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Vicky's stories, Abuja (2026)

05/06/2026

As I sit down to write this, tears blur my vision.

I don't even know where to begin anymore. Sometimes I ask myself if I am cursed. Sometimes I wonder what I did to deserve this much pain.

Back in 2022, I met the man who would eventually become the greatest heartbreak of my life.

At that time, I was in my second year at the university while he was already in his final year. I was 32 years old, an age when many women around me were already married with children. Being a 200-level student at that age wasn't easy. Life had dealt me so many blows before then, battles I am not even ready to talk about yet.

Then he came into my life.

For the first time in a very long time, I felt seen, loved, and appreciated.

Our relationship was beautiful. At least, that's what I believed.

He constantly assured me of his love. He told me I was the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. He spoke about marriage so often that I began to picture our future together. For the first time, I allowed myself to dream again.

As the years went by, our relationship grew stronger.

In 2024, he graduated from school. Even after graduation, he decided to remain around campus throughout 2025. During that period, I traveled home with him, and he proudly introduced me to his family.

That moment meant everything to me.

I thought I had finally found my husband.

I thought God had finally remembered me.

But little did I know that while I was building dreams, my heart was slowly being prepared for destruction.

During our relationship, I got pregnant several times.

Five times, to be precise.

The first four pregnancies were terminated because he insisted we were not ready. Each time, I cried. Each time, a piece of me died inside. But because I loved him and trusted his promises, I convinced myself that our sacrifices would eventually lead to marriage.

Then came the fifth pregnancy.

This time, something inside me changed.

I couldn't do it anymore.

I couldn't go through another abort.ion.

I told him firmly that I was keeping the baby.

Being his family's only son, I thought he would finally be happy. I thought the child would strengthen our bond.

Instead, he became angry.

He pressured me repeatedly to remove the pregnancy, but I refused.

I chose my unborn child.

And that was when my nightmare began.

Early in 2026, he returned to Abuja.

At first, I thought he was simply busy settling down.

I called.

No answer.

I sent messages.

No reply.

Days turned into weeks.

Weeks turned into months.

Then one day, I discovered that he had blocked me completely.

Just like that.

No explanation.

No goodbye.

Nothing.

I was confused.

Yet I still held on to hope, believing there had to be a reason.

Then two months ago, my world came crashing down.

Someone sent me pictures from his wedding

The man who promised to marry me.

The man whose child I was carrying.

The man who introduced me to his family.

The man I trusted with my heart.

He had married another woman.

I remember staring at those pictures, unable to breathe.

My hands trembled.

My chest felt heavy.

I wanted to scream, but no sound came out.

At that moment, something inside me shattered.

Today, I am nine months pregnant.

I am back in my father's house.

The same house I once dreamed of leaving as a bride.

Instead, I returned carrying a pregnancy and a heart full of pain.

My parents are old and struggling.

Some days, there is barely enough food in the house.

Watching them worry about me breaks my heart even more.

I cry when nobody is looking.

I cry for the future I lost.

I cry for the child growing inside me.

I cry because I don't know what tomorrow holds.

Sometimes I place my hand on my stomach and wonder what kind of life awaits this innocent baby.

Why is life cru.el

05/06/2026

Guys how will I tell u that this app done tire me I just need motivation to keep showing up 😭😭😭😭😭😭 Facebook

05/06/2026

No too laugh ooh

04/06/2026

Cūrsëd me
Episode one

Amaka had been married to Amaobi for 20 years.Yet not once had the cry of a baby been heard in their compound.In a community where a woman's worth was often measured by the children she bore, twenty years felt like a lifetime of silent judgment. But despite the whispers, despite the mo.ckery, despite the countless nights Amaka cried herself to sleep, one thing remained unchanged Amaobi's love for her.Their marriage was the kind people secretly admired.

Every morning they woke together. In the evening they shared stories under the moonlight. They had grown old in each other's arms, and with every passing year their bond seemed to deepen.Amaobi was a palm wine tapper.

Each day before sunrise, he climbed towering palm trees while most people were still asleep. It was a difficult work, but he never complained.

After an exhausting day, he returned home carrying his tapping tools.

"Nwunye m, I'm back!" he called out cheerfully.

Everywhere was calm.
He frowned.

Normally, before he even reached the doorway, Amaka would rush outside with a smile, wrap her arms around him, and place a gentle kiss on his cheek.

