08/02/2026
I danced at my husband’s side chick’s naming ceremony. I sprayed them money. I ate the Jollof rice. But inside my bag, I had a gift that would end the party.
They say "Fear Women," but honestly? You should fear a calm woman.
My name is Adesuwa. I have been married to Kunle for six years. Six years of "God will do it." Six years of his mother calling me a "man-woman" because I couldn't give them a child. I took all the insults. I drank the bitter herbs. I went for the prayers.
So, when Kunle walked into our house in Magodo three months ago with a young, pregnant girl named T**i, I didn't scream.
"Adesuwa," he said, puffing his chest like a peacock. "This is T**i. She is carrying my son. Since you have refused to give me an heir, T**i will live here. She will give me what you could not."
I looked at T**i. She was young, maybe 22. She was rubbing her stomach and chewing gum, looking at me like I was a maid.
"You will cook for her," Kunle commanded. "You will clean for her. She is carrying the King of this house."
My friends told me to leave. They told me to poison the girl. They told me to burn the house down. I told them, "Calm down. Let us watch the movie."
I became the perfect fool. I cooked T**i’s peppersoup. I washed her clothes. When her feet swelled, I massaged them.
Kunle was laughing at me. "You see?" he told his friends over beer on weekends. "A woman who knows her place is a blessing. Adesuwa knows she has expired."
T**i gave birth last week. A bouncing baby boy. Kunle almost ran mad with joy. He bought a cow. He bought Aso-ebi for the whole street. He named the boy "Babatunde," Father has returned.
The Naming Ceremony was yesterday. The compound was full. Kunle’s mother was dancing, casting bad eyes at me. "The barren tree has been shamed!" she sang in Yoruba.
When it was time for the gifts, I stood up. I was wearing my best gold jewelry. I looked expensive. I walked to the high table where Kunle and T**i were sitting with the baby.
I picked up the microphone. The DJ stopped the music.
"My husband," I said, smiling. "Congratulations on your heir."
Kunle grinned. "Thank you, Adesuwa. I hope you learn from T**i."
"I have a special gift for the baby," I said. I pulled out a large, brown envelope from my bag.
"Six years ago," I started, my voice clear, "Before we got married, we did some tests. You didn't go to collect your results because you were busy. You asked me to collect them."
Kunle frowned. "What are you talking about?"
"I collected them, Kunle. But I hid them because I loved you. I didn't want to bruise your ego."
I opened the envelope and pulled out a framed document. It was a medical report from LUTH.
"This is a diagnosis of Azoos***mia," I announced.
The crowd went silent.
"It means 'Zero S***m Count,' Kunle. You had Mumps when you were 12 years old. It destroyed your factory. You have been shooting blank bullets since 2018."
I turned to T**i. Her face had lost all color. She looked like a ghost.
"So, my darling husband," I continued, "If you have zero s***m? And T**i has a baby?"
I looked at Kunle’s best friend, Jide, who was sitting in the front row. Jide was sweating. He was shaking.
"Maybe Uncle Jide can explain why the baby has his nose?"
The silence in the hall was heavy. You could hear a pin drop.
Then Kunle screamed. It was the scream of a dying animal. He grabbed the paper from me. He read it. He looked at T**i. He looked at Jide.
I dropped the microphone. Gbim.
"I have packed my bags," I said off-mic. "The house belongs to my father, so you and your 'heir' have 2 hours to leave."
I walked out of the gate while Kunle was breaking bottles on Jide’s head.
I am currently in a hotel, eating grilled fish and drinking cold fearless. My phone has been ringing non-stop. His family is begging. They say I shouldn't have disgraced him in public.
But tell me the truth. Did I go too far? Or did I serve him the breakfast he ordered?
Drop a "🔥" in the comments if you would have done the same!
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