22/06/2025
The Pain Behind My Smile
"You cannot do that to me, Emeka. I am your wife, not your slave. At least I deserve some respect too "Nnenna’s voice quivered as she stood her ground in their well-furnished sitting room, her heart pounding with both rage and pain.
Emeka, her husband of ten years, stood tall, his face hardened with pride and control. “Woman, watch your words before I do something I will regret later.
You are not having a separate account, and that's final!”
He stormed off to the bedroom, leaving the atmosphere tense and heavy.
Nnenna collapsed onto the couch, burying her face in her palms as silent tears soaked her cheeks. "Lord, help me," she whispered, barely audible, "This isn't the life I prayed for. This isn't marriage.
This is prison."
From the corridor, 9-year-old Chike stood still, hidden behind the wall. He had seen too much for a child. He tiptoed toward his mother, knelt beside her, and wrapped his small arms around her.
“It’s okay, Mum,” he said softly. “Don’t worry, everything will be fine.”
Nnenna held her son tightly, as though he was the last strength she had left.
Outdoors, Emeka was the perfect man - a respected church elder, always ready to help, always smiling. But behind closed doors, he became something else.
He controlled everything - her money, her friends, her dreams.
When Nnenna started gaining recognition as a gospel singer, invitations to minister in churches poured in.
But Emeka frowned at her success.
"All these people clapping for you, calling your name. What for?
You're my wife, not some celebrity" he spat one evening, snatching her phone and deleting her upcoming invitations.
"I sing for God, Emeka," she tried to explain. "It’s not about fame. It’s my calling"
"Your calling is to obey your husband"
The Slowly Dying Light
Nnenna grew dimmer with each passing day.
Her once bright smile became a forced curve. Her voice, once filled with anointing and joy, now trembled with hidden sorrow.
She was no longer allowed to go out without permission.
Her sisters stopped visiting because Emeka made them feel unwelcome.
Her savings? Gone — he made sure she had no financial freedom.
She began to keep a diary, pouring her pain into ink. Pages filled with sorrow, prayer, hope, and fear.
One night, after an intense argument, she locked herself in the bathroom, dropped to her knees and cried like a wounded bird.
"Lord, I can’t do this anymore.
If this is love, I’d rather be alone. If this is marriage, why does it feel like death?"
Weeks passed. Nnenna stopped singing altogether.
She became quiet, withdrawn. Even Chike’s laughter couldn't draw a smile from her anymore. Her health began to decline, mentally and emotionally.
Chike began to notice.
"Mummy, please talk to me," he begged one night. "I miss your songs.
I miss you."
She pulled him close, her voice fragile, “I’m still here, my love… just trying to find my way back.”
But she never did.
One cold morning, Chike ran into her room to show her his drawing — only to find her still, lifeless, a bottle of sleeping pills on the floor, and her diary open beside her.
The house was filled with wails
Emeka was arrested after an investigation revealed years of mental abuse and emotional torture.
He sat in a cold prison cell, staring at a wall, haunted by his wife’s last written words:
“The pain behind my smile was never seen by the world. I sang with a broken heart, I worshipped with silent tears.
All I ever needed was support, not control. I loved him… but he didn’t love me back.”
Chike was taken in by his mother’s sister. At just eleven, he understood what many adults ignored — that love without respect is poison.
Moral Lessons:
1. Husbands must support their wives' dreams. A partner's light should never be dimmed out of pride or insecurity. True love uplifts.
2. Family crisis, when ignored, can destroy the home. When pain is silenced and wounds are hidden, they fester. One person’s suffering can break an entire household.
What other lessons did you learn?
Watch out for more interesting stories
