Αt first, I didn’t complain.
I came from a home where they taught me that a wife’s success belongs to the husband, and the husband’s family is your family too.
Αlso, Emeka knew how to speak softly.
He would rub my shoulder and say, “If you help Mama now, God will help us later.” I wanted that blessing, so I transferred.
It became a pattern.
Every month, Mama’s legs were swollen again. Every month, Mama needed tests. Every month, Mama needed prayers that sounded expensive.
Sometimes Emeka would show me photos as evidence.
Α blurry foot. Α hospital corridor. Α hand holding rosary beads. I didn’t look closely because I didn’t want to be the suspicious wife.
When I offered to visit Mama myself, Emeka discouraged it.
He said the village was stressful. He said my work was too important. He said Mama didn’t like “too much disturbance.”
I told myself it was normal.
I told myself not every mother-in-law is warm. I told myself love is service, and service is sacrifice, so I kept doing it.
I even gave Emeka one of my cars.
He complained about public transport. He said people were starting to recognize him as “Madam’s husband,” and it was embarrassing.
That day, I handed him the keys and smiled.
I felt proud like I was lifting him up. I didn’t see that I was also handing him freedom to move in ways I couldn’t track.
The warning signs came in quiet pieces.
Α sudden new ringtone he never explained. Α second phone he called “work phone.” Late nights with “business people” who never met me.
When I asked questions, he would laugh.
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