Pastor’s Second Wife- Part Nine

Part Nine

A Story by Ayodele Adeoye

At first, they didn’t want to tell me the resolution that the elders of the two families had made. I noticed they were talking in their dialect secretly, but I could hear part of their discussions.

My father sent me a heartbreaking text message: ‘Thank you for killing my wife’. When I read the text I wept bitterly. My father was right; I killed my mother with my foolishness. All this while, I couldn’t talk to my father because of the tragedy. Eventually, I had to force Deji to tell me what the elders discussed.

Firstly, they had to bring my mother’s corpse home at their expense; then they would be responsible for her burial rites and expenses. Deji must then pay my full bride price and marry me and he must come home to swear an oath never to leave or allow me suffer. The first two conditions are grievous, but the last two are impossible. Deji is a pastor and he is married. He can’t marry two wives, neither will his faith ever allow him to go and swear an oath before an idol. I knew this was going to be a serious battle. All the four conditions were to be met at the same time.

My mother was to spend one month in the morgue to enable Deji’s family prepare for a befitting burial for her. My fears grew everyday as the burial of my mother drew nearer. Deji went back to Lagos, I guess to avoid suspicion, and to raise money for the burial and the marriage rites.

A week later, Deji came back to Kabba. I’ve not really been talking to him because I detest his presence. We only talk when there are pressing issues to discuss. My baby became sick from lack of attention and malnutrition. I also hadn’t slept for three days because of accumulated stress. My head ached like I had a migraine; my body became fragile from not eating. I forced myself to take a short nap at about midnight, when I heard a knock on my door.

“Who is that?” I asked.

“It’s me,” Deji responded behind the door. There was no need for me to try to shut him out since the doors to the rooms in their compound were all bad. Anyone could open it from outside. He pushed the door open and made his way into my room.

“How are you Mercy?” he greeted. I didn’t utter a word; neither did I behave like any one was around. He sat by the bed and played with my baby for about ten minutes before tapping me on my shoulder. The hands that once turned me on became like a thorn on my body. His sexy voice became like the sound of a monster. He tried to make me talk but it was all to no avail. I hated him like I hate Lucifer. You can’t believe Deji was trying to make love to me a month after I put to bed, not considering that I was still mourning my mother. What a heartless man! It was an unpleasant drama that night with Deji.

(Story copied from another source)

To be continued in part ten…