03/07/2025
HIS WIFE AND HIS MOTHER-IN-LAW PLANNED TO KILL HIM.
Tony always believed that love, when pure, could withstand anything. He had built his world around that belief—with Martha, the woman he married out of deep affection, and Mama Ngozi, her ever-present mother who smiled too often and spoke too little. But love, as Tony would soon learn, can be the perfect mask for betrayal.
It began to unravel on a rainy Tuesday in Enugu. The skies were grey, as if mourning in advance.
Tony was at his pharmacy store when his old friend and ex-girlfriend, Amaka, walked in, rain dripping from her umbrella.
“Tony,” she said, wiping water from her face, “I wasn’t going to say anything, but it’s been eating at me.”
Tony looked up, surprised. “Say what?”
Amaka leaned closer over the counter. “Your wife came to me yesterday. Asked about sedatives. The heavy ones. She was asking strange questions—how long they last, how to mix them in food... it wasn’t for any medical reason, Tony.”
Tony blinked, his smile fading. “Martha? Are you sure?”
“She said it was for her mother’s insomnia, but the questions were... too specific. I know Martha. Something felt off. I just had to tell you.”
Tony's chest tightened. “Thank you, Amaka. You might have just saved my life.”
He played it cool. When he got home that evening, the aroma of ogbono soup greeted him at the door. Martha was in the kitchen, humming.
“You’re early,” she said sweetly, her eyes like honey.
“I missed you,” Tony replied, forcing a smile.
Mama Ngozi sat in the sitting room, eyes glued to the TV but ears clearly on their conversation. Her lips curved into a stiff grin.
Dinner was set at 8:00 p.m. Just as Martha ladled soup into his plate, Tony pretended to receive a call.
“Emergency at the pharmacy,” he said, pocketing his phone. “I'll be back soon.”
Martha frowned. “Now? But... food is ready.”
“I'll eat when I return.”
He never returned that night.
Instead, he drove to the local police station and told them everything. By midnight, he was parked two blocks away, hidden, watching his own home as the police waited inside, silent shadows behind drawn curtains.
Back in the house, Martha paced. “Where is he?” she whispered to her mother. “What if he’s not coming back?”
Mama Ngozi hissed. “Calm down. The boy I brought will come at 1:00 a.m. sharp. If Tony isn’t here, we’ll fake it. Tie ourselves up. Say it was armed robbers. He’ll believe it. He’s too soft.”
“But what if—”
“Shhh,” Mama snapped. “You want to remain a slave in this marriage? He has money, life insurance. And you want to wait forever while he controls everything? Wake up, girl. This is our moment.”
At 1:07 a.m., the back door creaked open.
The “boy from the village,” clad in black and wielding a rusted cutlass, slipped in.
“Where’s the man?” he whispered.
“Not here,” Martha said. “You’ll have to make it look like—”
Suddenly, lights flooded the room. Uniformed men with rifles stormed in. “Don’t move!”
Martha screamed. Mama Ngozi collapsed onto the couch.
The hitman raised his hands, stammering, “They— they told me—”
Tony watched it all from the patrol van down the street. His heart sank, not from fear, but from the weight of betrayal.
To be continued in episode 2
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