The dimly lit kitchen was filled with silence, broken only by the soft, anguished sobs of Mrs. Igwe. She sat alone on the cold, hard floor, arms wrapped around her knees, head bowed low. The floor was a familiar friend; it was where she went when the walls closed in and the hurt became too much to bear. Her hands trembled as she looked down at her arms, tracing the scars that mapped her pain, each mark a reminder of his rage. She rocked back and forth, her lips moving in a silent prayer, but tonight the words escaped her. Her cries grew louder, breaking into the stillness like waves crashing against a fragile shore.
"Oh, God! What sin have I committed? Where did I falter?" Her voice cracked as she lifted her face to the ceiling, her eyes red and swollen. "Who cast this curse upon me?" She looked down at her scarred arms and legs, her fingers brushing the marks as though trying to rub them away. "Behold my body—marked, scarred. And just when hope appeared in the form of a helper, the same devil I live with has driven it away."
Her mind drifted to that flash of hope, a fleeting memory in a lifetime of despair. She could still see Mr. Tochukwu's kind face, his voice gentle as he offered her a chance to work, to build something of her own. She had clung to his words, that business card now crumpled and hidden beneath the cloth in her handbag, a talisman of hope she dared not show.
In a heartbeat, the memory twisted, pulling her back to the moment that had shattered everything.
It was a few hours ago. Mr. Igwe had stormed into the house, his face a thundercloud of rage. His voice, so loud it echoed through the walls, filled the tiny space as he bellowed her name.
"Nkechi! Nkechi! Come here, you harlot!"
Mrs. Igwe had hurried from the kitchen, her hands nervously wiping against her skirt, her heart pounding in her chest. She knew that tone too well, the way his voice grew sharper when he was angry. She had hoped to avoid this. She had prayed that he wouldn't know, that he wouldn't care, that maybe she could slip back into her corner of silence and survival. But he had found out. And now, her world was about to break open.
"Yes, sir," she whispered, kneeling in submission, her eyes cast downward.
Without warning, his hand had lashed out, a slap across her face that stung and burned. She stumbled, her hand flying to her cheek as the impact rang through her skull.
"Jesus!" she cried, her voice barely above a whisper.
"So, you had the audacity to come to my workplace and disgrace me?" he sneered, his eyes glinting with cruelty.
She blinked through the haze of pain, trying to find her voice. "My husband, my dear, what wrong have I done this time? I only came to bring you lunch… I apologize for arriving late."
He laughed bitterly, a sound that held no humor, only disdain. "Shut that filthy mouth of yours! Because of you, my superior raised his voice at me! Because of an insignificant, worthless woman like you, my oga had to reprimand me. You are nothing but a witch."
She fell to her knees, her tears slipping freely now, her voice trembling with fear. "My husband, forgive me, please. I never expected to meet your oga. I am deeply sorry, sir."
His anger only grew, his voice cold as he unbuckled his belt, the metal clinking ominously in the silence. "And that's not even the worst part! You even had the gall to accept his business card!"
She raised her hands in a desperate plea, her voice rising as she tried to reason with him. "My husband, please calm down. I only wanted to be useful, to support you… I dislike being idle at home."
"Lies!" he spat, his voice a whip lashing at her with venom. "You are dissatisfied with what I provide, and yet you claim to love me? You intend to marry him, don't you? You want to work for him just so you can use the opportunity to poison his food and ensnare his love, making him yours."
Her heart shattered at his words. "My husband, that's not true! I swear, it's not true. Please, believe me!"
"Here's what you'll do," he hissed, stepping closer, his face a mask of fury. "You'll call him, right here before me, and tell him you're no longer interested. Do you understand?"
Terror gripped her as she gasped, her voice barely a whisper. "Ah… my husband, please. You married me when I was working. Please, forgive me. I cannot lose this opportunity. I beg of you."
But her pleas only fueled his rage. He swung the belt, the leather cracking against her skin. She screamed, her body writhing under the blows, but he did not stop. Again and again, the belt struck her, each lash tearing at her flesh, each cry lost in the darkness that swallowed her.
The flashback dissolved, bringing her back to the present. The kitchen floor was cold beneath her, grounding her in the painful reality of her life. She knelt there, broken, her tears flowing freely as she whispered to the silent room, her voice a hoarse plea to the heavens.
"God, please! Save me!" Her voice trembled as she lifted her hands to the ceiling, her fingers reaching toward an invisible hope. "I am trapped, for how would society judge me if I leave him? They would call me a failure, a woman who couldn't keep her marriage. I'd be a mockery… And who would marry a woman in her late thirties, worn down, unattractive, broken?"
She paused, her voice choked with pain, her lips quivering. "But I believe he can change. God, touch his heart. Make him a new man. Please, hear my cries."
Slowly, her hands dropped to her lap as she buried her face in them, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs. She clung to her prayer, clung to the hope that one day, he might change, that one day her suffering would end. The kitchen remained silent, bearing witness to her pain, the shadows stretching long as the night deepened outside.
In that quiet room, as her voice broke into a whisper, she continued to pray, her body convulsing with every silent scream, a testament to the strength she clung to despite the agony that had marked her life.