Chapter 1: When Trouble Enter House

In the third month of my pregnancy, my husband’s grandmother show face, come show us who really dey in charge.

That early morning, harmattan breeze dey scratch my nose, but her wahala hot pass sun. I dey rub my small belle, dey pray say today go soft, na so I hear her voice for gate—loud like thunder, dey command everybody anyhow. My husband stand like goat wey thief catch, our security man dey pretend like say he no hear anything.

She no waste time—she kill the dog wey I raise for three years, use am cook soup, just to pepper me.

That dog—Chuchu—na my padi, sharp as agbalumo, always dey wait me for veranda. To see the cage empty that afternoon, e be like breeze just carry my best friend go. My legs weak, sweat gather for my back. For my ear, everywhere just blank—like generator wey just stop for night. E be like stone dey press my heart, but my face strong—make she no see my pain.

For dining table, she dey brag with wicked joy:

"Meat from small animal wey dey chop expensive dog food dey sweet pass ordinary."

She talk am like say na goat wey chop yam leaf—sweet pass ordinary. Her teeth dey shine, the way old woman dey smile when she dey plot wahala.

I smell the pepper soup from kitchen—sharp, with scent leaf and crayfish. My heart break, knowing say na my own dog dey inside.

After the meal, she make me kneel down, begin order:

"My friend, kneel down! Bow to your god-grandmother!" She carry big tortoise wey fat like stone, tap the shell for front. My knees pain me well, but I just kneel. I do as she talk, no wahala.

My in-laws dey look me with pity, but I bone, do wetin she want. For Naija, respect dey important—even if e dey pain.

But she no know—get god-grandmother easy, to send one away, na wahala.

Inside my mind, I dey swear—no be today this kind trouble start. Make she dey do her own; my own time go reach.

Everybody hold breath—na only her cough break the silence. For my mind, I dey wait for the real fight to start.