But today was different,he has searched the compound, kitchen,backyard and the sitting hut everywhere was empty.
Without wasting another second, he headed toward the forest.passing the narrow footpath and the stream.

Until he arrived beneath the old udara tree where he had first met her twenty years ago.

There she was.

Sitting alone.

Her voice trembled as she sang softly.

"Nke m o di iche Chimoo..."

Tears streamed down her cheeks.

Amaobi's heart tightened.Seeing Amaka cry always felt like someone was squeezing his chest.

He cleared his throat gently before sitting beside her.

"Achalugo di ya," he said softly."What is it again?"

Amaka wiped her face quickly, trying to hide her tears.

But it was too late.

He had already seen them.

"Di m oma," she whispered."I am sorry."

Amaobi looked confused.

"Sorry for what?"Nwunye m

Her lips trembled.

"For not giving you a child."

The words broke out of her like a dam collapsing.

"For twenty years you have stood beside me. . Yet I have given you nothing."
She shook her head.
"Everywhere I go, people talk. Women younger than me are already grandmothers. Every naming ceremony feels like a reminder. Every baby I carry reminds me of what I don't have."
Fresh tears rolled down her face.
"I don't know why the gods have chosen to pun.ish us."
Amaobi reached for her hand immediately.

"Obi m."

She looked at him.

"I have told you this before."His voice was calm and Firm.
"The day I married you, I married all of you. Not just your womb."

Amaka stared at him.

"As long as I have you, I am not lacking."

"But people—"

"I don't care what people say."

"Their words are getting to me," she whispered.

Amaobi sighed.

"I know."

For a moment neither of them spoke.

The evening breeze rustled the leaves above them.

Then Amaobi finally said,

"Tomorrow, I will take you somewhere."

Amaka turned.

"Where?"

"My sister Adaku told me about a great dibia in Umudika."

Hope immediately flashed across her face.

"The one they call Odika?"

Amaobi nodded.

"Yes."

Amaka clasped her hands together.

"The gods be praised."

For the first time that evening, she smiled.

And seeing that smile return was means a lot to Amaobi.

The next morning, before the c**k crowed, they set off for Umudika.

After hours of walking, they finally arrived at the famous shrine of Odika.

The place was surrounded by ancient trees.The air itself felt heavy.people said Odika had spent six decades serving the spirits.
Some even claimed he had fought unseen forces and won.
As they approached the entrance, they removed their slippers respectfully.

"Great Odika," Amaobi greeted.

The old man chuckled.

"Who are these visitors that are not afraid of seeing spirits?"

The tension eased slightly.

"Oke Dibia," Amaobi replied respectfully.

"It is a matter of urgency that has brought us here."

The old man motioned toward two worn wooden chairs.

"Sit."

They obeyed.

"What troubles you?" he asked.

"Ichoka is the final answer giver."

Amaobi cleared his throat.

For a moment, he glanced at Amaka.

The excitement in her eyes almost broke him.
She had carried this burden for so long.

"Eyes of the gods," Amaobi began.

"My wife and I have been married for twenty years. No child. Not even once. We have come to know why."

The old man stood.

His back turned toward them as he began chanting and incantations.

Minutes felt like hours.

Then suddenly he stopped.

Silence.

When he finally spoke, his voice had changed.

"Amaobi."

The couple straightened.

"The problem comes from your lineage."

Amaobi's heartbeat quickened.

"Long ago, your forefathers buried an innocent woman unjustly."

Amaka gasped.

"The woman's spirit has never found peace."

The old man's eyes narrowed.
"That spirit tied your wife's womb."
Amaobi swallowed hard.

"Wise one... is there a solution?"

"There is."

Relief flooded both their faces instantly.

"You will bring four alligator peppers, nzu, and one live native cow on the next Eke market day."

"We shall do it," Amaobi replied immediately.

Amaka leaned forward.

"Wise one... after the sacrifice, can I finally become a mother?"

The old man smiled.

"Yes."

She walked beside her husband with a smile she had almost forgotten how to wear.

The words of the great Odika kept replaying in her mind.

"Yes. You will become a mother."

Just hearing those words had healed wounds she had carried for twenty years.

As they approached the market square, Amaobi suddenly stopped.

"Nwunye m."

"Yes, di m?"

"I almost forgot. Chief Okafor ordered ten kegs of palm wine for his title ceremony tomorrow. Let me quickly deliver them before evening."

Amaka nodded.

"Go. I will continue home."

Amaobi smiled.

