”
Ngozi gasped as if he had physically struck her in the chest. “Divorce? You would divorce me? After all we have been through? After I stood with you when you had nothing? After I turned my back on my own family for you? Chaik, have you completely forgotten the love we shared?”
He spun around to face her, and his eyes were like chips of cold, hard stone. “Love cannot produce children. My mother was right about you all along. I should have listened to her and left you years ago. I need a real wife, one who can fill this house with the sound of sons, not this… this silence you have brought into it. I want you out of my house by tomorrow, Ngozi.”
She broke down completely, collapsing to her knees and clutching desperately at the fabric of his trousers. “Please, I am begging you, Chaik, don’t do this. Give me more time. Give us more time. God can still answer our prayers.”
He recoiled, pulling his leg away from her touch as if her very fingers were contaminated. “God has nothing to do with this! You are the problem, and I am tired. You will leave. That is my final word.”
Their heated argument reverberated through the walls of the large house. The hired maids whispered fearfully among themselves in the hallway, but none dared to intervene. Ngozi’s heart-wrenching sobs filled the air as she made one last, desperate appeal. “Chaik, look at me. Look into my eyes and see the woman who cooked your meals, who washed your clothes, who sat by your bedside and prayed for you when you were sick. I have given you every part of myself. Do not discard me like I am a piece of trash.”
But Chaik’s heart had turned to iron. He picked up his phone and, standing right in front of her, made a call. “Yes, Barrister Okeke. Prepare the papers. I want a divorce, and I want it processed immediately. Yes, she will be out of the house tomorrow.” Ngozi froze where she knelt, staring up at him in utter disbelief. “You… you have already called your lawyer? You planned this all along? Chaik, how could you be so cruel?”
He looked down at her, his expression utterly devoid of warmth. “Ngozi, you have become a burden. I am simply setting myself free. If you have any love for yourself left, you will pack your things tonight. I do not want to see your face here when I wake up in the morning.”
Ngozi rose slowly to her feet, her body feeling weak and hollow, as if her heart had been physically ripped into pieces. She walked mechanically to the large wardrobe and began folding her clothes into a single, small suitcase. Her hands shook so violently she could barely manage to zip it closed. Every dress, every blouse she folded was a repository of a memory—a birthday celebration, a Sunday church service, a quiet dinner. Now, those memories felt like lies, like scenes from a play that had ended. As she packed, Chaik stood by the door, arms crossed over his chest, his face an unyielding mask of stone. He did not move to comfort her. He did not utter a single word of regret.
Finally, she lifted the small, heavy bag, her tears now flowing freely down her cheeks. She turned to him one last time, her voice cracking under the weight of her grief. “Chaik, you will live to regret this. One day, the truth will reveal itself to you. One day, you will finally understand the terrible mistake you have made today.” But Chaik offered no reply. He simply looked away, as if she were already a ghost, already gone from his world.
With slow, heavy steps, Ngozi walked out of the bedroom, her slippers whispering against the cold marble floor. The house that had once been her home now felt like a prison she was escaping. She passed the maids in the hallway, who quickly bowed their heads, too afraid to meet her gaze. She pushed open the heavy, ornate front door, and the cool night air hit her face. She paused for a moment on the threshold, looking back at the mansion that had contained seven years of her life. Then, she whispered into the darkness, her voice firm with a newfound resolve, “I may be leaving here with nothing but the clothes on my back, but I will not remain broken. My God will fight for me.” And with that declaration, Ngozi stepped forward into the unknown, her small bag in her hand, her tears watering the ground, but her spirit quietly vowing that this was not the final chapter of her story.
That night, Ngozi walked with no destination in mind. She simply moved, one foot in front of the other, clutching her small bag to her chest as if it were a lifeline. The streetlights cast long, lonely shadows, and the road ahead seemed endlessly dark. Her legs felt unsteady, and her eyes were perpetually blurred with tears. Chaik’s cruel words played on a loop in her mind: “You are a burden. I am freeing myself.” She walked past shuttered shops, past sleeping dogs curled in doorways, past market women packing up the last of their wares for the night. No one gave her a second glance. No one could have known that the solitary woman passing them in the night had just lost her home, her husband, and every shred of her peace.
The only sanctuary she could think of was the home of her friend, Amaka, who lived a few streets away. They had been close since their university days, and though their lives had taken different paths, Amaka’s door had always been open to her. Ngozi raised a trembling hand and knocked gently. It was nearly 10 PM. The door opened to reveal Amaka, wrapped in a night cloth, her face a mask of shock and concern. “Ngozi! What in the world has happened? Why are you crying like this? Has someone died?” Ngozi couldn’t form any words. She simply broke down again, collapsing into her friend’s warm, welcoming embrace. “Come inside, come inside now,” Amaka said, her voice firm and soothing as she pulled Ngozi into her small, cozy flat. She guided her to a chair and closed the door on the outside world. “Now, talk to me, my friend. What is going on?”
“He threw me out,” Ngozi whispered, the words tasting like ash.
“Chaik?” Amaka asked, her voice sharp with disbelief.
Ngozi could only nod slowly, wiping at her wet eyes with the back of her hand.
Amaka let out a furious hiss and sat down beside her, putting a comforting arm around her shoulders. “That man has no fear of God in him! After all these years together? And he didn’t even have the decency to get himself checked? Ngozi, you have suffered so much in that house.”..
I like that