Chaik wanted to shame his ex-wife by inviting her to his big wedding. He thought she would come looking sad and broken, but when Ngozi arrived in a shiny black Rolls-Royce with three little boys holding her hands, everyone froze. The same woman he once called barren now had triplets. And that was just the beginning.
Once upon a time, in the busy city of Enugu, there lived a man named Chaik. He was a wealthy businessman in his early thirties. Everyone in the town knew him as a man who loved money, cars, and power.
Chaik wore expensive suits, drove the newest cars, and walked with his head held high as if the ground was not good enough for his shoes. He was proud, loud, and always wanted people to respect him. But behind the big house and the gold watch on his wrist, there was a part of his life that made him angry every single day. His wife, Ngozi, had no children.
Ngozi was a quiet and gentle woman. She was beautiful, with smooth brown skin and soft eyes that carried sadness most of the time. She had married Chaik out of love, not for his money, and for seven years she stood by his side. But those seven years became years of pain because every month she waited, and every month the news was the same: no child.
One evening, the storm that had been building in their marriage finally broke. The house was quiet, the air thick with tension. Ngozi sat at the edge of the bed, her hands clasped tightly together. Chaik entered the bedroom with a frown, his tie pulled loose, his voice heavy with irritation.
«Seven years, Ngozi,» Chaik shouted, slamming his car keys on the dresser. «Seven years of waiting and still no child. Do you want me to die without an heir?»
Ngozi lifted her eyes slowly, her voice trembling. «Chaik, I have tried. We have tried. It is not in my hands. Maybe we should see another doctor. Maybe there is still hope.»
«Hope?» Chaik laughed bitterly. «Is that what you have been telling yourself? I am tired of hope. My mother calls me every day to ask why you have not given me a son. My friends laugh behind my back. Do you know how it feels to be mocked as a man with no child? You have turned me into a fool.»
Ngozi’s eyes filled with tears. «Please, do not speak like that. I am your wife. We made a vow before God. We said for better, for worse. Why do you throw it at me like I am nothing?»
Chaik’s voice grew louder. «Because you are nothing to me now! What is a woman who cannot bear children? You eat my food, wear my clothes, ride in my car, yet you cannot give me one son to carry my name. Ngozi, you are a curse in my life.»
Ngozi’s lips shook as she tried to speak. «Do not call me a curse. I have prayed. I have cried. I go to bed every night begging God to give us a child. I am not happy, Chaik. Do you think it gives me joy to be like this? I am in pain too.»
Chaik turned his back, pacing the room like a lion in a cage. His anger burned hotter with every word. «Enough of your tears. I am done waiting. I will not allow you to waste my life. Tomorrow, I will speak to my lawyer. This marriage is finished.»
Ngozi gasped as if her chest had been struck. «Divorce? You will divorce me? After everything? After I stood by you when you had nothing? After I left my family for you? Chaik, have you forgotten the love we once had?»
Chaik swung back to face her, his eyes cold and hard. «Love cannot produce children. My mother was right. I should have left you long ago. I need a wife who can give me sons, not a woman who fills my house with silence. By tomorrow, Ngozi, I want you out of my house.»
Ngozi broke down, falling to her knees and clutching the edge of his trousers. «Please, Chaik, do not do this. Give me more time. Give us more time. God can still answer us.»
Chaik pulled his leg away as if her touch disgusted him. «God has nothing to do with this. You are the problem, and I am tired. You will leave. That is final.»
The argument echoed through the walls. The maids in the house whispered among themselves, but none dared to enter the room. Ngozi’s sobs filled the air as she tried one last time. «Chaik, look into my eyes. Look at the woman who cooked for you, who washed your clothes, who prayed for you when you were sick. I have given you everything I could. Do not throw me away like trash.»
But Chaik’s heart was hardened. He picked up his phone and made a call in front of her. «Yes, Barrister Okeke. Prepare the papers. I want a divorce immediately. Yes, she will leave tomorrow.»
Ngozi froze, staring at him in disbelief. «You called your lawyer already? You planned this? Chaik, how could you?»
Chaik looked down at her, his tone sharp. «Ngozi, you are a burden. I am freeing myself. If you love yourself, pack your things tonight. By morning, I do not want to see you here.»
Ngozi stood slowly, her body weak, her heart breaking into pieces. She walked to the wardrobe and began to fold her clothes into a small bag. Her hands shook so much that she could barely zip it. Every dress she folded carried memories: birthdays, church services, quiet dinners. But now those memories felt like lies.
As she packed, Chaik stood watching, his arms crossed, his face stone-cold. Not once did he move to stop her. Not once did his heart soften.
Ngozi finally lifted her small bag, her tears falling freely. She turned to him one last time, her voice breaking. «Chaik, you will regret this. One day you will see the truth. One day you will understand what you have done.»
But Chaik did not answer. He looked away as if she were already gone. With slow steps, Ngozi walked out of the bedroom, her slippers dragging on the marble floor. The house that once felt like a home now felt like a prison.
She passed the maids, who bowed their heads, afraid to meet her eyes. She pushed open the big front door, and the night air hit her face. She paused, looking back at the mansion she had called home for seven years. Then she whispered to herself, «I may be leaving with nothing, but I will not remain broken. My God will fight for me.»
And with that, Ngozi stepped into the darkness, her bag in her hand, her tears falling, but her spirit quietly vowing that this was not the end of her story.