"We shall celebrate soon."

"Iseee," she replied softly.

He squeezed her hand before heading in another direction.

Amaka continued her journey alone.

The moment she entered the market square, the familiar stares began.

At first she ignored them.

Then she heard the whispers.

"See her."

"Twenty years in marriage."

"Not even one child."

The women selling vegetables lowered their voices but not enough.

"Maybe her womb has dried up."

Another woman laughed.

"Haven't you heard? Her husband still refuses to marry another wife."

"What kind of charm is she using?"

The women burst into laughter.

Amaka's steps slowed.
Her smile disappeared every word landed like a stone on her chest.
She kept walking,Pretending not to hear nor care either.

But the tears gathering in her eyes betrayed her.
Behind her, more laughter followed.

By the time she reached home, her eyes were swollen from holding back tears.

Days passed.

For the first time in years, Amaka counted each day with excitement.

Finally, Eke market day arrived.

Before sunrise, she and Amaobi gathered the four alligator peppers, the nzu, and the live native cow.

Together they returned to Odika's shrine.

The old dibia performed the sacrifice exactly as instructed.

Then he handed Amaobi a white substance wrapped carefully in a piece of cloth and gave Amaka a small bottle of oil.

"Amaobi."

"Yes, wise one."

"Apply this before mating with your wife."

He then turned to Amaka.

"And you shall use this oil."

The old man smiled.

"The gods have heard your cries."

Amaka's eyes immediately filled with tears.

This time, tears of hope.

Then the old man added,

"The child that shall come will be a son."

The couple exchanged excited glances.

"And his name must be Anointed."

"We shall obey," they answered together.

As they left the shrine, Amaka could barely contain her joy.

For the first time in twenty years, she could almost see her future.

A little boy running around their compound.
Tiny hands calling her mother.

She smiled all the way home.

But the smile vanished the moment she entered the compound.

Her heart skipped.

Several of her wrappers were lying on the ground, her cooking pots were outside.
and clothes were scattered in the dust.

She was Confused, as she dropped the bottle she was carrying.

"What is happening here?"

Then she heard a familiar voice.

"A good question."

Amaka froze.

It was her mother-in-law.

The old woman emerged from the house carrying another bag.

Behind her stood a young woman she was so beautiful still in her prime .

Amaka stared.

Her stomach twisted.

"Mama..."

The old woman threw the bag onto the ground.

"This house has suffered enough."

"Mama, what are you doing?"

"What I should have been done twenty years ago."

Amaka's voice trembled.

"I don't understand."

"You understand perfectly."

The old woman pointed toward the young woman.

"This is Chisom."

The young woman lowered her eyes respectfully.

"She will become Amaobi's wife."

The world seemed to stop.

"What?"

"You heard me."

"Mama..."

The old woman cut her off.

"No."

For the first time, her voice thundered across the compound.

"As a barren woman My son deserves children."

Amaka looked around helplessly.

The old woman pointed toward the road.

"Take your things and leave."

"Mama, please..."

"Leave!"

04/06/2026

Just imagine wetin my sis do me ooh

03/06/2026

The day we bur.ied our parents, my sister held my hand so tightly that her fingers left marks on my skin.

She was only sixteen.

I was twenty-two.

As everybody was leaving the burial ground, she looked at me and asked one question.

"Onyi, what will happen to us now?"
I had no answer.

I was scared too.

But I couldn't tell her that.

So I lied.

I said, "We'll be fine."

Because we were nowhere close to fine.

A few months later, I dropped out of school.

Somebody had to pay rent.

Somebody had to buy food.

Somebody had to make sure my sister stayed in school.

That somebody became me.

Life became a routine of surv.ival.

Wake up.

Go to work.

Come back tired.

Sleep.

There were days transport money was a problem.

Days I would stand in front of a food vendor pretending I wasn't hungry because the money in my pocket had already been budgeted for my sister's needs.

I kept telling myself it would be worth it.

One day she would graduate.

One day she would have a better life.

One day all this suffe.ring would mean something.

That hope was what kept me moving.

Then one evening, something happened that felt completely out of place in my life.

I was coming back from work looking exhausted as usual when a black G-Wagon stopped beside me.

I didn't even look twice.

People with cars like that don't notice girls like me.

At least that's what I thought.

The driver's door opened and a man stepped out.

"Nne," he called.

I turned around.

"The moment I saw you, I couldn't stop myself from talking to you."

