When the doctor confirmed that I was pregnant, we waited for four months before telling anyone. This was because we wanted to be sure that it had come to stay. My husband was very happy that he was going to be a father at last, while I was also grateful to God that my thoughts as a child did not come to pass.
I had to stop work to ensure that nothing happened to the pregnancy. But it was by the grace of God that I gave birth to the baby because those days of pregnancy were days of anxiety. I kept on going in and out of the hospital, but in the end, I had a lovely baby boy. He was called a precious child at the ward because everyone knew how long I had waited to have him.
Then I waited eagerly to receive my in-laws, who had been very nice to me throughout my childless years. I was expecting my motherin- law to rush into the hospital to see her grandchild even though there were others before him. But she came very early on the day we were to give the child a name and, curiously, started to insult me in the presence of well wishers, who had stayed overnight for the naming ceremony. Her daughter, my husband’s sister, was particularly angry when her mother was shouting at me, saying that the baby should have been my third.
I wondered why a woman, who had been nice all through my childless years would now turn against me when she should be happy. The days she spent with us after that were full of tension. She made life so unbearable for me that I would cry all through the day. I was in a sad world of my own. To worsen matters, my mother seldom visited because of her belief that she should not be seen frequently in her daughter’s matrimonial home.
In the first two years, the love between my husband and I grew stronger in spite of the expressions of hostility by his people. I, however, remained the dutiful wife, pretending as if all was well. I knew something was wrong, but my husband and I could not place a finger on what it was.
Three years after, I gave birth to my second child, a girl. Fortunately for me, her birth coincided with the burial of my husband’s grandmother. So, my mother-inlaw could not come. We agreed then, that we would have no more kids so that we could cater well for them and also enjoy our lives.
Strangely, however, I started having bad dreams about my husband. I would see him dead, wrapped in white. His four-year-old son was also having the same nightmare and would cry out from sleep, calling “daddy, daddy”. I was worried, but being the praying mother and wife, I intensified my prayers.
One day, I was out of the state on an assignment and had another frightening version of this same dream. This time, I saw him on a mat in the compound of the house where we lived, with his body cut into what looked like equal pieces. Then I saw our kids crying around him and praying to God to bring their dad back to life. I fainted in the dream, but woke up immediately.
At that point, I knew there was trouble, because my nanny called from home to tell me that my daughter had been crying ever since they woke up that Saturday. She would not be consoled until she spoke with her mom. I was shocked when I asked her what the problem was
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