Ngozi leaned her head against Amaka’s shoulder, the exhaustion finally overwhelming her. “I don’t even know what to do next, Amaka. I left with just this bag. Everything else… all my things are still back there.”
Amaka patted her arm gently. “Don’t you worry about a thing. You will sleep here tonight. You can stay with me for as long as you need to. I may not have much, but this house is your house now.”
Ngozi closed her eyes and let out a long, shuddering sigh. “Thank you, Amaka. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”
The room fell into a comfortable silence for a few moments. Then Amaka stood up, her practical nature taking over. “Come on now, let me put some water on the stove for you. You will take a hot bath and then you will eat something. Tomorrow, when the sun is up, we will sit down and figure out what comes next.” As Amaka busied herself in the small kitchen, Ngozi sat motionless, her eyes fixed on the patterned floor. Her heart felt like a delicate ceramic pot that had been dropped, shattered into a thousand tiny, irreparable pieces.
That night, sleep refused to come. Despite the softness of the bed and the quiet safety of Amaka’s home, her mind was trapped in a torturous loop, replaying the moment Chaik told her to leave. She remembered the cold finality in his eyes, the way he had turned his face from her as if she were a stranger. By the time morning light filtered through the window, her pillow was soaked through with her silent tears.
The days that followed blurred into one another. Ngozi stayed within the confines of Amaka’s house, trying her best to conceal the depth of her sadness. But her appetite had vanished, and her words were few and far between. She would spend hours sitting by the window, staring out at the world as if waiting for something, anything, to change.
Amaka did everything in her power to lift her spirits. One morning, she suggested brightly, “Ngozi, come with me to the market today. Let’s get out of this house, walk around, breathe in some fresh air.”
But Ngozi shook her head, her eyes downcast. “I can’t. I don’t want people to see me like this. What if someone asks about Chaik? What would I even say?”
“You will tell them the truth,” Amaka replied with fierce loyalty. “You will tell them that a foolish man threw away a diamond because he was too blind to see its worth, chasing after ordinary stones.” Ngozi managed a small, fleeting smile at her friend’s words, but it quickly faded.
Later that week, Amaka broached a more serious subject. “Ngozi, I have been thinking. Have you ever gone for a proper medical checkup? A real one?”
Ngozi looked at her, confused. “What kind of checkup?”
“A fertility test,” Amaka said gently. “Have you ever been tested yourself, to be absolutely sure that the problem was yours?”
Ngozi shook her head slowly. “Chaik always said it was me. He never agreed to go for any tests himself. He was adamant that he was fine, that the issue must lie with me.”
Amaka’s frown deepened. “So you just accepted that? You carried that blame all by yourself for seven years?”
“I didn’t have a choice,” Ngozi said, her voice barely a whisper. “He wouldn’t listen to me. And his mother… she constantly called me names. The entire family placed the blame squarely on my shoulders.”
Amaka stood up, her mind made up. “No. This ends now. We are going to the hospital tomorrow. They will run all the necessary tests. I need you to hear the truth from a qualified doctor, not from that prideful, arrogant husband of yours.” This time, Ngozi didn’t argue. She was so tired of the uncertainty, the guilt, the shame. Perhaps, she thought, what she truly needed was a definitive answer.
The next day, they went to the Life Hope Medical Center, a calm and professional private hospital where Amaka was acquainted with one of the doctors. Dr. Uche, a kind-faced man in his forties with a soft-spoken demeanor, welcomed them into his office. “How can I help you today, Madam Ngozi?” he asked gently.
Ngozi looked down at her hands, unable to speak. Amaka answered for her. “Doctor, she was married for seven years and could not conceive. Her husband has since divorced her, claiming she was barren. But the truth is, she has never had a single test done. We are here to request a full checkup, so she can know the truth once and for all.”
Dr. Uche nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful and compassionate. “You have done the right thing by coming here. We will run a series of tests, and then we will have a clear picture. Then we can talk.” For the next few hours, Ngozi underwent a battery of tests—blood work, internal scans, hormone level checks. She felt a knot of anxiety in her stomach the entire time. What if Chaik had been right all along? What if the tests confirmed that she was, indeed, the problem?
Two days later, they returned for the results. Ngozi sat in the chair opposite Dr. Uche, her hands clasped tightly together in her lap to stop them from shaking. The doctor adjusted his glasses and looked over the papers, a small smile gracing his lips. “Madam Ngozi,” he began, his voice calm and reassuring, “I have gone through all your results very carefully. Everything looks perfectly good. Your reproductive system is healthy, you are ovulating regularly, and all your hormone levels are within normal range. From a medical standpoint, there is absolutely nothing wrong with you.”
Ngozi blinked, sure she had misheard him. “Nothing…?”
“Nothing,” the doctor repeated firmly. “If there was no pregnancy after seven years of trying, my professional advice would be for your ex-husband to have himself checked. Based on what I see here, you are completely fine.”
Ngozi brought a hand to her mouth as a fresh wave of tears, this time of relief and vindication, filled her eyes. “I… I don’t know what to say.”
Amaka practically jumped from her seat. “I knew it! I knew it! That man lied to you, Ngozi! He blamed you to cover up his own shame!” Ngozi felt the room spin around her. The foundation of her reality for the past seven years had just been completely shattered.
“So all this time…” she whispered, “it wasn’t me.”…
I like that