I laughed immediately.

Not because it was funny.

Because it sounded ridiculous.

I knew what I looked like back then.

My slippers were almost worn out.

My handbag was old.

My life was a complete m.ess.

"Are you sure you're talking to the right person?" I asked.

He laughed.

"I'm very sure."

That should have been the end of it.

But it wasn't.

He kept showing up.

Calling.

Checking on me.

Bringing food.

Helping whenever he could.

Slowly, I let my guard down.

For the first time in years, I wasn't carrying every burden alone.

And God help me, I enjoyed it.

I enjoyed having somebody ask if I had eaten.

I enjoyed having somebody worry about me.

I enjoyed being loved.

Months later, we became serious.

Very serious.

He furnished my apartment.

Supported my small business.

Started talking about marriage.

I genuinely believed God had remembered me.

Around that same period, my sister gained admission into the university.

I was happier than she was.

The day I paid her acceptance fee, I sat on my bed and cried.

Not because I had extra money.

But because I knew how much I had suf.fered to get there.

Whenever school was on break, she stayed with me.

My boyfriend treated her like family.

Bought things for her sometimes.

Dropped her off when necessary.

As the caring sister she was she kept on asking about him

"Onyi, where is your boyfriend? Onyi, has he called today?Onyi, is he coming over? "

Already she knows I am not romantic and this things she is doing is really helping me to care for my man.

Then my boyfriend started changing.

Not drastically.

Just little things.

The good morning messages stopped coming regularly.

The calls became shorter.

Whenever I asked to see him, he suddenly had meetings or trips.

I noticed.

But every time I brought it up, he had an explanation ready.

And because I loved him, I accepted every excuse.

Months passed.

I was still sending money to my sister.

Still paying her expenses.

Still defending my relationship.

Meanwhile, I was becoming lonely inside it.

Sometimes I would stare at my phone and realize I was the one making all the effort.

I was the one calling.

The one texting.

The one trying.

Yet somehow I kept convincing myself everything was okay.

Then came the night that changed everything.

One of my friends celebrated her birthday.

The party ended late.

I was tired.

Going home felt stressful, so I decided to sleep over at my boyfriend's place.

I still had a key.

On the way there, I was actually smiling.

I thought maybe we would spend some time together and talk.

Maybe things would finally feel normal again.

When I got to the apartment, his car was outside.

The lights were on.

Then I heard a loud moan.
I stopped walking.

My heart immediately became heavy.
The kind of feeling you get when bad news is already waiting for you.

I stood there for almost a minute convincing myself I was overthinking.

Then I opened the door.

To this day, I wish I hadn't.

Because some images never leave your head.

No matter how hard you try.

The first person I recognized was my sister.

My own sister.

The girl who held my hand at our parents' burial.

The girl I dropped out of school for.

The girl I worked myself sick for.

The girl whose future mattered more to me than my own.

She looked at me.

I looked at her.

At this point I am so ❤️ broke.en guys what should I do both of them are seeking forgiveness and let go back to the way things use to be should I accept or blacklist them.

03/06/2026

Na longer thro.at do me ooh

02/06/2026

We lived in Nkaliki, Ebonyi State a family of eight; my father, my mother, my five siblings, and me.

Life was never easy, but somehow my mother always made it look manageable.

Three years earlier, my father had fallen seriously ill and could no longer work. From that day, everything changed. My mother became the backbone of our family overnight.

Every morning before dawn, while the rest of us were still asleep, she was awake preparing food, fetching water to make sure we were ready for school, then she will rush to international Market where she sold Abacha. She worked until her feet swelled, yet she rarely complained.

Whenever we asked how she was coping with swollen feet she would smile and say,

"As long as all of you are okay, I am okay."

But deep down, we knew she was carrying a burden no one should carry alone.

One afternoon, all of us were sent home from school because of unpaid fees.

The debt had piled up for terms.

As we walked home under the hot sun, nobody spoke.
The moment we got home, we called her.

Less than an hour later, she arrived, breathing heavily from rushing back from the market. She carried a small nylon bag tightly against her chest.

Inside was ₦50,000.

Everything she had.

She took us back to school immediately.

I can still remember that day vividly.

My mother stood before the management, her voice trembling.

"Please, help me. Let them continue their classes. I promise I will pay the balance."

Then she did something that broke my heart.

She knelt down.

My mother.

The strongest woman I knew.

She knelt and begged.

But the management refused.

