
“Come here, baby! Why do you keep running from mummy?”
The little girl halted in her tracks, spun, and pointed a finger at Zara.
“Come to mummy, baby!” Zara drawled once more, moving closer to the child. But the girl moved farther away the closer the woman came to her.
A scream.
Zara jerked awake. A dream. Just a dream. She gasped, raised herself to a sitting position on bed. Between her legs felt warm. Warm and wet. A familiar sensation. Fear jammed her. It wasn’t happening again, was it? Certainly not.
Bemused, holding back a scream, she flung away the blankets covering her, desperately reaching for the lamp that sat on a stool at the edge of her bed — just beside it. It is wasn’t yet morning, and so the room was dark.
She flicked the lamp light on.
There was no mistaking the deep red coloured fluid that was before her. Her heart was drumming an irregular beat, thumping like it never before had. She, as if doubting still, leaned forward and groped the bed. Blood stuck to her hands, thick and gummy.
She raised the trembling hand to her face, looked at it closely.
A screech spurt out of her throat.
‘Olamide! Our child is gone!’
It trailed into tears.
Olamide was out of town, and so her screams were useless. She was alone. Too alone.
The words, ‘Mummy!’ echoed softly in her ears, and she passed out.
“You see yourself!?”
This voice was brittle, harsh. Zara spun around, glancing about. It was a strangely empty room. From nowhere, her mother-in-law moved into view, a wrapper thrown around her waist. The woman sneered at Zara in her usual condescending manner.
“See, if you know what is good for you eh, pack your load and carry your wretched barren self from my son’s house. Ordinary child, you cannot born.
“This is the third time. Three times, the witchcraft that is on your head has caused you to miscarry.
“How will you be able to carry a child sef and actually give birth safely after all the olosho life you lived before you finally sank your fangs deep into my unsuspecting Olamide? My only son!”
With each word spoken, her features contorted with fury and disgust.
Though somehow Zara knew that this confrontation wasn’t real, it didn’t sting any less. Olamide’s mother had said worse things to her.
The woman had hated her without cause since she first laid eyes on her five years ago. She had tried all she could to dissuade Olamide from marrying her. In her eyes, Zara was nothing more than a prostitute. A girl who basked in the freedom university offered freely. To her, all Zara did in the university was sleep around, get pregnant and have as many abortions as possible. Years of Zara’s trying to please her had yielded no result. Her miscarriages helped fuel the woman’s conviction and paved room for more insults. Insults that constantly wore Zara out.
“If you don’t leave by yourself, I will disgrace you. Hear me and hear me well! I will kill you!”
Her eyes fluttered open to see the kind face of her gynecologist. She was in a hospital. But how? Could this be another trance? The doctor snapped his fingers to her face. She flinched. He spent the next few minutes telling her of how the neighbors, on hearing her screams, had called for help. How she had arrived her.
“Zara! Are you listening?” he touched her hand.
“Yes.” She said tightly, wincing at some pain.
“As I was saying, your husband called. He’ll be on the next flight down here.”
“Thank you doctor,”
“You’ll be fine. Get some rest.” He smiled at her before exiting the room.
Things went well, and Zara returned home after spending three days at the hospital. Days in which she barely said anything. Not even to Olamide who had arrived on the first day. Days spent her days in a deafening silence.
At home, she continued to stay in bed. Refusing to draw up the curtains. If ever there was solitude in darkness, she had found it.
When after a couple of days her mother-in-law visited, she said nothing to the woman, knowing that it was only a matter of time before the insults rained. And they did rain.
Olamide left for work. His mother surged into the room where Zara slept in.
“Prostitute. You don’t want to give my son a child? I know it’s your plan to cut off our linage! Animal! Remain there o. I’m going out. To look for another wife for my husband!”
She zoomed out of the room, slamming shut the door.
Zara lay there, her eyes tingly with tears. Her being was shuddering in a web of pain.
Hours passed. The decision had been made. She rose to her feet, ambled over to the kitchen. The voice muttering ‘Mummy.’ returned, and she could feel the knife by the shank calling on her.
A call she answered. There was nothing to life for anymore. She was a disgrace to womanhood, she believed, though untrue. The knife rose in the air, held by two hands. She buried it deep within her stomach. Pain shook through her. She fell to the floor. It was barely minutes until Zara was gone.
What a pity
This weird mother in-law thing with ladies that can’t give birth
Most times it’s even the men that has issues🙄😒
Nice story anyway
Soo sad
Keep the tap running Wifey. I’m proud of you.
A big thumbs up.
Nice. The mother in law reminds me of Patience Ozor or Mama G.