Chapter 7: The Joke That Broke Everything

“Ifedike, you block me for all companies? You no wan make I work?”

I ask am direct. My voice low, but my eyes dey fire.

He just laugh small. “Ifunanya, abeg stop. No be this life you want? To just dey enjoy as Mrs. Ifedike?”

He dey play with words. But na play wey dey pain.

I confuse. “Wetin you mean?”

My heart dey beat fast. I dey wait for another excuse.

“After we marry, you go chop with your friend. As I come pick you, I hear your gist.”

He repeat the gist word for word:

“Your friend talk say you lucky, you catch big fish, after divorce you go get big settlement—or at least money to support her. You no deny am, you even say ‘okay’.”

He dey use small matter blow into big fight. Joke wey people talk for fun, he carry am for head like gala seller.

“Ifunanya, na my money you dey find, abi? You just want something from me? No wonder you vex for prenup.”

He dey count every word, dey look me like suspect.

I shock say he take joke between friends serious.

Na that time I know say, truly, trust no dey here.

“Ifedike, na just play we dey play.”

But he no gree.

He look away, as if say e dey see through me.

“Ifunanya, we don marry, no prenup, you don get wetin you want. You just want to dey form rich wife—no need to pretend say you want work.”

He just dey spit words like fire. My chest tight.

I no fit take am again.

Enough is enough.

“Ifedike, make we divorce. Since you think say na your money I dey find, I go comot with nothing. I go sign paper say I no want one kobo—e go do you?”

My voice crack small. I mean every word.

He just look me coldly. “You dey rush divorce? You no sign prenup, now you wan comot empty handed—how people go see our family? Or na another plan—make we beg you with money to keep quiet?”

His words cut me deep. I see stranger for his face.

“Ifunanya, I no go divorce you. Forget am.”

For a moment, I lost.

My leg weak, my mind dey blank. Na so love dey turn stranger overnight.

Na this man I spend three years with?

I dey ask God question for my heart.

“Ifedike, abeg let’s just divorce. I no want anything, I no need compensation. We know ourselves three years—small trust you no get?”

I dey beg, but him face no soft.

His hand grip the chair arm, knuckles white like person wey dey hold steering for bad road.

He wan write, but e no fit.

“I talk am before, I no go gree for divorce. I think say I fit trust you, but now e be like say na plan you get from day one.”

He dey twist everything. Pain dey my heart.

From then, our relationship just freeze. He no let me work, only dey give me ₦20,000 every month.

House cold, conversation no dey pass weather and food. Marriage turn business transaction.

He say, “You no dey pay rent, maid dey do everything—₦20,000 is enough.”

He dey use calculation dey wound my soul.

From that day, I be Mrs. Ifedike only for mouth.

Just the name—nothing else.

People for church still dey greet me, but I know say na only name I get, nothing inside.