The money could only cover three children. They agreed to pardon one more, but the remaining two had to leave.

I looked at my mother's face.

The tears she was desperately trying to hold back.

The shame.

The helplessness.

The pain.

That was the first time I realized that sometimes love is not enough to solve a problem.

Without thinking twice, I turned to my elder brother.

"We'll stop school for now," I said quietly.

He looked at me and nodded.

Neither of us wanted to leave school.

My mother cried all the way home.

A few days later, reality settled in.

My elder brother started working as a mason's laborer. Every morning before sunrise, he would leave the house in search of any construction site willing to pay for a day's work.

I began hawking bread and soft drinks.

Life became a routine of survival.

And somehow, things slowly started improving.

At least there was food.

At least there was hope.

Then my father's condition became worse.

Doctors diagnosed him with a subdural hematoma.

He needed surgery.

Urgently.

The surgery was scheduled at Parklane Hospital.

We were terrified, but for the first time in a long while, hope seemed within reach because our uncle abroad had promised to assist financially.

That night, my mother actually smiled.

A real smile.

The kind we had not seen in months.

The next morning felt strangely peaceful.

My brother woke up early, bathed, and dressed neatly for work.

I remember staring at him.

He looked different.

Happier.

Lighter.

Almost as if a weight had left his shoulders.

While eating, I noticed him smiling at a young lady passing by our compound.

Immediately, I laughed.

"Emeka, I saw that."

He rolled his eyes.

"Saw what?"

"The girl."

"There is no girl."

"There is a girl."

He threw a folded paper at me.

"Onyi, biko hapụ m o."

I laughed harder.

"So you like her?"

He shook his head but couldn't stop smiling.

We were just brother and sister teasing each other.

Looking back now, I think that's why the memory hurts so much.

Because none of us knew it would be our last conversation.

A few minutes later, he left for work.

I watched him disappear down the road.

Then I left for the hospital.

Around midday, one of our neighbors suddenly ran into our compound.

He was crying.

Actually crying.

Not the kind of crying people do when they are sad.

The kind that comes when something terrible has happened.

My mother looked at him and immediately became uneasy.

He had left with my brother that morning.

Her face changed instantly.

"What is it?" she asked.

The man couldn't speak.

He just kept crying.

My mother's voice rose.

"What happened?"

He finally managed to say,

"Mama... it's Emeka."

The moment she heard his name, her hands started shaking.

"What happened to my son?"

The man wiped his face and struggled to speak.

"Mama, work has been scarce. I told Emeka we should try a mining site today. They were paying laborers more money."

My mother's breathing became heavy.

The entire compound had gone silent.

"We accepted the job."

He paused.

Then looked down.

"While working... Emeka slipped."

My mother's eyes widened.

"Slipped where?"

The man broke down completely.

"Into one of the mining pits."

My mother screamed.

A scream so loud that people began rushing out of their houses.

I had never heard anything like it before.

Not before.

The man continued through tears.

"We tried, Mama."

His voice cracked.

"We entered the pit. We searched. We pulled him out."

My mother's legs gave way beneath her.

The entire world seemed to stop.

Then he said the words that shattered our family forever.

"We brought him out..."

"But he didn't make it."

In one moment, every hope we had been holding onto disappeared.

The son who left home smiling that morning.

The son who sacrificed his education so his younger siblings could remain in school.

The son who worked himself to exhaustion to save our father.

The son who was supposed to come back home that evening.

Was gone.

And all that remained was the sound of my mother's cries echoing through the compound.

02/06/2026

In 2020, I was still in school, and honestly, life was hard.

Not the kind of hard people post online for pity. The real kind. The kind where you calculate transport fare before stepping outside. The kind where hunger becomes so normal you stop complaining about it.

That afternoon, I had just returned from lectures. I was tired, sweaty, and frustrated. I remember dropping my bag at home and realizing there was nothing to eat. I checked my purse and saw the little money I had left. It was supposed to cover transport for the next day, but my stomach was already turning from hunger.

So I decided to buy roasted corn at the junction before going back inside.

The woman selling it was fanning the fire while smoke filled the air. I pointed at one corn and asked her the price. As I brought out the money from my purse, a calm voice behind me said,

“Madam, add mine. I’ll pay for her.”

I turned immediately.

The man standing there looked old enough to be my father. Maybe early fifties. Clean white shirt, gold wristwatch, polished shoes. Everything about him looked expensive without him trying too hard.

At first, I felt uncomfortable.

In Lagos, when an older man suddenly offers to pay for something, your mind immediately starts calculating his intention.

I quickly said, “No sir, it’s okay—”

But he smiled and handed the woman the money already.

“It’s just corn,” he said softly.

I forced a smile. “Thank you, sir. God bless you.”

I collected the corn and started walking home.

Then I heard him call after me.

“Nne.”

I stopped.

He walked closer, not too close to make me afraid, just enough for me to hear him properly.

“I know this may sound strange,” he said, “but the moment I saw you, I liked you. You seem like a decent girl.”

He brought out a card and handed it to me.

“My number is there. Call me anytime you want.”

I collected it because refusing would have felt rude.

But deep down, I already knew I wasn’t going to call him.

Men like that did not look at girls like me for nothing.

So I threw the card inside my bag and forgot about it.

Or at least I tried to.

Weeks later, school became worse.

Assignments piled up. Departmental dues came up unexpectedly. I was owing for handouts. My roommate kept complaining about foodstuff finishing too fast because I was always around when she cooked. Even calling home became painful because I knew my mother had nothing to send.

One afternoon during a lecture, my pen stopped writing.

As I searched inside my bag for another one, that card fell out.

I stared at it for a few seconds.

I don’t know why I called him that day.

Maybe I was tired.

Maybe I was lonely.

Or maybe I just wanted one moment where life didn’t feel difficult.

The phone barely rang twice before he answered.

“Hello?”

“Good afternoon, sir… it’s the girl you bought corn for that day.”

The excitement in his voice surprised me.

“Oh! My dear. How are you?”

We spoke for a few minutes. He sounded calm. Mature. Respectful.

Before ending the call, he asked if we could meet later that evening.

I hesitated, but eventually agreed.

That evening, I wore my best gown. One of the few good clothes I had. I even borrowed perfume from my roommate before leaving.

When I got there, I immediately realized this man was rich.

Not noisy rich.

Comfortable rich.

The kind of rich where everything around him looked soft, clean, and expensive.

But strangely, it wasn’t the money that pulled me closer.

It was the attention.

The way he listened when I spoke.

The way he asked if I had eaten.

The way he remembered little things I said casually.

To someone who had spent most of her life struggling, being cared for can feel exactly like love.

And that was where I made the mistake.

After that day, he became part of my life so fast that sometimes it scared me.

If I complained about school fees, he would send money before the next morning.

If my phone spoiled, he replaced it.

When my landlord embarrassed me over rent, he handled it quietly.

For the first time in a long while, I stopped surviving and started breathing.

I stopped crying myself to sleep.

I stopped feeling ashamed anytime my friends wanted to eat outside.

Slowly, I got used to him.

Then attached to him.

Then dependent on him.

And before I realized it, I had fallen deeply in love.

At least, I thought it was love.

One night, while we were having dinner, he held my hand across the table and said,

“I want to marry you.”

I remember my chest tightening immediately.

Nobody had ever looked at me like I was worth choosing before.

I looked at him and genuinely believed my life was changing for good.

So I said yes.

I said yes with my whole heart.

Two days later, my life scattered.

That afternoon, someone knocked on my door.

When I opened it, I saw a woman standing outside with two children beside her.

A boy and a girl.

The woman looked tired. Not physically tired. Emotionally tired.

Like someone who had not slept peacefully in years.

“Are you Onyi?” she asked quietly.

I nodded slowly.

Then she brought out a phone and showed me his picture.

My heart dropped instantly.

“He is my husband.”

I felt something cold move through my body.

At first, I honestly thought she was lying.

But then the little girl beside her looked up at me and I froze.

She had his exact eyes.

The woman looked at me again.

“We have been married for twenty-three years.”

Twenty-three years.

I couldn’t even process it.

Everything around me suddenly felt unreal.

The room.

The walls.

My own body.

Then she said the one thing that completely broke me.

“Please leave my husband alone. My children are suffering already.”

At that exact moment, I wanted to tell her I didn’t know.

I wanted to explain that he never mentioned a wife.

Never mentioned children.

Never wore a ring.

Never gave me any reason to suspect anything.

But the words refused to come out.

Because none of it changed the fact that I was already carrying his child.

Two months pregnant.

At this point what should I do?
Should I abo.rt the child?
Or accept to be his second wife

Vicky's stories

05/06/2026

05/06/2026

05/06/2026

04/06/2026

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